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September 28th, 2011 A few weeks ago, I texted my daughters and my dear friend that I was cooking dinner for my husband, who was on his way to the cape. I had to text them so as not to deprive them of the entertainment this was sure to provide. Everyone in my circle knows I don’t cook and my husband really enjoys it and on weekends makes me fabulous food. He also makes me enough food to have dinner all week long.
Every Friday, as he is driving out, I go buy two supermarket roasted chickens so he’d have food when he gets here late at night. We have had so many “cheap chicken Fridays” (on Friday the chickens are two for ten dollars), that I felt sorry for him arriving home to another chicken. In a magazine earlier that week I came across something that sounded good. Spinach and cheese tomato tortellini. Usually when a recipe catches my attention, after I read it, I find it has way too many ingredients, contains weird stuff I wouldn’t know the first place where to go buy, or has too many steps and may involve cooking equipment I’ve never heard of – such as a potato ricer. I was pleasantly surprised this one was within my reach on all counts – 2 steps and 9 ingredients, two of which were salt and pepper. I tossed the idea of making it around in my head for two days. On Friday I made up my mind to go buy the stuff and give it a go.
Oh….I had tortellini boiling, olive oil and red pepper flakes heating on the stove and was trying in vain to mince two cloves of garlic before it started smoking. (The little slices kept squeezing out of place and I had to keep sticking them back in – I told my friend it was YouTube worthy) After getting the garlic in the pan, I realized I hadn’t halved the cherry tomatoes or sliced the mushrooms and now was trying to do that before the garlic was extra crispy. (I was making mental notes on how I’d change this next time – I actually considered a next time).
Anyway, despite a few mechanical difficulties, it really turned out great. My husband was thoroughly appreciative of not having to eat Friday night chicken for the tenth week in a row, but on top of that, he really loved it. He even ate it the next day and loved it cold, as a pasta salad. (His exact words: “You hit a home run with this one, dear!)
I was completely satisfied and proud of my accomplishment. So much so, that tonight I actually INVITED a girlfriend over for dinner and I’m making it again. I added an appetizer, some French bread, and…..apple crisp for dessert – the directions on that package only had two ingredients and three steps – way below my skill level now.
It’s 3pm and the apple crisp is done, warm on the stove making the house smell delicious. I’ll start cooking at four. I even have time for a walk in between. This folks, is NOT me. Usually having someone over to eat something I cooked, without my husband to do it all, would cause extreme anxiety – for days. Today I actually feel happy and relaxed and am looking forward to an evening visiting with my friend. Could it be I’m finally, on this journey, finding a certain security in myself as I drop fear and anxiety by the roadside? I’d never know had I decided not to cook that meal for my husband.
And so, as another day goes by, there’s something to be said for tip-toeing across that line marking my comfort zone, and …I have written.
…..not bad, huh? :))))
September 27th, 2011 Today I was reminded of a toy I used to play with as a child. On Easter my siblings and I would often get those huge Easter baskets wrapped in cellophane containing wonderfully intriguing little toys. I remember being about eight years old when Chinese handcuffs were in my basket. As any child would do when given something they had never seen before, I first turned it every which way examining it, trying to figure out what you’d do with a cylinder of woven paper. My dad saw me looking at it quite puzzled. He said to stick a finger in each end. I did. Then he said now try to pull your fingers out. Imagine my surprise when the cylinder tightened around my fingers and I couldn’t get free. I immediately panicked. My dad told me to stop pulling, push my fingers in and then gently take them out. I felt the paper tube relax it’s grip and my panic subsided. (Now I couldn’t wait to pull the trick on my brother, but of course I’d let him sit in panic for longer than my dad let me.)
Imagine the times when something hits us in life and causes that panic sensation. We go berserk and react without thinking. Maybe we yell crazily at someone. Maybe we fall to our knees, crushed and in tears. Maybe we send a frantic, vile email. Maybe we post hurtful things on Facebook in a fit of rage. Maybe we run to someone else to tell our story and seek revenge. Then…..when our energy is depleted, and the panic subsided, it is only then we clearly see what damage we have done, and we suddenly see things we were blinded to. In hindsight, we see things differently and wish we hadn’t reacted so impulsively. Now, through our own causing, we have a mess that didn’t have to be if only we had remembered our childhood experience with Chinese handcuffs.
We might ask ourselves how much smaller would our mess be and how much lower our stress level, if, instead of going “berserk”, we had relaxed and leaned into our trouble, as our fingers would lean into the tube of the Chinese handcuffs. How differently would the situation be if only we had allowed ourselves to back away gently, like we learned to remove our fingers from the handcuffs and take some time to think and pray before typing or talking?
