Some days, ego is harder to rein in than others. It's especially meddlesome when you see it happening, feel the physical effects of it, and yet the Soul is still trapped by the velvet confines of comfort and is unable to redirect. However, just by becoming aware of the duality of our nature, the jailer slowly moves to hand over the keys and allows our true selves to break free...
Valentine's Day is just one of those days that seems to bring out the worst in people. Many feel obligated by the commercialization of it to buy things that they don't think about or need, and others actively distance themselves by proclaiming it a "waste of time and money". I swing both ways, unfortunately, which makes it a challenge to stay centered. While we had a relatively blissful evening filled with a lovely shared meal, notes of gratitude in our homemade Valentine bags, and treats for the kids, I couldn't help but wonder if I would get some special little surprise. My husband's firmly in the latter category, and so for the past 20 years, the holiday was largely ignored other than some festivities geared towards the children and the occasional bundle of flowers that I would buy for myself.
If only my damned ego would have kept quiet, it would have been a perfect day.
After all, my husband shows me love in a myriad of ways, too many to mention, honestly. But I had just performed a wedding in the morning, resigned from a job that should have been a perfect fit, and turned down one that would have required a LOT of reframing to find enthusiasm for. All of which left me feeling vulnerable, drained, curious about what's next, and untethered. And that's not a good combination for remaining stoic.
It's never been about the cost of goods. Women want romance. To this day, the very best "present" I've ever received, no matter the holiday, is the tree with a bright green ribbon tied around it. It told me that my heart had been heard, nurtured, and honored. I can go for a walk in the park any time I want and spend time with this special tree.
When I realized that I wasn't going to get a present of any type this year, I found myself in an honest-to-goodness juvenile meltdown. Passive-aggressive behavior was showing up everywhere, and it was really difficult for me to watch as my inner observer would fade in and out, trying in vain to remind me of what was truly important. Some perspective was reached, but ego is a cruel master and doesn't let go of the keys easily. It's very much like being on a ferris wheel...you get on, thinking that you'll enjoy the view from the top, but then you get stuck for a while. You get nervous, wondering if you'll ever get down, and then you gradually return to the beginning point. Eventually, you're allowed to exit the ride, only to come back for another later on. The size of my ferris wheel is gradually shrinking, but every now and then, I forget and get back on the big one. At least it has velvet seats... :)
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink...
Well, not out of our taps, anyway. The Dallas area became a literal ice rink last week, just in time to welcome the visitors to the Super Bowl festivities. By some fluke, we had the good fortune to be visited by a lovely ice clog that prevented any water from entering our house for 3 1/2 days.
It felt much longer.
We still have no idea where the pipes were clogged. Nothing frozen on the inside of the house, no way of knowing where on the outside, just...nothing. Last year, the lake froze but our pipes were fine. This year, the exact opposite. But I guess that's they whimsy that Mother Nature loves so much! At least She provided 6" of snow on Friday for us to harvest and use the melt to flush our toilets. We felt a bit like pioneers doing that, I must say, though the intrepid souls who went out West didn't have pantries full of food, plenty of heated comfort around, and blazing fast internet.
What I was struck the most by during the time of water shortage was how empty the house felt.
Sure, going without a shower for a couple of days while waiting for the roads to become passable again was inconvenient, but the fact that there was no tap flowing made the whole place feel derelict, decrepit, and just plain sad. Even the warmth of the fireplace barely cut through the gasping feeling that one gets when holding your breath for too long. Or maybe it was the open cabinet doors and all of the water jugs lining the countertops...regardless, the combination was like a one-two punch to our psyches. Gratefully, we accepted offers of showers, laundry services, and any other comforts that we thought we needed. But when it comes right down to it, this brief moment of discomfort brought a valuable lesson to all of us.
Water is precious.
One gallon of water isn't much for bathing, but can get the job done. One gallon of water doesn't come close to flushing a toilet effectively. One gallon of water will, if carefully rationed, wash the dinner dishes, though not as well as I'm used to. And one gallon looks mighty puny when you finally slake your thirst.
I thought that we had been pretty good at conserving our natural resources, but when you have to carry each precious drop across town over ice-covered roads, one begins to analyze the usage very carefully. Does this really need washing? Is hand sanitizer OK or do I need soap? Does that plant REALLY need water? How long can we go without flushing? In fact, that last question was the one that was the most challenging. Thank you, Mr. Crapper, for inventing the flush toilet!
The gurgle that heralded the return of our easy access to H2O was met with elation, and a deep appreciation of our blessings. After all, living with limited access to water is the norm for millions, and access to clean, abundant water is but a dream for even more. Thank you, you life-giving font, for continuing to bless us abundantly.
And the pipes? Perfectly intact, thank you very much! WooHOO!!!
It felt much longer.
We still have no idea where the pipes were clogged. Nothing frozen on the inside of the house, no way of knowing where on the outside, just...nothing. Last year, the lake froze but our pipes were fine. This year, the exact opposite. But I guess that's they whimsy that Mother Nature loves so much! At least She provided 6" of snow on Friday for us to harvest and use the melt to flush our toilets. We felt a bit like pioneers doing that, I must say, though the intrepid souls who went out West didn't have pantries full of food, plenty of heated comfort around, and blazing fast internet.
What I was struck the most by during the time of water shortage was how empty the house felt.
Sure, going without a shower for a couple of days while waiting for the roads to become passable again was inconvenient, but the fact that there was no tap flowing made the whole place feel derelict, decrepit, and just plain sad. Even the warmth of the fireplace barely cut through the gasping feeling that one gets when holding your breath for too long. Or maybe it was the open cabinet doors and all of the water jugs lining the countertops...regardless, the combination was like a one-two punch to our psyches. Gratefully, we accepted offers of showers, laundry services, and any other comforts that we thought we needed. But when it comes right down to it, this brief moment of discomfort brought a valuable lesson to all of us.
Water is precious.
One gallon of water isn't much for bathing, but can get the job done. One gallon of water doesn't come close to flushing a toilet effectively. One gallon of water will, if carefully rationed, wash the dinner dishes, though not as well as I'm used to. And one gallon looks mighty puny when you finally slake your thirst.
I thought that we had been pretty good at conserving our natural resources, but when you have to carry each precious drop across town over ice-covered roads, one begins to analyze the usage very carefully. Does this really need washing? Is hand sanitizer OK or do I need soap? Does that plant REALLY need water? How long can we go without flushing? In fact, that last question was the one that was the most challenging. Thank you, Mr. Crapper, for inventing the flush toilet!
The gurgle that heralded the return of our easy access to H2O was met with elation, and a deep appreciation of our blessings. After all, living with limited access to water is the norm for millions, and access to clean, abundant water is but a dream for even more. Thank you, you life-giving font, for continuing to bless us abundantly.
And the pipes? Perfectly intact, thank you very much! WooHOO!!!
Friday, October 29, 2010
New Beginnings...redux
Another day, another job...
I never expected to find myself job hunting so soon after finally making the decision to go back to work full-time. Only 10 months after my first full-time job since becoming a mother, and I was again faced with the concept of "what do I want to be when I grow up?" This time, I thought, will be different. This time, I'll really pursue my passion for feng shui and life coaching. This time...
Instead, I begin a new chapter at another magazine, again selling advertising space.
Am I selling out my dreams for the almighty dollar? Some would say yes, but the way that I see it is that I get to help businesses tell their stories to the people that would benefit by learning more. By doing this, we'll both be enriched! I'll still be able to help out the individual client who contacts me, too. :) Win/win!
It feels good to be at a company who supports without smothering, has clearly defined long-term business strategies, and is goal-oriented, not task-oriented. I deeply appreciate the time that I spent in my previous position, and am eternally grateful to those who have shared their time, energy, and knowledge with me, especially my former manager. By her courage to tell me all of the things that pissed her off about me and my performance, it allowed me to do further examination of my behaviors, values, and boundaries. Many of the criticisms spoke more about how I was acting as a mirror to her own areas of discomfort, but, if I'm going to be honest with myself, there were a number that hit home.
Time will tell if this position will be a proper fit, but I already feel settled. It doesn't hurt that I'm working out of my home now, although that presents a new set of opportunities for organization.
Thanks to paying attention to the shifting energy at my old job, I was able to attract this new position and start within 2 short weeks. I'd like to say that I recharged my batteries during that time off, but there were a lot of loose ends that got tied up. Now, off to the races! Giddy-up!
