Monday, December 27, 2010

Children


In Patti Digh’s book Creative is a Verb, she describes a time when her husband asked a doctor who had worked with children for fifty years what was his biggest lesson learned about kids. The doctor replied quickly:

“Never, never interrupt a child when a child is speaking to you.”*

Lightbulb. (Since turning forty, I have Aha moments often.) From the time my first son was born, my husband and I were in sync in raising children without even talking about values, goals, or what we each believed was right or wrong.

This harmony hit a road bump once my older son hit high school though. All of a sudden, my husband and I had lost our rhythm. Instead of dancing in unison, we were stepping on each other’s feet and getting in each other’s way. We had different opinions of when to get involved and when not to, what to say and when, what was a reasonable gift or purchase for them and what was unreasonable, when to push and when to pull back. As a man and a woman, as a father and a mother, with very different ways of showing emotion and love, of problem solving and communicating, it was certainly likely this disconnect would occur.

One of the first ways it presented was one day when I happened to be home from work early and when my son arrived home, my husband said, “How was your day? Fine?”

My son didn’t say anything for a minute, grabbed a drink from the fridge, responded like a robot, “fine,” and headed upstairs.

At dinner, I began to ask questions that required more than a yes or no answer. As my son’s day’s events began to spill out, Frank raised his hands in frustration and said, “Why didn’t you tell me that? You said nothing happened today.”

Oh my. I saw so clearly, we cannot answer for the young man when we pose a question. If we ask a question, we better be willing to give him a few moments to respond and we’d better be open to the answer even if it floors us and is not at all what we might imagine it would be. We can never hope to have the tough conversations with our children if we’ve never opened the space to talk about the trivial. And they’ll never tell you what really matters to them if you cut them down on the small stuff.

My older son is a deep thinker and in conversation, oftentimes, he has long pauses when you ask him a question as he digs down to choose just what he wants to say and what words he wishes to use. He is by nature a thoughtful and deliberate speaker. I have seen relatives at gatherings shut him down by not being willing to give him that pause, that space. Before they await his answer to their question, they keep talking; they move on. I can tell from his expression that he’s thinking if you don’t really want to know, then why are you wasting my time asking?

I've seen the same thing occur with younger nieces and nephews who might take a few quiet tries to get out what they're trying to say. If we move on too quickly, we will have missed an opportunity to hear them...and I mean "hear" more than simply literally.

As a manager, I’ve learned time and time again that it’s amazing what you’ll learn from people if you just ask a simple question and then give them the room to respond. I witnessed it so many times in the workplace that I knew it by the time my sons arrived.

Never, never interrupt a child when a child is speaking to you.

If we pause and open that space, if we show them what they say matters, what we foster will be the development of a person who can communicate with others, perhaps the most difficult but important skill any person can acquire in a civilized, caring, thoughtful society.


*Source: Digh, Patti. Creative is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2011. Print. P. 81 www.lifeisaverb.net or www.pattidigh.com

Sunday, December 12, 2010

"Leaves Don't Drop (They Just Let Go)"