This is a huge, life-changing lesson I have learned on this journey, but it has to be practiced. Over the past nine months I have learned, through the discipline in the yoga studio, that as soon as panic and trouble strike in life, not to react impulsively when my feelings are hurt, or when I feel rejected or betrayed. As one of my beloved teachers, Leslie taught us, when the panic of the breath strikes, or the moaning and groaning and grimacing want to start, we quiet ourselves. She always says, “it’s ‘oh crap!’ on the inside, and calm and cool on the outside”. This lesson has improved the overall quality of my life and afforded peace in places that only anxiety and panic used to reside.
And so, as another day goes by, to quote Melody Beattie, “Few situations can be bettered by going berserk”, and …I have written.
September 26th, 2011 Today was one of those rare late September cape days, where July comes back and sneaks in one more summer day. It was so full of things I was going to get done before my blog group meeting tonight. I was so full of things I could write about today, having read things and seen so many interesting things on the morning news. In yoga class my mind raced and I wrote at least three different blogs in my head before the floor series was over. As soon as class was over, I bolted out of the parking lot and headed to the local shopping center to quickly dispose of Monday morning errands. Came home and somewhere between lunch and the newspaper, I happened to look out the back door and realize what a gift, with winter just around the corner, today was.
All that needed to be done could wait. I grabbed my beach chair and bag, hung some music on my ears, and walked down to the beach. The blue of the water and sky, coupled with the warm sun and soft breeze, let me know without a doubt I made the right decision.
As I settled back in my chair and looked beyond my beach bag, there wasn’t another soul in sight. There’s something about creating a space in the middle of a busy day where it’s just you and the quiet world outside. Today, instead of people and news stories speaking to me, I stopped and listened to the sea and what it teaches. The tide was making it’s way out while I was there. The tide teaches me to stop and practice patience. There are things in this world that just can’t be rushed and manipulated. One of them is the tide. No mater what you do, it’s six hours to go out and another six to come back in. Such as it is with some things in life. The perfect job will materialize, the perfect mate will be met, the child will come home, broken hearts will be made new – but just like the tide, you can’t push or hurry it. God fashioned the tide times just like He fashioned our life times. Relax, take time in the beach chair, (your comfy armchair works just as well) and let God do His work in the hearts and minds of His people.
And so, as another day goes by, today wisdom lies in the view beyond my beach bag, and ….I have written.
September 25th, 2011 Everywhere I go I end up learning something new or gaining a different viewpoint for old topics. Last night my husband and I had a lovely evening out. We went to see Moneyball. Great story. Great actors. I highly recommend it for an entertaining evening, but it was not the enjoyment of the plot and characters that I came away with. It was something I learned in one of the very last scenes of the movie:
Henry, Red Sox owner, offers Beane twelve million dollars to leave Oakland and come to Boston and be his general manager. Bean looks at him and says, but I lost the game. Why would you offer me this? Henry says to him, with the “can’t see the forest for the trees” reasoning, “You didn’t lose the game. You revolutionized baseball. The first one to break through the wall always takes a bloodbath.”
Wow. How true. The first one to go where none has gone before has to break through (what in my mind is a big green wall – Red Sox fan) and when you burst through, you bruise and bleed, but you’re through. Everyone after you simply walks through the hole.
Hmmm….lots of situations suddenly come to mind…..
And so, as another day goes by, enough wisdom for today – the Patriot game just started, and….I have written.
September 24th, 2011 Today I came across something interesting in my new meditation book.
“Most of the time I’m not learning what I think I’m learning. Something different is taking place, something deeper. It’s as if the universe gives us something to occupy what writer Natalie Goldberg calls “the monkey mind” so we can move forward along our path.”
Imagine that. We must be distracted from ourselves so we don’t impede our own learning. I get this. Many many times over 35 years of teaching I shook my head at such intelligent children who get in their own way and impede their learning. And now, as an adult involved in my own journey, it happened to me.
For eight months I thought the lesson I was supposed be concentrating on was letting go of certain things. Today I realized for the first time, what it meant not to be a victim. Nothing to do with each other, yet born from the same incident. A long time ago I let someone bully me and pummel me into the ground. I folded. Caved. And have been berating myself ever since and just trying to let it go. As I spent so much time on that, something deeper was taking place unbeknownst to me. I was growing a strength I never in a million years thought I could possess. I now know, in that situation, I should have been extremely quiet and unemotional. I should have very matter of factly stood up for myself and my friend, then walked away. I now know why I didn’t. I was a victim. Being a victim stems from thinking you are less than than the bully and cannot win. Now, I realize it’s not about winning anything. It’s about knowing you are worth just as much as they are. You are an important person in your own right. And how do you do this?