I never expected to find myself job hunting so soon after finally making the decision to go back to work full-time. Only 10 months after my first full-time job since becoming a mother, and I was again faced with the concept of "what do I want to be when I grow up?" This time, I thought, will be different. This time, I'll really pursue my passion for feng shui and life coaching. This time...
Instead, I begin a new chapter at another magazine, again selling advertising space.
Am I selling out my dreams for the almighty dollar? Some would say yes, but the way that I see it is that I get to help businesses tell their stories to the people that would benefit by learning more. By doing this, we'll both be enriched! I'll still be able to help out the individual client who contacts me, too. :) Win/win!
It feels good to be at a company who supports without smothering, has clearly defined long-term business strategies, and is goal-oriented, not task-oriented. I deeply appreciate the time that I spent in my previous position, and am eternally grateful to those who have shared their time, energy, and knowledge with me, especially my former manager. By her courage to tell me all of the things that pissed her off about me and my performance, it allowed me to do further examination of my behaviors, values, and boundaries. Many of the criticisms spoke more about how I was acting as a mirror to her own areas of discomfort, but, if I'm going to be honest with myself, there were a number that hit home.
Time will tell if this position will be a proper fit, but I already feel settled. It doesn't hurt that I'm working out of my home now, although that presents a new set of opportunities for organization.
Thanks to paying attention to the shifting energy at my old job, I was able to attract this new position and start within 2 short weeks. I'd like to say that I recharged my batteries during that time off, but there were a lot of loose ends that got tied up. Now, off to the races! Giddy-up!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Life's Shampoo Bottle
I had lunch the other day with a dear friend who is dealing with a recurrence of her cancer. Originally diagnosed with breast cancer, she enjoyed a few years of remission before it came back with a vengeance. Liver, lungs, and a little bit of lymph...I guess the cells enjoyed alliteration. That got beat back by the wonderful oncologists at Baylor - for a while. Her New Year's resolution became finding new treatment alternatives for the ever-encroaching disease. The pain levels are becoming unmanageable, and her time is running out.
Then again, isn't that the same situation that we all are in? The blessing of a terminal illness is that awareness that time is marching, and the destination is looming. Rose Ann was annoyed at herself for being teary when talking about her "Bucket List" cruise to Italy, but I likened it to trying to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube, or even like getting one last shampoo out of the nearly empty bottle.
Think of it like this: as a child, we have this seemingly limitless supply of shampoo. We're careless, wasteful, and unconcerned if the bottle should fall over and spill. So what? We have a lot left. No big deal.
Next thing you know, the bottle is half empty. Still plenty of time...no need to put it on the list. And then one day...it sputters. You turn the bottle upside down so you no longer have to wait for the drip, drip, dripping of the viscous substance that makes your hair so lustrous. Now, suddenly, you become hyper-aware of how much you are using. That quarter-size dollop has become something closer to the size of a pencil eraser. Huh...still works really well at that size. Why wasn't I conserving when the bottle was full?
The doubts and self-recrimination begins. Berating oneself for being wasteful, careless...and was it really necessary to wash your hair every day?
And then one day, the sputtering stops. That shocking sound of empty spitting fills the room, and you realize that your out of time. There are those who will simply toss the bottle into the trash, but for those of us who are eager to suck the marrow out of life, we take off the lid and fill it up with some water. Why didn't we do this earlier? It's fun to shake things up! Everything inside that bottle is now so fun and frothy!
But the bubbles don't last. The shaking only works for a little bit. And the time finally comes to bid adieu to the bottle, secure in the knowledge that you have used every last little bit of it.
Rose Ann isn't quite there yet on the bubbles, but the sputtering has begun. Her tears are cleansing tears, not to be dismissed, ignored, or worse, cursed. Rather, they are to be blessed as the necessary ingredient to add to the shampoo bottle of life, mixing with all that is left, ready to shake things up at least a couple more times before our time here is done.
And when that time is done, shake your hair in the most glorious way you can, allowing the world the opportunity to see the luxurious results of that wonderful shampoo before moving on to the next kind!
Wash, Rinse, and Repeat!
Then again, isn't that the same situation that we all are in? The blessing of a terminal illness is that awareness that time is marching, and the destination is looming. Rose Ann was annoyed at herself for being teary when talking about her "Bucket List" cruise to Italy, but I likened it to trying to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube, or even like getting one last shampoo out of the nearly empty bottle.
Think of it like this: as a child, we have this seemingly limitless supply of shampoo. We're careless, wasteful, and unconcerned if the bottle should fall over and spill. So what? We have a lot left. No big deal.
Next thing you know, the bottle is half empty. Still plenty of time...no need to put it on the list. And then one day...it sputters. You turn the bottle upside down so you no longer have to wait for the drip, drip, dripping of the viscous substance that makes your hair so lustrous. Now, suddenly, you become hyper-aware of how much you are using. That quarter-size dollop has become something closer to the size of a pencil eraser. Huh...still works really well at that size. Why wasn't I conserving when the bottle was full?
The doubts and self-recrimination begins. Berating oneself for being wasteful, careless...and was it really necessary to wash your hair every day?
And then one day, the sputtering stops. That shocking sound of empty spitting fills the room, and you realize that your out of time. There are those who will simply toss the bottle into the trash, but for those of us who are eager to suck the marrow out of life, we take off the lid and fill it up with some water. Why didn't we do this earlier? It's fun to shake things up! Everything inside that bottle is now so fun and frothy!
But the bubbles don't last. The shaking only works for a little bit. And the time finally comes to bid adieu to the bottle, secure in the knowledge that you have used every last little bit of it.
Rose Ann isn't quite there yet on the bubbles, but the sputtering has begun. Her tears are cleansing tears, not to be dismissed, ignored, or worse, cursed. Rather, they are to be blessed as the necessary ingredient to add to the shampoo bottle of life, mixing with all that is left, ready to shake things up at least a couple more times before our time here is done.
And when that time is done, shake your hair in the most glorious way you can, allowing the world the opportunity to see the luxurious results of that wonderful shampoo before moving on to the next kind!
Wash, Rinse, and Repeat!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Losing a child...
My friend buried her son yesterday.
Nicholas was only 10 years old. It was quite an experience to see a casket that small, and the effect it had on all who were present was intense. His older sister, Taylor, had suggested that people write messages on his casket, so in no time at all, the markers left indelible prayers and goodbyes as artwork for the afterlife.
The first time I met Nick was when Deidra’s daughter Rachel and my daughter Kathryn were in kindergarten. He was in a special stroller that put him at eye level. His features didn’t look quite right to me, but Meet the Teacher night didn’t seem like the appropriate venue to ask about his condition. It was several months later that I found out the truth: Nick had been a normal 6 month old, and then he had his vaccines. He became irrevocably brain damaged after that.
I admit that I had always been skeptical about the reports of this happening, or the severity of the injury due to the introduction of several serums at once. For whatever reason, the combination of these shots with Nick’s chemistry proved to be wholly incompatible. The first 3 children all managed their shots just fine, but not Nick.
Deidra never played the victim card. She and her family always included Nick in every family activity, reading to him every night, saving a special place at the table for every meal even though he received his nutrition through a feeding tube. Her husband meticulously researched nutritional supplements and alternative treatments to help Nick increase his quality of life. Eventually, they jumped through enough hoops to convince the US Federal Government’s National Vaccine Injury Compensation Program that they qualified for assistance, and were finally able to get some in-home nursing care. Most children who have the type of brain injury that Nick had don’t make it as long as he did, and it was because of the unconditional love and dogged determination of his family that he truly had a blessed experience.
I have to admit that I was torn at the funeral. I mean, how can you not bless the release of a soul who is trapped in a body that can’t communicate? And then I saw the posters that his siblings had made. He saved his smiles for them. There was an awareness that I had not been privileged to see, as he was almost always sleeping when I was around him. And no matter what his mental or physical state was, he had a family that loved him dearly. Another set of parents outlived one of their children.
This family will have some major adjusting to do, now that the 24/7 schedule of feeding, bathing, doctoring, and researching is over. Nick’s siblings will continue with their own busy lives, as their mom made sure that the burdens of caring for a disabled sibling was not going to keep them from a full life of their own.