Following are the lyrics from the song written and sung by Carrie Newcomer on her CD The Geography of Light



~~~~ This song was given to me by my new friend, Courtney, and is written here in memory of my longtime friend, Frank Montello.










The truth I learned when I was eight
My dad swam the length of Spirit Lake
And it must have been a million miles
This I knew was true

My mother sang while hangin' clothes
The notes weren't perfect, heaven knows
Yeah, but heaven opened anyway
This I knew was true

'Cause leaves don't drop, they just let go
They make a space for seeds to grow
And every season brings a change
A tree is what a seed contains
To die to live is life's refrain

I left her with some groceries
Said "Check the oil and call me please"
And she said "Hey, Ma, I'll be just fine"
This I knew was true

'Cause leaves don't drop, they just let go
And make a space for seeds to grow
And every season brings a change
A tree is what a seed contains
To die to live is life's refrain

I traveled through my history
From certainty to mystery
God speaks in rhyme and paradox
This I know is true

And finally when my life is through
I'm what I am, not what I do
'Cause it comes down to you and your next breath
This I know is true

'Cause leaves don't drop, they just let go
And make a space for seeds to grow
And every season brings a change
A tree is what a seed contains
To die to live is life's refrain


The words stand alone as pure poetry but to hear them in Carrie's alto voice is expansive and divine. The song is available on iTunes.

Source: Geography of Light 2008 Rounder Records, Song written by Carrie Newcomer © Carrie Newcomer Music BMI Bug Publishing & Michael Mains BMI

Photo: Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Boston

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

My Love


I show my love through my cooking. Perhaps to some that sounds shallow or lacking, but for anyone close to me, they'll hopefully understand. And more importantly, they've hopefully felt it.

I've never been a hugger. I don't say "I love you" regularly. Babies and animals aren't naturally attracted to me. However, I think I give off some good karma. I get smiles and nice gestures from strangers regularly, but I'm not someone you'd say is a natural at close physical connection.

Over the years I've been married, I've spent many hours in the kitchen over a stove, chopping, sautéing, grilling. I've ironed countless white tablecloths and set so many tables, I couldn't imagine the number. I've set tables for four hundreds of times; for ten, many times; for more, some times.

I love to cook. I love to eat, so luckily, I love to cook. I love good food, local food, healthy garden-grown food. Aesthetically, I love to combine colors and food types to present a well rounded and beautiful meal. I use visually-appealing dinnerware and napkins. I love candles, colorful platters, flowers, especially blue hydrangeas cut from my yard. Learning to properly set the table was one of the earliest chores I taught my boys (right after sorting darks and whites for the laundry which amazingly, they could understand at about the age of two!).

I've spent most of my non-work hours cooking for those I love; food planning, purchasing, and creating has taken up most of my weekend hours for twenty-five years. I take great pleasure in watching my hungry family enjoy a hot meal together at the end of a full day. I enjoy making fruit medleys or beautiful salads that are so tempting because of their vivid colors. My boys have always eaten fruit because when you chop it up and layer it beautifully on a pretty plate, it's appealing and they want to eat it. When you make it easy for them, they always will.

To me, there is something so loving in someone taking their time and effort to make you something from scratch. It won't be perfect. But it will be absolutely gorgeous because it was created specifically for you and as odd as this may sound, I can feel the love coming from the food when it is prepared with that sentiment.

I can only hope those I've cooked for have felt my love, have enjoyed the meal at table, and of course, the conversation that comes on the side. If I didn't hug them in that particular moment, I hope they felt my hug nevertheless.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Thankfulness


Hopefully, it's not just this time of year that we are mindful of being thankful. I try to do it daily but am not always successful, sometimes caught up in pettiness, wishful thinking or future planning.

I am thankful for my dear, dear, long term friend Renée. Renée is a person in my life I should cherish and spend time with because after doing so, I am always walking taller, my mind is filled with creative inspirations, and I believe in myself and the goodness of continuing to seek out what is most important to me. When I go to our semi-annual "sleepovah" group of girls at Renée's house, I never bring a book for bedtime reading. Her home is filled with wonderful new books for me to learn about; there is a always a new book on her guest room's nightstand that becomes my before-bed read.

At our October "sleepovah," of course, a wonderful book was given to me by Renée, Life is a Verb by Patti Digh. Another friend suggested I read a different book, a serious book, but Renée interjected that she thought this was more right for me. Right it was. The book provided me with so many writing prompts for this blog....enticing future tidbits for you, I hope!

One such passage I have to share now as we enter into the season of thankfulness is Patti's take on celebrating, whatever, because...why not? Patti's book was written after watching her stepfather die just 37 days after he was diagnosed with lung cancer. She asks what we'd do with our 37 days. What I know for sure is that my children, my husband, my family and friends get more from spending time with me than anything material I can give them....if when I'm with them, I'm fully present and focused on them; if I show them the caring I feel toward them; if I'm kind and loving and make an effort to make their time with me ones where they can feel the way I feel when I leave Renée...rejuvenated, uplifted. My children will remember the "feel" of being around me, not necessarily the words I've said or the advice I've given. In celebrating every day with them and being thankful just to be in each others' presence, we can give them more than anything bought from the mall. Simplicity is a word coming back into our country's vocabulary; might we ponder it a little at this time?

Patti Digh says when her first-grade daughter proudly exclaimed that she got a 30% on her first test, so proud because she got some right.....