Haha! My very first new value I learned on this journey. When attacked, you immediately step back and quiet yourself and never succumb or shoot from the hip. If you don’t have the right words at hand, you breathe, turn around and walk away. You don’t let anyone pummel you into the ground. You are not anyone’s victim. That will never, ever happen to me again.
I now think back on that particular incident. I think what tremendous self control and courage it would have taken to do that. I never had that strength. I never had that confidence. I never had that belief in myself to be anything but a victim. I do now. I know it deep inside me. I didn’t know it was growing all these months underneath everything I have been writing about throughout this journey.
And so, as another day goes by, I did not realize the depth of truth in my words the other day, when I wrote on my blog anniversary that now, one year later, “I am a mere shadow of the person I was one year ago”, and …I have written.
September 23rd, 2011 Today I cannot not tell you about Gloria.
My day began with Breakfast with the Authors at the beautiful Wianno Country Club in Osterville. Osterville is a small town on the south side of the cape, right on the water. There is only one word to describe Osterville: elegant. From the shops, to the restaurants and cafes, to the bank and post office, right down to the wide cobblestone sidewalks of Main Street: elegant. I have only been to Osterville three times for writer’s functions and never took the time to park on Main Street and explore the town. My plan today was to do just that after the breakfast – and get that baby shower present I never got to last week.
The authors that spoke were wonderful. (books showcased below) Martin Sandler is particularly entertaining. He’s in his eighties and has written 86 books. Half his books are for adults and half for children. He travels the country speaking and if he comes to your town, don’t miss him. He told us he always knows when he has a good story because you’re sure “You can’t make that up!”. And, that’s why I must tell you about Gloria. “You can’t make her up!”
After purchasing my baby shower present in an elegant little shop called The Oyster Emporium (only in Osterville), I preceded down the street in search of lunch. This little cafe looked perfect. I read the menu out on the sidewalk and the food and $5.95 prices were perfect. I entered what looked like a soda fountain in an old time drugstore. There were only two tiny metal tables along the wall and it was clear everyone ate at the counter. As I sat down, I noticed the lady one seat away from me. She was an elderly woman with jet black hair and covered in gold jewelry. It was so dazzling and stark, I hardly noticed the rest of her outfit. As I asked the counter waiter what the soup of the day was, the woman began telling me it was squash soup and she just had some and it’s the best around and I really should get it. I looked at the young boy waiter and said, “Guess that decides it. I’ll have a cup of the squash soup.” I looked back at the woman and she had the most piercing black eyes, done up in very black eye makeup. She started talking to me immediately. She told me how she’s been all over the world. Went to school in England. Knows the queen and Prince Phillip. Is a Buddhist. How her husband is a doctor. How she was a real estate broker in Boston. How she commuted from Arabia to the US on weekends. How she’s ridden on fox hunts with kings and princes. How her husband works in Indiana now and commutes to the cape on weekends. How he only spent one full week home this past year. How she had one apartment and two homes there in Osterville, only one of which she now owns. How her husband almost ran over the ghost that was in the middle of the road that told her to buy this house. How when she went back to look at the house the ghost (who was a man in big ballooned yellow pants) was sitting on the steps and the door was open and the keys were hanging in the doorway. How the house was moved to the next lot so they could build the bank that’s now on the corner. How she takes in rescue animals and has 16 cats and 6 dogs. How she asked a young girl to come live with her. And, during all of this, every time someone would come thru the door, she’d say, “Get a look at this woman coming in out of the corner of your eye.” Then she’d proceed to tell me just who they were and what their place was in the town.
Needless to say, I had, by now finished my soup and half of a tuna sandwich and was ready to pay my check and continue my afternoon exploring the town, but Gloria was no where near slowing down with her stories. Now, I could’ve ended our, no…her, conversation politely, excused myself and left. Something made me instead, look at the boy waiter and ask him to bring me a cup of coffee. I spent another half hour listening to Gloria’s amazing stories, extending what was supposed to be a quick lunch, to 90 minutes. Finally, a couple came in and sat on the two stools on the other side of me. She immediately talked across me and and said, “I have to tell them the food is well worth waiting for.” Seeing this as my graceful escape, I said goodbye and told her I enjoyed meeting her and went to the cash register to pay my check. On my way out the door, I said, “Bye Gloria!” She held my hand and said to please just come and knock on her door anytime. As I was stepping outside, she was saying to the couple, “Oh you must try the squash soup”.