Godspeed, young Nick. I hope you have fun running and playing with the angels now! And thanks, Deidra and family, for showing me what it means to love unconditionally.
Nicholas was only 10 years old. It was quite an experience to see a casket that small, and the effect it had on all who were present was intense. His older sister, Taylor, had suggested that people write messages on his casket, so in no time at all, the markers left indelible prayers and goodbyes as artwork for the afterlife.
The first time I met Nick was when Deidra’s daughter Rachel and my daughter Kathryn were in kindergarten. He was in a special stroller that put him at eye level. His features didn’t look quite right to me, but Meet the Teacher night didn’t seem like the appropriate venue to ask about his condition. It was several months later that I found out the truth: Nick had been a normal 6 month old, and then he had his vaccines. He became irrevocably brain damaged after that.
I admit that I had always been skeptical about the reports of this happening, or the severity of the injury due to the introduction of several serums at once. For whatever reason, the combination of these shots with Nick’s chemistry proved to be wholly incompatible. The first 3 children all managed their shots just fine, but not Nick.
Deidra never played the victim card. She and her family always included Nick in every family activity, reading to him every night, saving a special place at the table for every meal even though he received his nutrition through a feeding tube. Her husband meticulously researched nutritional supplements and alternative treatments to help Nick increase his quality of life. Eventually, they jumped through enough hoops to convince the US Federal Government’s National Vaccine Injury Compensation Program that they qualified for assistance, and were finally able to get some in-home nursing care. Most children who have the type of brain injury that Nick had don’t make it as long as he did, and it was because of the unconditional love and dogged determination of his family that he truly had a blessed experience.
I have to admit that I was torn at the funeral. I mean, how can you not bless the release of a soul who is trapped in a body that can’t communicate? And then I saw the posters that his siblings had made. He saved his smiles for them. There was an awareness that I had not been privileged to see, as he was almost always sleeping when I was around him. And no matter what his mental or physical state was, he had a family that loved him dearly. Another set of parents outlived one of their children.
This family will have some major adjusting to do, now that the 24/7 schedule of feeding, bathing, doctoring, and researching is over. Nick’s siblings will continue with their own busy lives, as their mom made sure that the burdens of caring for a disabled sibling was not going to keep them from a full life of their own.
Godspeed, young Nick. I hope you have fun running and playing with the angels now! And thanks, Deidra and family, for showing me what it means to love unconditionally.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I need a wife...
As I roll into the middle of my third week of work, I am finally realizing how important my role as a stay-at-home wife/mom was. Sure, I'm now bringing in a paycheck, but wow...this is tiring! Yeah, I know there is a collective groan going up from those who have been doing this for a very long time, but I'm just getting my stamina up. It has also coincided with a wonderful increase in other freelance writing gigs as well as new work for my Intuitive Interior endeavors, which makes for another full day on Saturdays and a partial work day on Sundays. My FaceBook participation is suffering (not necessarily a bad thing), I'm way behind on blogging (not that I was terribly active before), and my house is a mess. So, other than FB, not much has changed.
Yet again, I'm living proof that the busier I am, the more productive I am.
Today, I spent it in the field all day. Turns out my manager prefers that I make at least one daily visit to the office. My bad. I don't mind, I just thought I'd try to stay up north and save my new tires a bit. It's a different mindset in this company. They actually STOP working at 5. I'm not used to that concept. Having been employed as a field sales person for 7 years where my office was my car, and then a variety of other self-motivated pursuits, it's shocking to see that there really is a company that largely adheres to the 9-5 work day. It's kinda nice!
I'm off to enjoy some family time now. All work and no play makes for a cranky mom!
Yet again, I'm living proof that the busier I am, the more productive I am.
Today, I spent it in the field all day. Turns out my manager prefers that I make at least one daily visit to the office. My bad. I don't mind, I just thought I'd try to stay up north and save my new tires a bit. It's a different mindset in this company. They actually STOP working at 5. I'm not used to that concept. Having been employed as a field sales person for 7 years where my office was my car, and then a variety of other self-motivated pursuits, it's shocking to see that there really is a company that largely adheres to the 9-5 work day. It's kinda nice!
I'm off to enjoy some family time now. All work and no play makes for a cranky mom!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
New Job!
2010 is promising to be a very interesting year/decade. Besides just the usual realization that we have 365 days to put a new year on the end of our checks, I now have a new job! I will be selling advertising space for Dallas Child Magazine, one of the premier kid-oriented publications in the metroplex. I'm excited about this opportunity, but it also means a return to full-time work. I'll be chronicling this change for my first year to see how we all adjust to moving from a 1-income family to a dual-earner family. I've had such amazing flexibility up to this point, so going to a more structured schedule should be interesting! I'll keep you all posted. Job starts on the 18th, so I have a week to wrap up loose ends! I'll need it all... Whee!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Painting out the Decade...
Most people spend Christmas Eve either going to church, traveling to see far-off family members, or decorating cookies for Santa Claus’ visit. This year, I spent it painting.
It’s been 8 years since the walls of our home have been painted properly, and in those 8 years, we’ve seen our share of bumps & bruises, much like our walls. There was the dented corner in our upstairs loft, where my son first got introduced to the wonder that is scalp staples. Then there’s the pillar by the stairs, nearly black with residue from all of our hands using it for support as we zip up and down the steps. And who could forget the banged-up corners from the balls bounced for our sweet puppies?
As I watched the paintbrush glide over the spackled-over nail pops and repaired edges, I couldn’t help but reflect on the years that held the events of the damage. I don’t know about you, but this past decade has been full of surprises. Some happy, some sad, some downright scary.
Take, for example, our daughter’s first broken arm shortly after we moved into the house. We barely had time to meet people before we had to ask them for references for an orthopedic surgeon!
Then the thrill of finding a gold mine of friends when our son entered elementary school. I had heard stories about moms losing themselves in PTA activities and scoffed, until I found myself right in the thick of it, and loving the new-found camaraderie of other stay-at-home moms.
That connection proved to be invaluable as my second child entered kindergarten – and I entered the oncology ward. Breast cancer wasn’t on my initial to-do list of life events, but 2002 had other ideas. A fire earlier in the year had bequeathed us the joy of redecorating, and the paint color we have is still a reminder of that rushed time of decisions. In fact, I still refer to that year as my “country music” year, since many songs of that genre talk about times of great struggle and strife. My year was infused with humor, joy, and laughter, even though our dog died, my husband lost his job, I got cancer, my daughter broke her arm for the 3rd time, and my mama broke her hip. Oh, and of course, I nearly burned our house down. Ah, good times, good times…
Painting over the residue of that year allowed me to meditate on the answers that intense soul-searching hopes to provide. Money isn’t everything as long as you have your health, but it’s pretty darn nice to have both. Happiness is a mindset, not a destination. True character is shown when faced with the loss of a cherished pet…or parent. Personal growth can be quite uncomfortable, and not just for the person doing the growing. And the bonds of love can be strengthened by the most inauspicious of events.
I’m sure that 2010 will also begin another cycle of twists and turns, better than the plot of any best-selling novel. The best part? We’re in charge of the plot! I could never have imagined the outcome of the days of 2000-2009, just as 2010-2019 are a mystery. I have set some goals for myself, but have learned to focus more on how I wish to feel, and less on the specifics of what I want to happen. My imagination is far too limited. The Universe, God, Gaia, Allah, Jehovah, Creator, or whatever name you choose to give to your guiding spiritual leader wants to give you what you ask for, anyway. It just doesn’t always show up in the form you originally asked for. The word NOT tends to be ignored, so I ask for what I want, rather than what I don’t want, or don’t have, or don’t wish to feel.
As I put the final brushstrokes on my walls, closing out the Aughts, (the O-No’s?), I found myself saying a prayer of gratitude for all of our family’s experiences from the decade. We have a blank slate. I look forward to seeing what the Teens will paint on the canvas of our lives!
It’s been 8 years since the walls of our home have been painted properly, and in those 8 years, we’ve seen our share of bumps & bruises, much like our walls. There was the dented corner in our upstairs loft, where my son first got introduced to the wonder that is scalp staples. Then there’s the pillar by the stairs, nearly black with residue from all of our hands using it for support as we zip up and down the steps. And who could forget the banged-up corners from the balls bounced for our sweet puppies?