"In our house, we sometimes run out of vital supplies like toilet paper, lightbulbs, and Purely Decadent Pomegranate Chip soy ice cream, but 365 days a year you can be sure of finding a rather impressive supply of birthday candles on hand for impromptu celebrations. You lived through the swim test? Your pancakes tomorrow morning will come to you in a blaze of glory. Today you're celebrating your half birthday? Get ready for a half cake after dinner. It's the first snow of the season, National Lightbulb Day, new-haircut day, leap year? Lighted cupcakes will no doubt line the floor from your bedroom to the dining table tomorrow morning. You survived your evil fifth-grade teacher who shall remain nameless? How about Cheerios with candles stuck through them for breakfast? You learned to tie your shoes? You fell off your horse and got back on? You read a 1,600-page book? You learned to cover your mouth when you cough? There are candles in your immediate future. Everyday, ordinary, daily life should be a rambunctious celebration, a focus on the positive, a paean to possibility and glee. Slow down, take time, encourage, celebrate your 30 percent."




Photo: Evergreen Cemetary, Portland
*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 32
www.lifeisaverb.net or www.pattidigh.com

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Who Am I?






"Seek out that particular mental attribute which makes you feel most deeply and vitally alive, along with which comes the inner voice which says, 'This is the real me,' and when you have found that attitude, follow it." William James*

My boss and I used to interview a lot together. We developed a comfortable rhythm. I was yin to her yang. Doing it enough times, we had rehearsed who asked which questions; when each paused casually and listened; when the other played off something the first said. It wasn't a written script, but it was an engrained script from having done the dance so many times together.

Then, we got away from doing it together. I was a seasoned human resources person and would interview myself and just bring the final candidates to my boss, saving her time. Recently, we had the opportunity to do it again together and as sometimes happens when you get away from something for a long time, you see how much you enjoyed it.

We each had a new shtick; we weren't dancing the same dance any longer having been apart for years. She asked the perfect new question. It was perfect because I found, among every candidate, that it elicited truly honest answers. We caught them off guard. This question gave me a truer picture of whom the candidate was than any other question we had ever asked. And then, it gave me pause to wonder how I would answer it myself.

The question was: tell me about the best work experience you've ever had -- whether it be a task, a project, a job -- and why it was so. And then tell me about your worst.

In the first few candidates, I saw quickly that the job for which they were interviewing was completely wrong for them; they were applying for a job so unsuited to what they loved and what jazzed them. When I saw it happening over and over, it made me wonder about how people choose jobs, firms, long term careers. In just needing something, do they apply, and settle, for anything available?

For me, my best work experience in twenty-seven years was the first few times I spoke publicly at the Advent Software, Inc. annual conferences of 1,000 attendees about ten years ago. My sessions had 75-100 participants. Initially, I was nervous; I had butterflies -- something I hadn't had since acting in middle school. I had to focus and prepare thoroughly; I was pushed beyond my comfort zone. I achieved far better results than I would have expected - amazing what we can do when challenged. And, the love and engagement I received from the audiences showed me that what thrills and jazzes me is being pushed/challenged, stepping outside my comfort zone, leading, teaching, and engaging with a group of people in a positive way.

My worst experience was running a giant project in our firm of revamping our (dirty) basement files to segregate those that had been used in our company performance figures (a regulation requirement). The job was so horrible to me that I let all my staff off; I felt too badly asking them to do such a boring, dirty, frustrating job, so instead I tackled it alone, and it nearly killed me. The worst thing for my personality is to be locked in a dungeon doing mindless, dirty work alone for which I see no measurable success.

These best and worst experiences give you (and me) a clear picture of who we are. Might it be time to ask yourself this question? The results are THE answer for YOU of where you should be and what you should be doing.

*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 106
Photo: Shelburne Farm, Shelburne, Vermont

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Living Downstream


Thanks to a suggestion from my friend Kim, I went to Bates College earlier this month to hear visiting author Sandra Steingraber discuss her book Living Downstream: An Ecologist's Personal Investigation of Cancer and the Environment. Sandra is brilliant; her book, well-researched and compelling; her life's work, a gift to our planet.

She grew up in central Illinois, on the east bluff of the Illinois River, from which they were never allowed to eat the fish. It has been contaminated over fifty years. Sandra was diagnosed with bladder cancer at the age of twenty. While some say cancer may be hereditary, Sandra offers that if the environment is key, isn't it natural that family members eating the same food, drinking the same water, and breathing the same air would likely develop the same cancers? Interestingly, even the animals in areas of our world mimic humans for the types of cancers they develop.

A parable opens Living Downstream:


"There was once a village along a river. The people who lived there were very kind. These residents, according to parable, began noticing increasing numbers of drowning people caught in the river's swift current. And so they went to work devising ever more elaborate technologies to resuscitate them. So preoccupied were these heroic villagers with rescue and treatment that they never thought to look upstream to see who was pushing the victims in."
Sandra says her research as a scientist for this book was her walk up the river. Once you read it, there's no going back. The evidence is too overwhelming to allow anyone to say there is no connection with what we, humans, are doing to our environment and the ever-increasing numbers of cancer patients -- an 85% increase in incidence from 1950-2001; 22% increase in childhood cancers, asthma, ADD, and the onset of puberty much younger. For persons 45-64, cancer is the leading cause of death - more than heart disease, accidents and strokes combined.