Wow! As Martin Sandler said, “You just can’t make that up!” I had suggested she write all her stories for her children and grandchildren to have. She told me she never had children. Just a big house and lots of money. After I left, I was glad I ordered that cup of coffee and spent that extra thirty minutes.
Every day I fill out a meditation sheet that asks me three questions: What did God teach you today? Where did God take you today? And how did God use you today? Needless to say, answering those won’t take much thought tonight.
And so, as another day goes by, there’s much to be said for a small house, a few children, and no money, and…..I have written.
September 22nd, 2011 Last week my yoga instructor once again said something that stuck in my mind and caused some contemplation. She said:
"Your life begins at the edge of your comfort zone."
Immediately I thought, "That's where boredom comes from!" Then I pictured the scene: me standing, all alone, on solid, warm, golden brown sand with the sun shining behind me. In front of my toes there was a line. Beyond the line was solid black nothingness. I stood there for a long time on that line. The sun felt so warm and good. My feet felt so secure on the solid sand. Mmmm….this is so nice, I'm never moving. Soon my neck started to burn from the sun. My legs and back started to ache from standing so still. I began to feel lonely with only my own thoughts and no one else to talk to. I looked down at the cool blackness in front of my feet. I could put one foot into it and see what happens, but I was stuck on the security of the brown, sunny, ground. Stuck and bored with the same scenery day after day, but too scared to plunge into the blackness beyond my toes and see what happens. I was standing at the edge of my comfort zone. Only by pushing past that line, could my life move forward.
This little scenario that took most of the floor postures to play out in my head, caused me to look around at all the places in my life I may be stuck standing at the edge of my comfort zone. There might've been something I wanted to share with my husband that would further our relationship and bring us closer, but I'm afraid of how he'd receive it. There may be something new I want to try, in the realm of art or writing that I just can't bring myself to do, because "What if I can't do it well?"There may be a huge project to be done on the house, but I'm too afraid to start it because it might be too big of an undertaking for me. There might be that new form of exercise I want to try, but what if it's beyond my strength? Or….there may be a relationship I need to come to terms with, but what if I end up getting hurt again? There might be things I need to let go of, but then my arms would be empty. The edge of my comfort zone exists in every aspect of my life….from doing that camel in yoga to the places where love touches my heart.
Being stuck and bored at the edge of my comfort zone places limits on my life and keeps me from experiencing all that's out there for me. What does it take to put a foot over that line? The three anchors: faith, hope, and love. I need to pray with faith that God will guide me through the darkness with each step and bring the light once again. I need to find the excitement of new beginnings in hope for the future. And finally, I need to accept that all the mistakes I've made, right or wrong, were because of love and I can't close my heart to love and trust and stand here sunburned and aching.
As I begin the second year of this blog, I am going to aspire to stepping over that edge, even if it's just one foot, every time the opportunity presents itself.
And so, as the toothpaste commercial says, "life opens up when you do", and …I have written.
~ I am once again sharing a photo that was given to me by a dear friend that illustrates what's in my heart today…
September 21st, 2011 What does it mean to love someone unconditionally? Stop here, before reading on, and voice your own definition. ….Now I’ll tell you mine. To me, unconditional love means loving someone “no matter what”. No matter what they do. No matter what I do. No matter what we bring to each other – all the good along with all the bad, including, as my dear husband would say, even the “ugly”.
Some have accused me of always “turning the other cheek” or “making excuses” and keep, in effect, saying “It’s okay, hurt me. I’ll just stand here and let you throw proverbial dishes at me.”. To me, if you pledged no matter what to someone, that’s what you do. You love them through their hurricanes, even it it causes you extreme pain. Seems very onesided, I know.
Then today, I came across the best definition of unconditional love I have ever encountered. One that keeps the commitment, but does not excuse the mistakes in love that we all make. Here it is:
“Unconditional love is not so much about how we receive and endure each other, as it is about the deep vow to never, under any condition, to stop bringing the flawed truth of who we are to each other.”
Mark Nepo speaks further on this and I can’t do it any better than he, so I’ll share his words:
“For example, on any given day, I might be preoccupied with my own needs, and might overlook or bruise what you need, and hurt you. But then you tell me and show me your hurt, and I feel bad and you accept that sometimes I go blind to those around me. But we look deeply on each other, and you accept my flaws, but not my behavior, and I am grateful for the chance to work on myself. Somehow, it all brings us closer.
Unconditional love is not the hole that receives the dirt, but the sun that never stops shining.”