As I watched the paintbrush glide over the spackled-over nail pops and repaired edges, I couldn’t help but reflect on the years that held the events of the damage. I don’t know about you, but this past decade has been full of surprises. Some happy, some sad, some downright scary.
Take, for example, our daughter’s first broken arm shortly after we moved into the house. We barely had time to meet people before we had to ask them for references for an orthopedic surgeon!
Then the thrill of finding a gold mine of friends when our son entered elementary school. I had heard stories about moms losing themselves in PTA activities and scoffed, until I found myself right in the thick of it, and loving the new-found camaraderie of other stay-at-home moms.
That connection proved to be invaluable as my second child entered kindergarten – and I entered the oncology ward. Breast cancer wasn’t on my initial to-do list of life events, but 2002 had other ideas. A fire earlier in the year had bequeathed us the joy of redecorating, and the paint color we have is still a reminder of that rushed time of decisions. In fact, I still refer to that year as my “country music” year, since many songs of that genre talk about times of great struggle and strife. My year was infused with humor, joy, and laughter, even though our dog died, my husband lost his job, I got cancer, my daughter broke her arm for the 3rd time, and my mama broke her hip. Oh, and of course, I nearly burned our house down. Ah, good times, good times…
Painting over the residue of that year allowed me to meditate on the answers that intense soul-searching hopes to provide. Money isn’t everything as long as you have your health, but it’s pretty darn nice to have both. Happiness is a mindset, not a destination. True character is shown when faced with the loss of a cherished pet…or parent. Personal growth can be quite uncomfortable, and not just for the person doing the growing. And the bonds of love can be strengthened by the most inauspicious of events.
I’m sure that 2010 will also begin another cycle of twists and turns, better than the plot of any best-selling novel. The best part? We’re in charge of the plot! I could never have imagined the outcome of the days of 2000-2009, just as 2010-2019 are a mystery. I have set some goals for myself, but have learned to focus more on how I wish to feel, and less on the specifics of what I want to happen. My imagination is far too limited. The Universe, God, Gaia, Allah, Jehovah, Creator, or whatever name you choose to give to your guiding spiritual leader wants to give you what you ask for, anyway. It just doesn’t always show up in the form you originally asked for. The word NOT tends to be ignored, so I ask for what I want, rather than what I don’t want, or don’t have, or don’t wish to feel.
As I put the final brushstrokes on my walls, closing out the Aughts, (the O-No’s?), I found myself saying a prayer of gratitude for all of our family’s experiences from the decade. We have a blank slate. I look forward to seeing what the Teens will paint on the canvas of our lives!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Winter Solstice
The time is upon us where the nights will gradually become longer, and the daylight will thumb its nose at the preposterous notion of "savings time"...and it's time for our annual Winter Solstice celebration. This tradition began as a way to include all of our friends, several of whom are Jewish, Muslim, or simply non-Christian. Everybody can be happy about longer days, right?
And then I got the email about the family Christmas gathering from my mom.
"It is not just a winter holiday or the winter solstice as the politically correct people seem to think. How sad for the misguided, misled liberal thinkers. How I pray that the Holy Spirit would pop a light bulb of truth in their brains."
I love my family. I adore my mother. I don't agree with some of the religious or political viewpoints that my family holds, but we're still blood. So, Thanks, Mom! I really appreciate the prayers!
And, we can all appreciate the fact that we'll be able to enjoy more sunlight, minute by each precious minute. Happy Holidays, y'all!
And then I got the email about the family Christmas gathering from my mom.
"It is not just a winter holiday or the winter solstice as the politically correct people seem to think. How sad for the misguided, misled liberal thinkers. How I pray that the Holy Spirit would pop a light bulb of truth in their brains."
I love my family. I adore my mother. I don't agree with some of the religious or political viewpoints that my family holds, but we're still blood. So, Thanks, Mom! I really appreciate the prayers!
And, we can all appreciate the fact that we'll be able to enjoy more sunlight, minute by each precious minute. Happy Holidays, y'all!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Buddha Light
I just returned from a wonderful weekend conference at Harvard with His Holiness GrandMaster Lin Yun , leader of the 4th Stage of the Black Hat Sect of Tantric Buddhism. He is also the person responsible for bringing the more spiritual, less dogmatic type of Feng Shui that I practice to the U.S. I arrived in Boston expecting to learn a lot about "The Most Secretive of the Secretive Cures" and other arcane Feng Shui knowledge.
I left with a new respect for Buddhism in general.
Sure, I received many new tips and techniques to use on my Feng Shui appointments, but the tapestry that was woven around the lessons was rich and varied. I'm not one who is easily impressed by outward displays of reverence or flash. In fact, many of the participants turned me off by their sycophantic words of praise and adulation for Professor Lin. And even when I met him, it wasn't like there was a flash of light, angels surrounding him, or even any loud gongs sounding. It wasn't until the next day, when he gave us a glimpse of the sense of humor that lies buried in the intricacies of his native Mandarin, and his graciousness about allowing photos to be taken with him that I began to see why people are so fond of him.
I had been approaching him as a mere teacher, not the mentor that they were.
Many of the participants shed tears as the weekend drew to a close. I guess if I had been following someone around the world for 15-20 years, and now that time was nearing the end, I would be sad, too. I guess I still don't understand the devotion that comes with that type of dedication. Bands have their groupies...why not a spiritual teacher?
Some of the knowledge imparted still doesn't seem practical, but once my Western mind wraps itself around it, I'm sure I'll be able to adapt it properly to my clients' needs. All I can say is, if anyone has a really old Chinese cooking wok with a black bottom, please don't throw it away! Let me know and I'll tell you how it can serve you, all for the price of 9 red envelopes!
I took part in a special ceremony at the end of the weekend, too. While they called it "Refuge", and many actually prostrated themselved in front of Professor Lin, I perceived it as a type of blessing ceremony. The Buddhist nature of it was fascinating...so accepting of others and their belief systems...they actually stressed that they did NOT want anyone to convert to Buddhism, that the participants should keep their current belief systems. Wow! What a change to the standard Christian practice of Convert & Conquer...
I got a Chi Infusion from him, which left me energetically charged for days, too. That man has great energy! And eventually, I'll get a small golden Buddha statue, which will contain the energy of both Professor Lin and Crystal Chu, his successor.
Her Holiness Khadro Crystal Chu Rinpoche will take over teaching these Feng Shui seminars, as well as continue her work as a teacher of Buddhist philosophies around the world, once the 78-yr-old Professor chooses to retire. The fact that a woman was chosen to fill his shoes is huge...historically, women weren't even allowed to know anything about Feng Shui, let alone be the leader of a world-wide organization! She is a lovely and gracious individual, and I look forward to seeing what she will offer in her time.
I realized, too, that many of the meditations and prayers that I already say are not dissimilar to the ones presented during the weekend. The biggest difference was the vocabulary surrounding the invitation to allow the Universal Light into your heart. They simply used "Buddha Light"...but it's all Love. God's Love. Buddha's Love. Allah's Love. Sweet Spirit.
And it's all Good!
I left with a new respect for Buddhism in general.
Sure, I received many new tips and techniques to use on my Feng Shui appointments, but the tapestry that was woven around the lessons was rich and varied. I'm not one who is easily impressed by outward displays of reverence or flash. In fact, many of the participants turned me off by their sycophantic words of praise and adulation for Professor Lin. And even when I met him, it wasn't like there was a flash of light, angels surrounding him, or even any loud gongs sounding. It wasn't until the next day, when he gave us a glimpse of the sense of humor that lies buried in the intricacies of his native Mandarin, and his graciousness about allowing photos to be taken with him that I began to see why people are so fond of him.
I had been approaching him as a mere teacher, not the mentor that they were.
Many of the participants shed tears as the weekend drew to a close. I guess if I had been following someone around the world for 15-20 years, and now that time was nearing the end, I would be sad, too. I guess I still don't understand the devotion that comes with that type of dedication. Bands have their groupies...why not a spiritual teacher?
Some of the knowledge imparted still doesn't seem practical, but once my Western mind wraps itself around it, I'm sure I'll be able to adapt it properly to my clients' needs. All I can say is, if anyone has a really old Chinese cooking wok with a black bottom, please don't throw it away! Let me know and I'll tell you how it can serve you, all for the price of 9 red envelopes!