Sandra offers that the environment we are polluting had a huge uptick since World War II when the preponderance of DDT and other pesticides were introduced into farming. Sustainable farms with crop rotation were plowed down to plant overwhelming amounts of corn and soybeans and one-product farms bleeding the soil of its natural nutrients. We have thrown away the notion of "the circle of life" in our quest for more money and are becoming an ever-burgeoning wasteful and "throw away" society.

I am overwhelmed; it's easy for us to feel this way. There is so much I could change:
no microwave or dry cleaning
cloths instead of paper towels
cloth diapers instead of disposables
re-usable cups, not paper coffee cups daily
less make-up, nail polish, hair color
no chemical lawncare that seeps into my husband's garden
no harsh cleaning products
a clothesline
a bike, two feet

I should buy organic food, ride my bike with a basket to get there like I did in Denmark, go more frequently to buy fresh, use recycled bags, swear off pre-packaged foods, wash my dishes by hand, hang my laundry on the line, buy natural fiber rugs, furniture, and bedding. I should vote for people who agree with me, have a long term vision, and feel a moral obligation to do something, anything, one baby step at a time for our planet.

Sandra's book was published in 1997 and re-released this year. A documentary of it will be out over the next couple of weeks. She said this has become the issue of our time. In listening to her and reading her words, I wonder what we will do about it? What will we tell our grandchildren we did do about it?

She said when slavery was going to be abolished, people said it couldn't be done; the economy would tank. It was done because it was the right thing to do. When child labor was made illegal, again they said it would tank the economy; we needed those tiny fingers to produce the goods those kids were making. Again, the economy grew...and more importantly, it was the right thing to do.

What is the one right thing for each of us to do right now?



Steingraber, Sandra. Living Downstream: An Ecologist's Personal Investigation of Cancer and the Environment. Pennsylvania: A Merloyd Lawrence Book Da Capo Press A Member of the Perseus Books Group, 2010. Print. Photo: courtesy of Amazon.com

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Fall


Fall is probably my favorite season to run. This is partly because fifty degrees (or somewhat lower) is my ideal running temperature, but it’s more than about climate. A primary reason is that the smells of fall in Maine have a nostalgia for me. The scent of decaying leaves and earth, the moistness of morning wet leaves on bricks or pavement, or frozen brightly-colored leaves crunching beneath my sneakers as temperatures, sometimes slowly and other times way too quickly, drop below freezing, remind me of my childhood.

When I run, I breathe deeply to capture the smells and fill my lungs with the cold Autumn air. Fall produces my favorite smells, better than baking bread or apple pie or freshly mowed grass. Getting outside and experiencing it from ground level is tantamount. I run through the leaves as they lay in piles against the side walks’ curbs, swishing my feet right through them, trying to kick them up just to get a stronger whiff.

I walked to school most grades; I wasn't on a bus route. I loved school and anticipated fall with enthusiasm and a sense of a fresh beginning with each new grade. Walking down Maine Avenue to Perry School in the first grade with my Mom walking beside me, my sister in a stroller, is a fond memory. At recess, I would always go to the little piece of dirt or tree area at my schools, a path or bushy area and play pretend. I wasn’t much of an athlete, playing various ball games, so the blacktop held little appeal for me. I’d always go toward the periphery, toward the smallest spot of nature. I’ve never been a concrete or blacktop type of girl; I’ll take the dirt road and the wooded path any chance I get.

Running or walking outside in the early mornings of fall give me a boost of energy and happiness as I reminisce and fondly remember positive parts of my childhood. I know if I make the effort to get myself out in the mornings before work, my whole day will flow more beautifully. Funny how memories can be of the strangest things – not events as you might expect, but smells.

What smells bring you back?


(photo: Southwest Harbor, ME)

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Yellow School Bus


I got behind a yellow school bus on my way to work last week. It made me late. But... how lucky I was. Seriously.

I had to wait (kind of a long time) at three stops before pulling ahead of it toward downtown. That wait left me smiling and made my whole day. That wait brought me joy in a most unlikely place.

It must have been the first day of kindergarten. The kids were so small, I couldn't imagine they were more than three, but they must have been five. I guess I'd forgotten how small they were as they started elementary school, their little heads barely high enough to see out the windows. Their backpacks stretched down three-quarters of their bodies to the backs of their knees.

There were just one or two children at each stop, but they were each surrounded by an entourage -- Mom's with cameras, Dad's with video cameras, grandmothers carrying wild younger siblings flailing in their arms trying to get down and possibly join older brother or sister on the big yellow bus. There were smiles on all the adults and some of the kids. One little girl jumped up and down as she saw the bus approach. One little blond boy looked like he'd just seen a ghost - all serious and focused on this new task at hand. One Mom began running beside the bus, kiddingly, as it rolled down the neighborhood street, waving to her little girl all the way. One Mom ran out into the middle of the road and took a photo of the back of the bus as it rolled slowly away. She will always remember it taking her little boy off to bigger and better things, beginning the next leg of his journey -- new friends, new subjects, new school.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Back to School


Over the last several years, as neighbors' cars were packed with their college kids' belongings getting reading for journeys to Boston or Virginia or Orono, I didn't give it much thought. My feeling was one of detached happiness -- how exciting for the kids, going off to the college of their choice, beginning the next phase of their lives. How exciting for the parents...beginning the next phase of their lives and having "arrived" at a bit of success for raising children to this point.