Wow. That knocked me over. THAT is mature love. And, I guess, if you really care about someone, and you know they care about you, this is the way to love each other unconditionally.
But….and it’s a very big but….sometimes you love someone that has been hurt and abused and they can’t accept you hurting them at all, even unintentionally. They cannot accept your hurt and give you a chance to work on yourself and grow and change your behavior. They can only see you through the lens of their past pain. This is a time when you must love them through it, for it is often more painful for them than it is for you. This is a time when you are not “turning the other cheek”, but are instead realizing that you are not a victim. That it’s not really about you. This is the hard part of unconditional love that Nepo didn’t touch on in his essay. Instead of abandoning them, you give it to God.
In this life we are given three anchors:
Faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love. Love overcomes all when it’s real. Not quickly, and not without pain, because real love must be honed in the fire and bent and curved until it fits us just right. Pray with faith, wake up with hope, and love will prevail.
And so, as another day goes by, I have named our home “The Anchor” (on the cape people name their homes) because life’s three anchors are alive and abide here, and ….I have written.
September 20th, 2011 Today is the one year anniversary of this blog. I committed to 365 posts in 365 days and I am happy to say there are 359 posts. The purpose of this blog was to make me accountable for writing “something” everyday. I had to have a venue to find my voice and get to know myself as a writer. I needed a place to be freely expressive without being locked into genre or subject. Now, one year later, I stand here assessing what I have learned through my writing journey.
I have learned that by putting my words and feelings down on the page, I have grown and changed as a person.
Rereading my own words helped me to become more adept at organizing my thoughts to allow clearer thinking.
I found a group of loyal readers who were helped along their path in some way through my words. This I never expected. My sole goal was to write. I never considered the fact that people would actually read it. Thank you, readers. You were a great source of encouragement and gave me the will to push on. I remember pushing that “publish to Facebook” button the first time – putting my raw self out there in front of everyone. I remember the cold sweat that lasted for over a month as I pushed that button everyday. But thanks to you, dear readers, I kept pushing it.
This year I had a difficult year emotionally. I suffered some hard losses and this blog had become one of the saving graces on this journey. I am a mere shadow of the person who wrote the first post one year ago, today. I went back and read it. It was about being empty. That should’ve given me a clue right there that I was hopping on a roller coaster – what a ride it has been.
Being in school all my life, each year my new year starts in September. So here’s to you dear blog. You have become dear to me and I am looking forward to where you will take me on our second year together. You have become a trusted friend where I can place everything about myself. Happy Anniversary.
And so, as another day goes by, thank you dear readers for spending a year with me & my blog, and….I have written.
September 19th, 2011 Today was “artist date day” as suggested we do once a week by Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. My “date with myself” day started out as a hunt for a baby shower gift, then took a left turn. Since I was supposed to be nice to myself, and enjoy being with myself, I ducked into Marshall’s to see if they had a good deal on sheets. (I love soft sheets with an exorbitantly high thread count, but hate paying the exorbitantly high price.) On the way to the bedding section I bumped into something I haven’t ever seen in Marshall’s – an artist’s supply section. I was pulled in immediately. There were all kinds of the “not cheap” supplies I bought for my drawing class this summer at really cheap prices. I felt the dopamine kick in. I chose a new package of drawing pencils for two bucks and a cool beginning watercolor kit, complete with instructions for the aspiring artist. That’s me, so for ten bucks I got paints (in tubes no less. I hate the cake kind), a small pad of good weight paper, brushes, a view finder, and a book to tell me where to start. Drawing was one thing. I took that class and came a long way. Watercolor is something else. I figure I better teach myself and experiment a little before taking a class in that. So for $13.56 I was on my way home to begin reading my instruction book – until I somehow turned into Michael’s because I remembered being fascinated with the huge purple spiders on the lamppost of the flower shop I pass everyday. I really wanted some cool spiders for my lamppost. I wanted purple, but smaller, because my lamppost is half the size of theirs. I immediately found purple and black spiders for $1.99 and for less than five bucks, was once again on my way home.
This time I actually did make it home (mostly because it was past dinner time and I was starving). I ate, read half the instruction book, and tomorrow I paint. (I would start tonight, but it’s the first night of premier week on tv and I have eight friends waiting for me on Words with Friends.)
I had fun today. As a new season begins, I highly recommend a date with yourself. Pick up a spider, or a pumpkin. Listen closely to your thoughts. Talk to yourself. You never know where you’ll end up or what you’ll come home with, things and ideas alike. (And most likely without what you out set for).
And so, as another day goes by, I found a new way to color my world, and….I have written.
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