I took part in a special ceremony at the end of the weekend, too. While they called it "Refuge", and many actually prostrated themselved in front of Professor Lin, I perceived it as a type of blessing ceremony. The Buddhist nature of it was fascinating...so accepting of others and their belief systems...they actually stressed that they did NOT want anyone to convert to Buddhism, that the participants should keep their current belief systems. Wow! What a change to the standard Christian practice of Convert & Conquer...
I got a Chi Infusion from him, which left me energetically charged for days, too. That man has great energy! And eventually, I'll get a small golden Buddha statue, which will contain the energy of both Professor Lin and Crystal Chu, his successor.
Her Holiness Khadro Crystal Chu Rinpoche will take over teaching these Feng Shui seminars, as well as continue her work as a teacher of Buddhist philosophies around the world, once the 78-yr-old Professor chooses to retire. The fact that a woman was chosen to fill his shoes is huge...historically, women weren't even allowed to know anything about Feng Shui, let alone be the leader of a world-wide organization! She is a lovely and gracious individual, and I look forward to seeing what she will offer in her time.
I realized, too, that many of the meditations and prayers that I already say are not dissimilar to the ones presented during the weekend. The biggest difference was the vocabulary surrounding the invitation to allow the Universal Light into your heart. They simply used "Buddha Light"...but it's all Love. God's Love. Buddha's Love. Allah's Love. Sweet Spirit.
And it's all Good!
Friday, September 11, 2009
Mum Madness
Some days, I wonder just what planet I live on, but then I realize that it's just Texas. My latest foray into the unknown culture of this place began with a late-night quest for the mythical Homecoming Mum. Of course, all of the local grocery stores and Walgreens were already depleted of their allotted beribboned adornments, so I had no choice but to wait for Hobby Lobby to open the next day.
There, I was greeted by a meager assortment of baubles and bells, as well as the bases for this traditional item. I thought I had struck the jackpot when I found a pre-made one for the low, low price of...(insert choking sound here)... $45! I beat feet to Michael's, thinking that surely they would be cheaper there.
Oh, but I would be wrong. I did find a nicer pre-made one for $50, and one that was even cooler for $99, but I couldn't wrap my head around the concept of paying someone else to glue-gun and staple loads of ribbon, crappy-do ornaments, and curled ribbons onto what can only be described as an overly festooned rosette.
In fact, the last time I had seen a rosette like that was when I won Grand Champion Swine Showperson as a Senior in my own High School back in Kansas! So, why were we now pinning these things on all of the girls on their respective Homecoming weekends?
Apparently, because the bigger the Mum, the more you are loved.
And because Texans like everything big, these things have taken on ridiculous proportions. In fact, I was given an important piece of advice...put a necklace on it so it doesn't rip the girl's clothing. Yep, they're that big.
And it's not just for the girls. The boys have their own, albeit smaller, sized mum to wear on their arms. Garter belts...on steroids. Hopefully that's the only thing that's on steroids, because, after all, this is Texas and they like their football players big.
Because I'm a crafty gal when I want to be, I plunked down my $43 and took my booty home to create what I thought would be the ugliest, most gaudy piece of fluff imaginable...in other words, perfect. A surprising thing happened while wielding this glue gun, though...I began to swear like a sailor! Granted, this isn't a side of me that I like very much, and have successfully kept it under wraps for over 20 years, but this tradition is so overtly biased that I found myself struggling to not through the entire thing in the trash.
I'm all for traditions. I just find that spending upwards of $200 on an overgrown chrysanthemum is rather egregious.
I'm also very grateful that I didn't grow up with this particular tradition. As the youngest of 8 in a poor farming family, we didn't have extra money to lavish on many extras. Granted, I probably would have worked extra hours in the summer laboring in the fields to save enough to get whatever I could in order to "fit in". I did just that for many other reasons that today, seem quite trivial if I remember them at all.
It finally dawned on me that the reason for my profanity wasn't because it was hard, or because we couldn't afford it. It was because I kept thinking of all of the other girls who wouldn't be getting one. You see, I would have been one of the mum-less. I was never part of the "in crowd", which was even more exclusive in the 62-person high school of my youth.
After the contraption became a legitimate work of Texas art, I began to wonder at the stress I had just put on myself. A big part of it was because I didn't want to disappoint my son, who was really excited to give it to his girlfriend. Anytime he wants to involve me in his life, I'm there, so because this was important to him, it was important to me. The other huge piece was the sheer hypocracy of it all. After all, I constantly espouse the concept that we are all one, that what happens to a part affects the whole, and that everyone has a value that is beyond measure. Yet here I was, curling golden ribbon into ringlets so this mum would have enough bling to blind Stevie Wonder again.
I guess that goes to show you that even an enlightened individual (most of the time, anyway) gets caught up in the fever pitch of the masses, especially if it involves your children.
There, I was greeted by a meager assortment of baubles and bells, as well as the bases for this traditional item. I thought I had struck the jackpot when I found a pre-made one for the low, low price of...(insert choking sound here)... $45! I beat feet to Michael's, thinking that surely they would be cheaper there.
Oh, but I would be wrong. I did find a nicer pre-made one for $50, and one that was even cooler for $99, but I couldn't wrap my head around the concept of paying someone else to glue-gun and staple loads of ribbon, crappy-do ornaments, and curled ribbons onto what can only be described as an overly festooned rosette.
In fact, the last time I had seen a rosette like that was when I won Grand Champion Swine Showperson as a Senior in my own High School back in Kansas! So, why were we now pinning these things on all of the girls on their respective Homecoming weekends?
Apparently, because the bigger the Mum, the more you are loved.
And because Texans like everything big, these things have taken on ridiculous proportions. In fact, I was given an important piece of advice...put a necklace on it so it doesn't rip the girl's clothing. Yep, they're that big.
And it's not just for the girls. The boys have their own, albeit smaller, sized mum to wear on their arms. Garter belts...on steroids. Hopefully that's the only thing that's on steroids, because, after all, this is Texas and they like their football players big.
Because I'm a crafty gal when I want to be, I plunked down my $43 and took my booty home to create what I thought would be the ugliest, most gaudy piece of fluff imaginable...in other words, perfect. A surprising thing happened while wielding this glue gun, though...I began to swear like a sailor! Granted, this isn't a side of me that I like very much, and have successfully kept it under wraps for over 20 years, but this tradition is so overtly biased that I found myself struggling to not through the entire thing in the trash.
I'm all for traditions. I just find that spending upwards of $200 on an overgrown chrysanthemum is rather egregious.
I'm also very grateful that I didn't grow up with this particular tradition. As the youngest of 8 in a poor farming family, we didn't have extra money to lavish on many extras. Granted, I probably would have worked extra hours in the summer laboring in the fields to save enough to get whatever I could in order to "fit in". I did just that for many other reasons that today, seem quite trivial if I remember them at all.
It finally dawned on me that the reason for my profanity wasn't because it was hard, or because we couldn't afford it. It was because I kept thinking of all of the other girls who wouldn't be getting one. You see, I would have been one of the mum-less. I was never part of the "in crowd", which was even more exclusive in the 62-person high school of my youth.
After the contraption became a legitimate work of Texas art, I began to wonder at the stress I had just put on myself. A big part of it was because I didn't want to disappoint my son, who was really excited to give it to his girlfriend. Anytime he wants to involve me in his life, I'm there, so because this was important to him, it was important to me. The other huge piece was the sheer hypocracy of it all. After all, I constantly espouse the concept that we are all one, that what happens to a part affects the whole, and that everyone has a value that is beyond measure. Yet here I was, curling golden ribbon into ringlets so this mum would have enough bling to blind Stevie Wonder again.
I guess that goes to show you that even an enlightened individual (most of the time, anyway) gets caught up in the fever pitch of the masses, especially if it involves your children.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Flipping the Switch
There are some days when you think that all is well with the world, and what little there is that isn't working can simply be cured by a snooze in front of the TV. And then there are days when you wake up from that dozey state and the world just looks wrong.
Last night was one of those days.
I racked my brain trying to figure out why I woke up being hyper-critical of my children's action (when they truly hadn't been doing anything wrong), and why I was still extremely moody this morning when I noticed the date at the top of the newspaper: August 20th.
7 years ago, we dropped Kathryn off at her first full day of kindergarten. Then we drove to Baylor Medical Center to start the first round of my chemotherapy.