When our car was being packed last year to take Matt off to freshman year, I was still filled with happiness, albeit a more focused and anxious happiness. We were all four jumping into the abyss, the unknown, and I did so with nervous excitement.

This year, sophomore year for Matt, is different. It's different because of the knowing. It's no longer an unknown. This August, as his two neighborhood best friends packed up for their freshman years away, I noticed. I pondered it. I was no longer detached from the other neighborhood kids. This summer, some had told me outright they were nervous to go -- very bright kids with lots of friends and successes already in their young lives. They seemed more nervous than I would have expected and more than I remember being as I set off myself so many years ago.

Now, I knew what the parents were going through - the fear, nervousness and mixed emotions of missing them already and happiness at what lay ahead. It was no longer ethereal; now my view of the situation was based on my own reality. My nervousness, for Matt, has abated; he has led himself well. But in other ways, this year was tougher seeing others' departure through different eyes and no longer clinging to ignorant bliss.

I tear up when I hear the truth in Harry Chapin's Cat's in the Cradle - "Well, he came from college just the other day. So much like a man I just had to say, son I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Away at a Camp in Maine




Early July, I self-published a small travel memoir, Away at a Camp in Maine, through Createspace.com, an arm of Amazon. I wrote the book eight years ago; it had an agent in NY for six but she was unable to sell it. Wanting closure and my message to finally get out into the world, I decided, reluctantly, to self-publish. For my own validation, I wanted to publish through what I considered "regular" channels and held out for a long time. Perhaps that can now happen on the next book....

I share this because within the first few days of publishing, I determined it was SO right to have done it. I dedicated my book to my Aunt and Uncle who owned a camp on Crescent Lake in Raymond. I spent my childhood there and then they sold it when I was twenty. I also dedicated it to Sarah, the woman who bought the camp from my relatives and rented it to us for ten years when my boys were young. My Uncle died at the end of 2008; my Aunt, just a few weeks before my book came out. They never read it. However, Sarah's email when she received my book in the mail was enough to make it all worthwhile. She thanked me for writing it, for capturing the essence of it, for dedicating it to her...for being her friend.

Since then, the purchases by friends and their comments have far exceeded anything I could have hoped for. I was invited to an island off Boothbay Harbor for an overnight with a former colleague and my former hairdresser who moved away to Florida and I hadn't seen for 5 years. They invited me to celebrate my book. We ate lobsters bought right from the docks that morning and drank Marguerita's using cute little flip flop coasters I had bought her for her move to Florida. She said she thought of me every time she used them. Their group of women friends have two get-togethers each year...and they call themselves the "flip flops," partly due to my little gift. Wow. Who knew?

A neighbor of my Mom's sent me a card after reading. Their son owns a camp himself in Raymond so while visiting him, she and her husband set out to find the general store in my book, E. R. Clough. She said Rudy was salivating for some of the penny candy! They had a long conversation with the owner about the book, and in her card, she sent me photos of the store and a small brown bag they had put their penny candy in, just like the little bags I talk about in my story.

A colleague, after reading, said she had set out to find Crescent Lake. She described looking for the Fire Route but couldn't recall the exact number. They looked for the yellow farmhouse in the chapter titled Running the Camp Roads. They felt they were so close but just couldn't quite pin it down...and then they came upon the public beach with its sign Crescent Lake. Success!

The book is reminding people of their own camp experiences, and now they're sharing them with me. Childhood friends I hadn't seen in seventeen years invited me to dinner last week and we were right back to elementary school, middle school, snow mobiling, water skiing, and laughing, laughing, laughing.

I'm so glad to have published this book and am humbled and grateful from the response.

(Photos: Crescent Lake, Raymond, Maine)

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Two Chairs



More often now, I see two chairs placed strategically in peoples' yards for relaxing, chatting, sipping iced tea, reading, and visiting. These chairs come in all shapes and sizes - new, brown wicker Pottery Barn chairs with brightly colored cushions; wooden or plastic Adirondacks stained natural or painted bright reds or greens or pastels of pale yellow or blue; old Victorian rod iron chairs with their paint chipping; simple white plastic chairs bought at Target. By strategically placed, I mean they're sometimes set far from the house and are facing the best view in the yard. If there is a small patch of garden, they may be facing it, or toward the sunset. If there is a small pond, they may be placed at the water's edge.

This trend is wonderful. I am enthusiastic that people are looking more toward ways to enjoy the simple pleasures. You don't need to live on the ocean or in an incredible house to have a beautiful view; your own yard's flowers and a full moon shining over your back lawn are beautiful.

My concern though is that the chairs I see are always empty. I never walk or run or drive by a garden with two chairs and see people sitting in them. Do I just miss the people? Do I just pass by at the wrong time? It's always my experience so I can't help but wonder if they're just part of the scenery, too, not the attempt at relaxation and an escape into nature. Are they, like the entire yards, just viewed from a kitchen window over a sink while clearing the supper dishes or from the living room sofa while watching T.V?

The chairs being placed outside may be step 1 in our process toward adding more peace and beauty to our days. Step 2 may come in time; we'll sit in them.
(photo: West Falmouth, Maine)

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Beach to Beacon Road Race and my Godvoice