I truly thought I had addressed these emotional connections with this date through all of my various means of mental/emotional/energy/psychological work, but here I am, tears streaming down my face, emotions on my sleeve, intestines in my throat...that same heart-pounding fear coursing through my veins as if I were going to make that drive and get The Red Devil (Adriamycin) pumped into me.
I feel like a failure for allowing this to happen. AGAIN. And yet, I know that I'm not, since I'm aware enough to make this connection. And the more I allow these emotions to flow through me, the calmer I am about knowing that they won't get stuck somewhere in my tissues. I've had a great deal of pain and discomfort in my upper back area, so much so that my left hand and fingers will occasionally tingle with that pinched-nerve feeling. I haven't made time for a massage or chiropractor, so it will have to wait until Saturday, but in the meantime, I checked out my trusty "Heal Your Body" book by Louise Hay. This connects physical ailments with the metaphysical and emotional connections to them. Here's what it says about 5-T, the vertebrae where the tightness & pain begins:
Refusing to process the emotions. Dammed-up feelings, rage.
I have to accept the fact that I'm not the one controlling anything. Yes, I have great influence on how I react to situations and events, but not on the actual events. Even my own emotions are tossed around like a toy boat in a bathtub when the turbulence of deeply buried feelings bubble up from below. I guess a dam burst last night, and it's leaking out through my eyes.
The affirmation that accompanies this is also a good one to live by:
I let life flow through me. I am willing to live. All is well.
I've lost 2 people close to my own age lately from cancer, and yesterday another dear person asked me about a pea-sized lump that seems to be attached to her ribcage. She has 3 young children, and a family history to boot. You bet that unnerved me. I don't want anyone to have to deal with what I did, but at the same time, I'm powerless to stop it.
I let life flow through me. I am willing to live. All is well.
Last night was one of those days.
I racked my brain trying to figure out why I woke up being hyper-critical of my children's action (when they truly hadn't been doing anything wrong), and why I was still extremely moody this morning when I noticed the date at the top of the newspaper: August 20th.
7 years ago, we dropped Kathryn off at her first full day of kindergarten. Then we drove to Baylor Medical Center to start the first round of my chemotherapy.
I truly thought I had addressed these emotional connections with this date through all of my various means of mental/emotional/energy/psychological work, but here I am, tears streaming down my face, emotions on my sleeve, intestines in my throat...that same heart-pounding fear coursing through my veins as if I were going to make that drive and get The Red Devil (Adriamycin) pumped into me.
I feel like a failure for allowing this to happen. AGAIN. And yet, I know that I'm not, since I'm aware enough to make this connection. And the more I allow these emotions to flow through me, the calmer I am about knowing that they won't get stuck somewhere in my tissues. I've had a great deal of pain and discomfort in my upper back area, so much so that my left hand and fingers will occasionally tingle with that pinched-nerve feeling. I haven't made time for a massage or chiropractor, so it will have to wait until Saturday, but in the meantime, I checked out my trusty "Heal Your Body" book by Louise Hay. This connects physical ailments with the metaphysical and emotional connections to them. Here's what it says about 5-T, the vertebrae where the tightness & pain begins:
Refusing to process the emotions. Dammed-up feelings, rage.
I have to accept the fact that I'm not the one controlling anything. Yes, I have great influence on how I react to situations and events, but not on the actual events. Even my own emotions are tossed around like a toy boat in a bathtub when the turbulence of deeply buried feelings bubble up from below. I guess a dam burst last night, and it's leaking out through my eyes.
The affirmation that accompanies this is also a good one to live by:
I let life flow through me. I am willing to live. All is well.
I've lost 2 people close to my own age lately from cancer, and yesterday another dear person asked me about a pea-sized lump that seems to be attached to her ribcage. She has 3 young children, and a family history to boot. You bet that unnerved me. I don't want anyone to have to deal with what I did, but at the same time, I'm powerless to stop it.
I let life flow through me. I am willing to live. All is well.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Time for Tomatoes!
At long last, I have a garden! A real one, with actual soil, not the clay stuff that came with the house. Raised beds, lovingly built by my adorable husband and filled with the black gold by the same sweet man and my increasingly buff son.
And then it sat.
And sat.
And sat.
The soil's organic matter decomposed, leaving the beds only half full. Grass began to peek around the edges of the 2x8x10 boards and tickled my feet when I walked on the pavestones placed in between the 2 large beds. My men began to fear that all of their hard work was for naught.
However, today I finally did something with them. 6 more bags of topsoil and 22 plants later, I have some green stuff sprouting from them! Because of the late date, I focused one bed on strictly ornamental flowering plants - annuals, since next spring that bed will be providing all sorts of yummy veggies. The other bed had 4 tomato plants that the greenhouse assured me would have time to produce some fruit. I also planted more basil, parsley, dill, sage, and a couple of interesting-looking pepper plants. I've never tried a fall garden, so am really looking forward to seeing how things grow. Now the next step is to get something in the corner of the yard that is also very barren. I've relocated our former patio table and chairs there, and soon will have some color to surround it. Let's just hope it won't be next year!
And then it sat.
And sat.
And sat.
The soil's organic matter decomposed, leaving the beds only half full. Grass began to peek around the edges of the 2x8x10 boards and tickled my feet when I walked on the pavestones placed in between the 2 large beds. My men began to fear that all of their hard work was for naught.
However, today I finally did something with them. 6 more bags of topsoil and 22 plants later, I have some green stuff sprouting from them! Because of the late date, I focused one bed on strictly ornamental flowering plants - annuals, since next spring that bed will be providing all sorts of yummy veggies. The other bed had 4 tomato plants that the greenhouse assured me would have time to produce some fruit. I also planted more basil, parsley, dill, sage, and a couple of interesting-looking pepper plants. I've never tried a fall garden, so am really looking forward to seeing how things grow. Now the next step is to get something in the corner of the yard that is also very barren. I've relocated our former patio table and chairs there, and soon will have some color to surround it. Let's just hope it won't be next year!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
I feel LUCKY!!!
No, not the type of Dirty Harry "Do you feel lucky, punk?" lucky...the kind of lucky that makes one buy a lottery ticket. Even if the winning numbers are on someone else's piece of paper, it was the kind of day that made me realize what joy is out there in the world.
3 Yatzees in a single game. A 45-minute commute to downtown Dallas during morning rush hour. A shopping trip without a single argument.
Yep. It just doesn't get any better than that. Gotta love days like this! Never mind what tomorrow has in store, either. I'm embracing this feeling and lovin' every minute of it!
3 Yatzees in a single game. A 45-minute commute to downtown Dallas during morning rush hour. A shopping trip without a single argument.
Yep. It just doesn't get any better than that. Gotta love days like this! Never mind what tomorrow has in store, either. I'm embracing this feeling and lovin' every minute of it!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Backpack, be gone!
I threw away my son's backpack today. It was a nice backpack at one point in time, ready to carry the trappings of higher learning that all 8th graders need, as well as special pockets for Mp3 players, cell phones, and water bottles. However, when it finally hit the bottom of the trash can with a resounding whimper, it bore no resemblance to anything that had been loved. The shoulder harnesses had been brutally ripped from the body, merely hanging on by the proverbial thread, holes had been unceremoniously cut/gouged from the sides, taking on the anger/boredom from the 14 year old owner. Creative designs from pens and Sharpies were the only indication that it had at one point been something other than a simple receptacle, something that was valued beyond its practical use.
However, as time went on and the lessons became tediously difficult, the bag took on a new role. It was weapon, harness, pillow, stepstool, lunchbox, and secret-storer. It took everything it had to survive that last year of middle school, much like it had taken everything my son had in him to get to that last bell.
It's done. He's done, and now they can both rest easy with the knowledge that middle school is a thing of the past. High school will bring new challenges, but the new attitude will be accompanied by a brand new backpack.
However, as time went on and the lessons became tediously difficult, the bag took on a new role. It was weapon, harness, pillow, stepstool, lunchbox, and secret-storer. It took everything it had to survive that last year of middle school, much like it had taken everything my son had in him to get to that last bell.
It's done. He's done, and now they can both rest easy with the knowledge that middle school is a thing of the past. High school will bring new challenges, but the new attitude will be accompanied by a brand new backpack.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Rat Park?