Placed 30th of 100 winners in the Feature Article category of the 74th Annual Writers Digest Writing Competition 2005; 18,000 submissions; 500 winners among 5 categories


I took up running at thirty-six, and just like going back to college or having children later in life, the depth of what it has done for me, both physically and mentally, is phenomenal. I grew up never getting dirty, never sweating, never exerting myself enough to be injured. Now, my favorite times to run are either late at night when it is snowing (the quiet is palpable) or in the rain, when my sneakers come down hard in puddles and soak my legs, when I am all alone outside, absorbed in my thoughts and the physical strain of finding my limits.

Now, I love to smell the changes of season -- decaying leaves and earth; an early morning rain in summer hitting dry, hot pavement; woodstoves in the early winter evenings; the overwhelming scent of lilacs, pine. I lift my face to pelting rain and lick falling snowflakes as I run. I have seen the sun rise and set; I have experienced the "runner's high;" and on one occasion heard my Godvoice. Running has awakened all of my senses, and nothing has made me feel more alive.

Ironically, my taking up running had nothing to do with me.

In 1997, my husband lost every hair on his body within a 10-week period. Prior, he didn't even have a receding hairline. It was, at first, frightening as he visited doctors to determine if there was something medically wrong, and then, for him, traumatic as the realization set in that his hair may not come back. Doctors could give him no explanation other than it may be caused by stress.

My husband's response was to shut down. He stopped everything that was "him" until he became himself again, which he believed (hoped) he would.

He has always been a runner. If this was caused by stress, the worst thing he could do was stop running. I saw early on that I could not tell him anything. This was something he had to work through on his own; it was deeply personal. I had no intention of staying with running; I only thought my taking it up may prompt him back to it, and then I would stop. Initially, I could not run from one telephone pole to the next.

Within a few weeks, I could run a mile without cramps. After giving birth twice, with everything loose, I could actually do it. Juggling a full time job with two young boys, I found that thirty minutes alone a luxury. Each time, I would run a little further before walking. I increased mileage gradually, but each day I would not let myself walk earlier than the time before. At two and a half miles, I was still walking some, but less each day.

Then I visited a friend who had run the Boston Marathon. I asked her how she could possibly run three to four hours. What did she think about? She said she meditated or prayed. Of course she did. I was beginning to understand. She responded matter-of-factly, "You just do it. You just don't let yourself stop." Oh, you just DO it. Well, OK then.

I never walked again. I ran as far as I could every day, each day further than the time before. And I LOVED it. It was as much about my head as my body. I asked my husband his tips, how to swing my arms to assist not work counter, how to breathe. He told me. He was interested in teaching me. I sparked his interest and re-focused some of his thoughts away from his hair.

About six months in, I knew what I had to do. I am not a racer (but then again, I wasn't even a runner). I told my husband I wanted to run the Beach to Beacon road race. Competition freaks me out and 10k is 6.2 miles which is a long way for someone who had never run further than three and a half. But none of that mattered. I announced I wanted to sign up, and I would feel so much better if he would do it with me for support.

He mulled it over and said he would. Behind my smile, my head was saying "YES" and pulling my fisted arm down from skyward in success. To run a race, he would have to train; he would have to start running again. And he did.

The first time I felt the "runner's high" and oozed excitement, my husband, with disbelief, asked me to describe it. In his lifetime of running, he had never experienced it. It has come to me only on a few occasions, occurring only when I push beyond my comfort zone. It is obviously a chemical thing, endorphines released from my brain or something, but the feeling is one of clarity and outer-body sensation.

It was at one of these times that I heard my Godvoice. A guest on the Oprah show years afterward spoke of her Godvoice, and I knew what that woman was talking about. I had not had a term for it; it is hard to describe the indescribable. It was a complete thought without words and it was not mine. My voice said, in summary, "This is not it for you. The running is just showing you what you’re capable of when you truly put your mind to something." The thought was so alarming that I strained for it to continue, to happen again, to tell me more. It would not.

My husband and I ran the Beach to Beacon 10k road race that August. Throughout, he stayed just off my left shoulder, slightly behind me. He ran at my pace, 9-minute miles, which undoubtedly killed him to watch lesser runners passing him. One passer-by said to him, "You make this look easy!" He was barely exerting, but he was smiling. He simply supported me through the whole race, so like him.

As we headed up the final hill into Fort Williams Park, he began barking orders at me, "You go for it! Pass that woman! GO!!!" Startled, I gave it everything I had, and the girl who had never sweat crossed that finish line, at exactly my goal time, one year from not being able to run from one telephone pole to the next. My husband cruised in behind me, smiling. He was smiling because I had done it; I was smiling because he had done it.

The next year, he ran again himself, at his pace. Cheering him on the sidelines brought me to tears. My husband was coming back.

He now runs the Beach to Beacon every year (and I run the neighborhood). In training, he sometimes takes twelve mile runs through the hills of West Falmouth. I tell him no hair makes him faster. At forty-eight, he still has almost zero percent body fat. If he keeps it up, maybe he too will (finally) experience the runner's high if he will push himself outside his comfort zone.

I can only wonder what his Godvoice might tell him.

(photo: Portland Head Light, Cape Elizabeth, Maine)

Monday, June 28, 2010

Favorite Books for Summer Reading



I’m not compelled to finish every book I pick up. Too many books, too little time to do that. I re-read some books. My favorite books are those which touch me deeply or resonate with something I am going through at that time. My favorites usually have vivid, rich characters I can understand, not necessarily like, but are three-dimensional and with whom I can identify. Here are some oldies and newbies - potential summer vacation reads. Enjoy!

Nonfiction
The Secret, Rhonda Byrne (audio book) 2008
On Writing, Stephen King 2000
Bella Tuscany, Frances Mayes 1999
The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron (audio book) 1992

Fiction
The Help, Kathryn Stockett 2009
Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen 2006
The Twilight series, Stephenie Meyer 2005 (can't deny it!)
Beneath a Marble Sky, John Shors 2004
The Secret Life of Bees, Sue Monk Kidd 2002
The Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood, Rebecca Wells 1997
Where the Heart Is, Billie Letts 1995
The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher 1987
The Prince of Tides, Pat Conroy 1986
The Bridge to Taribithia, Katherine Paterson 1977 (appropriate for middle schoolers)
Tuck Everlasting, Natalie Babbitt 1975 (appropriate for middle schoolers)
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee 1960

(photo: Camden, Maine)

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

EXCURSION: Primo, a restaurant in Rockland, Maine



Primo is a restaurant in mid-coast Maine where my husband and I, celebrating our 24th anniversary in May, had the best meal we've ever had. (It beat a lobster risotto to die for in Bar Harbor I had in 2006.)

My husband, Frank, is a gardener. There is nothing he touches that won't grow and bloom. Gardening, like cooking, is a knack; I don't think just anyone can do it. He "feels" what his plants need; he's not precisely giving XX amount of water at XX time. He just inherently feels it and intuitively knows. I believe people are basically energy and we all give off an energetic charge that is a positive when we come in contact with certain plants, creatures, human beings and is at other times, a turn off. I'm sure you've witnessed in people, those in whose presence you feel better and in others, when you feel worse or spastic. Animals and babies are attracted to some people, and not others. Frank has an energy which allows plants to respond favorably to his touch.

We both love to cook. Again, with Frank, it is intuitive and creative. He is best at desserts and things that require artistic flare. For me, it's about order, following a precise process to come to results. It calms me as I chop, measure and follow a recipe when I am feeling out of order. It also appeals to my strong aesthetic need; I love nature, natural color, and beauty. I take great pleasure in creating a meal that is visually appealing.

We both love to eat....which is certainly partly why he loves to garden and why we both love to cook. For us, gardening and cooking are not chores; they're life to us. They are so appealing and satisfying. These bring us a very deep joy.

It's no surprise then that Primo would appeal to us on such a deep level. Co-owners Melissa Kelly (Executive Chef) and Price Kushner (Bakery/Pastry Chef) restored a Victorian home in Rockland that is charming, quaint, and beautifully and simply decorated with white linen tablecloths, sparkling glassware and candles, and earth tone paints. Part of their reason for choosing that locale was the opportunity to buy enough land to establish their extensive gardens, green houses, and raising their own pigs. Their meals are based on freshness and seasonality. We ate for dinner organically grown greens they had picked that afternoon, and you can clearly tell the difference.

If you are foodie, or if you want a delicious meal for a special event, I encourage you to take the drive (1 hour 45 minutes from Portland...and you could always spend the night at the Samoset) for a most delicious meal and joyful evening as you linger over a culinary experience that is truly fulfilling. See www.primorestaurant.com for more information and a menu.

Our meal was:
Appetizer to share (and bring half home) (range from $9-18)
Funghi wood fired pizza with roasted garlic, nepitella, Mousseron
and Cremini mushrooms

Dinner (range from $25-42)
Locally caught Halibut atop a creamy white bean puree, wilted dandelion greens, sweet onion~Meyer lemon confit, warm Maine shrimp & white bean salad

Sautéed scaloppini of Pork “Saltimbocca”served on a bed of roast garlic mashed potatos layered with wilted garden spinach, prosciutto and a sage, mushroom~ Madiera jus

Dessert (range from $8-10)
Local Rhubarb "Crostata" with ginger gelato, salted shortbread~ gingersnap crumble, slow roasted strawberries (pictured)

Warm Belgium chocolate "Budino" cake, mint stracicella gelato, fresh berries

They also served to each table a tiny appetizer of crab, artisan breads, and an assortment of hand-made truffles.

2 S. Main Street, Rockland

Monday, May 31, 2010

RECIPE: Barefoot Contessa's Roasted Shrimp Cocktail


As you're planning summer get-togethers, a delicious alternative to traditional shrimp cocktail, and a big hit with my friends, is roasted shrimp cocktail. As a quicker fix, you may buy the cocktail sauce in your market's fish department instead of making it.

FOR THE SHRIMP:
2 lbs (12-15 count) shrimp
1 TBS olive oil
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper


FOR THE SAUCE:
1/2 c. Heinz chili sauce
1/2 c. Heinz ketchup
3 TBS prepared horseradish
2 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1/4 tsp Tabasco sauce

Preheat over to 400˚.

Peel & devein shrimp, leaving tails on. Place them on a sheet pan with olive oil, salt & peper, spread in one layer. Roast 8-10 minutes, just until pink and firm and cooked through.

For the sauce, combine all ingredients. Serve as a dip with the shrimp.

Recipe taken from:
Garten, Ina. Barefoot Contessa Back to Basics. New York: Clarkson Potter/Publishers, 2008.


(photo: Great Diamond Island)

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Weddings


Weddings bring out the best in people, the best in families. My niece got married last weekend, the first of the next generation in my husband's family to do so. She graciously and lovingly included all of us - uncles, aunts, cousins - in all the planning and celebration, and each time we spoke to her, over approximately eighteen months since her engagement, she gave us the exact count of days left until the big day. Her enthusiasm was catching...and quite beautiful.

She is marrying a wonderful man, a man who has been deeply loved by his own family. It's obvious through his smile; his confidence in himself; his calm, kind spirit. It's interesting to me that sometimes you can look at a person today and know their history just from their demeanor, their actions, their path they've chosen, their way of being in the world and with others.