I somehow got on a list for Oprah's magazine, and most of the time it ends up in the electronic File 13. However, today was different. An article about how to stop self-sabotage caught my eye, and after nodding my head in agreement over how the author assisted a client through her issues, I noticed a link to something about Rat Park. I couldn't resist checking it out. Here's an excerpt from the online article:
"The term comes from a study conducted in 1981 by psychologist Bruce Alexander and colleagues. He noted that many addiction studies had something in common: The lab rats they used were locked in uncomfortable, isolating cages. Testing a hunch, Alexander gathered two groups of rats. For the first, he built a 200-square-foot rodent paradise called Rat Park. There a colony of white Wister rats found luxurious accommodations for all their favorite pastimes—mingling, mating, raising pups, writing articles for newspaper tabloids. The second group was housed in the traditional cages. Alexander offered both groups a choice of plain water or sugar water laced with morphine. Like rats in other studies, the traditionally caged animals became instant addicts. However, the residents of Rat Park tended to "just say no," avoiding the drug-treated sugar water. Even rats that were already addicted to morphine tended to lay off the hard stuff when in Rat Park. Put them back in their cages, however, and they'd stay stoned as Deadheads." (Martha Beck)
Whoa.... First thought: "How cool!" Second thought: "How Cruel!" Third thought: "Rats can write?"
How many times do we willingly cage ourselves, only to medicate our unhappiness with drugs, alcohol, excess shopping, illicit affairs, or extended stays in grad school? Who told us that there was no way out? We get to choose each day if we live in a cage or in our own version of Rat Park. I think the park sounds like a nicer place. How about you?
"The term comes from a study conducted in 1981 by psychologist Bruce Alexander and colleagues. He noted that many addiction studies had something in common: The lab rats they used were locked in uncomfortable, isolating cages. Testing a hunch, Alexander gathered two groups of rats. For the first, he built a 200-square-foot rodent paradise called Rat Park. There a colony of white Wister rats found luxurious accommodations for all their favorite pastimes—mingling, mating, raising pups, writing articles for newspaper tabloids. The second group was housed in the traditional cages. Alexander offered both groups a choice of plain water or sugar water laced with morphine. Like rats in other studies, the traditionally caged animals became instant addicts. However, the residents of Rat Park tended to "just say no," avoiding the drug-treated sugar water. Even rats that were already addicted to morphine tended to lay off the hard stuff when in Rat Park. Put them back in their cages, however, and they'd stay stoned as Deadheads." (Martha Beck)
Whoa.... First thought: "How cool!" Second thought: "How Cruel!" Third thought: "Rats can write?"
How many times do we willingly cage ourselves, only to medicate our unhappiness with drugs, alcohol, excess shopping, illicit affairs, or extended stays in grad school? Who told us that there was no way out? We get to choose each day if we live in a cage or in our own version of Rat Park. I think the park sounds like a nicer place. How about you?
Friday, June 5, 2009
The experiment continues...
I did an experiment on myself a couple of months ago: I stopped eating meat. Yes, I still enjoyed my dairy and eggs, and I didn’t freak out when something was made with chicken stock, but I really wanted to see what would happen to me both physically and mentally when faced with a life sans animal flesh.
At first it was very difficult. Our family diet had become quite meat-centric, and it was very boring at the fast-food counter. I used the 6-week period called Lent in the Catholic faith tradition as my parameters, so I could keep up with my experiment easier. Here’s what happened:
- I lost weight. Well, not really that much, but my stomach wasn’t as bloated trying to keep up with the difficult digestive process that meat requires.
- I cooked more at home. After all, most vegetarian options at restaurants are limited to very cheesy offerings, and that gets boring.
- I found that I was able to be more open energetically. Meat was “dumbing down” my otherwise sensitive energy antennae.
Now that I’ve been partaking of burgers and brats again, I have noticed a couple more interesting tidbits:
- The bloat is back. In fact, I look like I’ve gained an entire size in my pants, though the scale still says the same number.
- I’ve found it more challenging to stay on top of my emotions. Hormones from the meat? Could be, or it could be the karmic load from taking the life of an unblessed animal.
- Energetically, I’ve found myself to be “dirtier”. There’s just more junk that seems to come my way, and it seems to be tougher to clear it out.
So, I’m going to take a page from my Feng Shui practice, and de-clutter my diet. Sure, the occasional chicken sandwich may still cross the road into my stomach, but I’m going to reset my default to wholesome, locally grown produce. And cheesecake. Can’t forget the cheesecake!
At first it was very difficult. Our family diet had become quite meat-centric, and it was very boring at the fast-food counter. I used the 6-week period called Lent in the Catholic faith tradition as my parameters, so I could keep up with my experiment easier. Here’s what happened:
- I lost weight. Well, not really that much, but my stomach wasn’t as bloated trying to keep up with the difficult digestive process that meat requires.
- I cooked more at home. After all, most vegetarian options at restaurants are limited to very cheesy offerings, and that gets boring.
- I found that I was able to be more open energetically. Meat was “dumbing down” my otherwise sensitive energy antennae.
Now that I’ve been partaking of burgers and brats again, I have noticed a couple more interesting tidbits:
- The bloat is back. In fact, I look like I’ve gained an entire size in my pants, though the scale still says the same number.
- I’ve found it more challenging to stay on top of my emotions. Hormones from the meat? Could be, or it could be the karmic load from taking the life of an unblessed animal.
- Energetically, I’ve found myself to be “dirtier”. There’s just more junk that seems to come my way, and it seems to be tougher to clear it out.
So, I’m going to take a page from my Feng Shui practice, and de-clutter my diet. Sure, the occasional chicken sandwich may still cross the road into my stomach, but I’m going to reset my default to wholesome, locally grown produce. And cheesecake. Can’t forget the cheesecake!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Moving day...
I hate packing. I have to go through every single little thing before I put it into the box, because I loathe finding junk when I'm unpacking. Thankfully I was only moving my office from one part of the house to another. The bad part is that a chain reaction was required to do so.
First, I had to clean out our loft area, or at least one side of it. That required the assistance of my children, since it was their piles of junk that had clogged the energetic artery. Next, the requisite disagreement over where to place the desk. I compromised by putting a temporary desk arrangement downstairs in the front of the house so if I didn't keep it neat, the office furniture would be waiting for me upstairs. Finally, now that the behemoth desk is sitting vacant in the loft, freeing up the game room, we can take the remainder of the cash from the sale of our wooden fort and purchase a cool pool table/air hocky game! I'm eager to give the kids their game room, even though it means moving our nice big 50" plasma upstairs.
Moving anything stirs up a lot of stuff. I'm not just talking about dust bunnies, either. There are a lot of emotions that are attached to the things that need to be tossed. When you let go of something, it frees up your hands to receive new abundance. Maybe that's why I got 2 new clients today and the possibility of 2 more within hours of turning on my computer in the new location! I'm excited about having a space that is away from the kids, not because I don't love them, but because I love ME! I needed to find a spot in the house that wasn't predicated on practicality, but rather something that focused on helping me develop my personality as a writer.
I realized that I couldn't write while sitting in my loft. It's just not grounded enough for me to feel safe to let my ideas really flow. It's unfortunate that we have a glorious space for a big desk and room to spread out lots of files there, but if I spend too much time there, I begin to feel spacey, nauseous, and disoriented. Perhaps I'm too sensitive, or too stubborn to admit that it could work, but right now, I'm thrilled that I am sitting in the Skills & Knowledge section of my home, knowing that this will enable me to find the resources I need to begin work on my books.
First, though...a new chair. This one isn't very comfortable. And to think that I used to believe that my bottom already had enough cushion! Could this be an excuse to eat more cheesecake? Perhaps! :-)
First, I had to clean out our loft area, or at least one side of it. That required the assistance of my children, since it was their piles of junk that had clogged the energetic artery. Next, the requisite disagreement over where to place the desk. I compromised by putting a temporary desk arrangement downstairs in the front of the house so if I didn't keep it neat, the office furniture would be waiting for me upstairs. Finally, now that the behemoth desk is sitting vacant in the loft, freeing up the game room, we can take the remainder of the cash from the sale of our wooden fort and purchase a cool pool table/air hocky game! I'm eager to give the kids their game room, even though it means moving our nice big 50" plasma upstairs.
Moving anything stirs up a lot of stuff. I'm not just talking about dust bunnies, either. There are a lot of emotions that are attached to the things that need to be tossed. When you let go of something, it frees up your hands to receive new abundance. Maybe that's why I got 2 new clients today and the possibility of 2 more within hours of turning on my computer in the new location! I'm excited about having a space that is away from the kids, not because I don't love them, but because I love ME! I needed to find a spot in the house that wasn't predicated on practicality, but rather something that focused on helping me develop my personality as a writer.
I realized that I couldn't write while sitting in my loft. It's just not grounded enough for me to feel safe to let my ideas really flow. It's unfortunate that we have a glorious space for a big desk and room to spread out lots of files there, but if I spend too much time there, I begin to feel spacey, nauseous, and disoriented. Perhaps I'm too sensitive, or too stubborn to admit that it could work, but right now, I'm thrilled that I am sitting in the Skills & Knowledge section of my home, knowing that this will enable me to find the resources I need to begin work on my books.
First, though...a new chair. This one isn't very comfortable. And to think that I used to believe that my bottom already had enough cushion! Could this be an excuse to eat more cheesecake? Perhaps! :-)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Fear-inducing oinks...
OK, I've had enough. It's only day 4 or so of the swine flu hysteria, and the panic in the 'burbs is spreading like wildfire. Never mind the fact that there have been ZERO cases of the illness in the neighboring counties. Never mind the fact that people who get sick recover (yeah, there have been a couple of deaths, but not enough to warrant this reaction), and never mind that hand sanitizer is anti-BACTERIAL and has no impact on a VIRUS!!
I refuse to buy into the sensation that is being created over this. Yes, if you have a serious underlying health condition, then please take all necessary precautions. However, it seems ridiculous to me to cancel all UIL athletic and academic competitions and many other extracurricular activities just on the mere HINT of a sneeze. That's like cutting off your toe in case you might stub it, or getting both breasts removed simply because someone in another city got a positive result for cancer. Oh, wait, there are those who do that, too... At any rate, it's a move that is out of proportion with the threat. Of course, this is just my opinion.
On the other hand, much of a person's reaction to this event depends on their own personal filter. My husband has the opposite reaction to all of these measures, and my daughter is on the fence. Both have recently finished reading books on the Plague and the yellow fever epidemic of 1793, so the horror of an epidemic/pandemic is still fresh in their minds. Avoiding public places and following the advice of the CDC is not a bad thing, but it's unfortunate that everyone is freaking out. I liken it to the whole terrorism color-coding alert system. After a while, you just tune it out.
My Louise Hay book, "Heal Your Body", correlates physical illnesses with likely mental causes, and here's what she has to say about influenza:
Probable Cause: Response to mass negativity and beliefs. Fear. Belief in statistics.
New Thought Pattern: I am beyond group beliefs or the calendar. I am free from all congestion and influence.
I plan on saying that positive affirmation on a daily basis until this "crisis" is over. That, and washing my hands.
I refuse to buy into the sensation that is being created over this. Yes, if you have a serious underlying health condition, then please take all necessary precautions. However, it seems ridiculous to me to cancel all UIL athletic and academic competitions and many other extracurricular activities just on the mere HINT of a sneeze. That's like cutting off your toe in case you might stub it, or getting both breasts removed simply because someone in another city got a positive result for cancer. Oh, wait, there are those who do that, too... At any rate, it's a move that is out of proportion with the threat. Of course, this is just my opinion.
On the other hand, much of a person's reaction to this event depends on their own personal filter. My husband has the opposite reaction to all of these measures, and my daughter is on the fence. Both have recently finished reading books on the Plague and the yellow fever epidemic of 1793, so the horror of an epidemic/pandemic is still fresh in their minds. Avoiding public places and following the advice of the CDC is not a bad thing, but it's unfortunate that everyone is freaking out. I liken it to the whole terrorism color-coding alert system. After a while, you just tune it out.
My Louise Hay book, "Heal Your Body", correlates physical illnesses with likely mental causes, and here's what she has to say about influenza:
Probable Cause: Response to mass negativity and beliefs. Fear. Belief in statistics.
New Thought Pattern: I am beyond group beliefs or the calendar. I am free from all congestion and influence.
I plan on saying that positive affirmation on a daily basis until this "crisis" is over. That, and washing my hands.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Mission Accomplished!
Hurray! The wedding went off without a hitch, I'm grateful to say. Well, other than the fact that I forgot to tell the guests to sit down after my brother & sister-in-law gave their blessing to my niece....but thankfully the maid of honor whispered in my ear that they were still standing. So, everyone got to stand while they recited their vows, oh well... :-)
I still find it hard to believe that I married a couple. The fact that it was my niece who has had to deal with the direct comparison to me all of her life made it all the more special. In fact, the whole event was magical. It started on time, no one in the bridal party fainted, and even the last-minute change of the sand ceremony by the high winds made the whole thing just perfect. Instead of the two glasses of sand standing on a small table up front, the wind forced them to be presented to the happy couple by the bride's parents. Yeah, I could absolutely get used to the energy rush of pure joy from everyone at the ceremony... Still, a sage bit of advice from another minister friend comparing the officiant to a piece of furniture gave me new perspective on my role, and it also took all of the pressure off. Thanks, Ellen!
My aunt was able to attend with her ailing husband, too. They made the Herculean effort to drive from LaCrosse, KS, all the way to Denton. Justin has been battling severe diabetes for decades, and is usually confined to a wheelchair, unless he's back in the hospital for various complications of the disease. The stars aligned for this event, though, and he had enough energy to actually get up out of the chair and dance for several songs! The ecstacy and wonder in his children's faces was equaled only by the unabashed joy and gratitude on his wife's face. Justin wore a grin from ear to ear all night long...poetry, pure poetry! It was the completion of a promise that Justin made to his grandson that if Mat ever got married, then he would come to his wedding. And so he did.
Perhaps I am biased, but this whole event was almost surreal in the blending of families, the ease of old friends reconnecting, and the nearly seamless transitions from pre-wedding jitters to post-ceremony joy. Yeah, I got to stand up front and say some words, but this had a truly blessed feel to the entire day that could only come from the Creator.
Yeah, I do still sound like a bliss bunny, I know, but it really was that cool! Guess some of that may stem from the feeling that my husband and I renewed our vows by proxy, and by being able to dance the night away myself, and by having both of my children tell me several times that I did good, but regardless, I think I'll hold onto this feeling for a long time. It's a keeper!
I still find it hard to believe that I married a couple. The fact that it was my niece who has had to deal with the direct comparison to me all of her life made it all the more special. In fact, the whole event was magical. It started on time, no one in the bridal party fainted, and even the last-minute change of the sand ceremony by the high winds made the whole thing just perfect. Instead of the two glasses of sand standing on a small table up front, the wind forced them to be presented to the happy couple by the bride's parents. Yeah, I could absolutely get used to the energy rush of pure joy from everyone at the ceremony... Still, a sage bit of advice from another minister friend comparing the officiant to a piece of furniture gave me new perspective on my role, and it also took all of the pressure off. Thanks, Ellen!
My aunt was able to attend with her ailing husband, too. They made the Herculean effort to drive from LaCrosse, KS, all the way to Denton. Justin has been battling severe diabetes for decades, and is usually confined to a wheelchair, unless he's back in the hospital for various complications of the disease. The stars aligned for this event, though, and he had enough energy to actually get up out of the chair and dance for several songs! The ecstacy and wonder in his children's faces was equaled only by the unabashed joy and gratitude on his wife's face. Justin wore a grin from ear to ear all night long...poetry, pure poetry! It was the completion of a promise that Justin made to his grandson that if Mat ever got married, then he would come to his wedding. And so he did.
Perhaps I am biased, but this whole event was almost surreal in the blending of families, the ease of old friends reconnecting, and the nearly seamless transitions from pre-wedding jitters to post-ceremony joy. Yeah, I got to stand up front and say some words, but this had a truly blessed feel to the entire day that could only come from the Creator.
Yeah, I do still sound like a bliss bunny, I know, but it really was that cool! Guess some of that may stem from the feeling that my husband and I renewed our vows by proxy, and by being able to dance the night away myself, and by having both of my children tell me several times that I did good, but regardless, I think I'll hold onto this feeling for a long time. It's a keeper!
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