By inviting guests to weddings, the couple is offering us the opportunity, time and space to take a glimpse back into our own pasts. It makes us remember our own weddings, our childrens' weddings, our own journeys over the last five years or ten or fifty as we sit quietly in pews or in folding chairs on a beach at a resort destination and remember. It gives us guests the opportunity and the nudge to remember.

Weddings offer guests feelings of joy, hope, enthusiasm, love, community, and tradition. At formal weddings, we revel in dressing up and dancing in a room that sparkles with lights and candles. We mingle. We smile and laugh and cry. We reacquaint with friends or relatives we've not seen in years, and we remember and talk about good times past. We catch up with one another.

Weddings remind us that life is good, that we are blessed to have such family and friends. We are hopeful the new couple has a lifetime filled with happiness and togetherness. As older folks, we know there will be trials, as there are in all lives, all marriages, so we wish them the strength to hang in, forge forever forward together with grace and civility, and be ever-compassionate and caring toward each other. Lengthy journeys are made one step, one day, at a time. To start the journey under the auspices of all that is good is a solid base from which to build a beautiful future together.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

"Drink & Dry" CD hits iTunes


My son, Matt's, second CD, Drink & Dry, was released on iTunes April 20, 2010. He says it's a "commentary on freshman year of college -- about drinking and drugs, fame, religion and the addictions people have." (Frank, Jr. has opinions!)

Some of the songs are aggressive and darker than his first CD. It's definitely exploratory as he's tried all sorts of musical styles and a wide variety of instruments. In fact on København, his goal was to use every instrument he owns (3 guitars, mandolin, drums, keyboard, synthesizer, cowbell, didgeridoo, etc.) and see if the result was music or a cacophony....it turned into one of my favorite songs. Just like his first CD, In My Rage, Matt has written all lyrics and music, played all instruments, and sung all vocals with a few guest artists whom he names on the songs.

Matt doesn't drink....really. Knowing Kaliquor is about date rape will have you listening in a much deeper way; it's clever and it's sad.

D351GN4T3D D13R translates to Designated Die-er, a song about drinking and driving. He's taking a stand by being vocal about the partying every day that he's seen.

I don't recommend some of the songs for kids earlier than 8th grade. He has a few of the songs available for listening on http://www.myspace.com/mattkalicky or he'd appreciate your support if you wish to purchase any of the songs or the CD on iTunes or letting people you know about it.

Putting one's art out to the world isn't easy; it takes guts. I'm always one to showcase others' art because of this. During a year with a lot on his plate, Matt has done this creative project, on the side, while getting through freshman year in Burlington. I share this here in my blog to recognize and honor him for the fine creative work he has done and because his leadership in taking a stand in this way seems unusual and worthy of us, adults, to ponder.


As Matt tends to do, he makes you think. Enjoy!

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Musings from College Mom


April 30 marks the last day of my older son's freshman year of college. On that day, we'll pack up our cars with his clothes, Mac, guitars and amps, dirty laundry, linens, girlfriend's photo from his desk, fridge, and him. A different him from the one we dropped off last August, but still him. He'll take the four hour drive back to Maine for the last time of his freshman year with accomplishment tucked into his backpack. Hopefully, in subsequent years, that drive back and forth will only get easier.

For him, it's been a year of introspection, observation, and change. For Mom, it's been a year of introspection, observation....and change.

I thought I was "prepared Mom," all set organizationally-wise, emotionally-wise, and with a young man who was "ready," academically and maturity-wise. I didn't fear Matt couldn't take care or lead himself; as a first child, he's been doing that since about the second grade. I didn't fear he lacked self-confidence because never in his life have I seen "fear" in his face.

I didn't fear he couldn't make friends. His group of friends from the neighborhood are about the nicest, most grounded, fun, thoughtful kids I've met. Mind you, there were times as he grew up that we questioned his friends (not the current ones) and tried to influence his choices. What he chose himself was so far better than we ever could have for him. It's a testimony to him. We've learned over his young life that what he chooses for himself has been better in every instance than we ever could have chosen for him.

So what happened with all this preparation and apparent readiness? Tough. Freshman year has been an emotional roller coaster. I've missed him more deeply than I anticipated I would. Our house is so obviously missing the sounds of him: his guitar playing, his singing, his music, his feet running down the stairs, his "hey," the slamming of doors just from force not from anger, his laugh.

I've prayed almost every night, something I hadn't done faithfully for years. I wander the halls slowly and look at photo montages of when the boys were young and linger on the little-boy smiles that show him at five. I re-look at graduation photos. I tear up at the oddest of times, especially when driving and hit with a particularly pertinent song. I wonder what he's doing at any odd time - is he warm enough, is he in danger, is he lonely?

There's nothing I would have liked more than a child who said, "Bye, Mom" eagerly and happily and that he "LOVED" college. As hard as it is to let go, that scenario is actually easier than when you know it's not the be-all and end-all, all fun and games. This year has been a test of my parenting skills in a new way as we run headlong into this new phase. I've had to learn this next phase of parenting and what is most important for me to give and say at this time. It's all new, as each phase is. It takes a little trial and error to figure it out. As much as I'd love to jump in and help, I purposely make myself hold back and wait to be asked. And even then, teach and encourage instead of do.

My best friend's nephew leaves for Afghanistan for two years just before Matt will return home from college. That gives me perspective. And now for him and Matt, I will continue to pray every night....

Sunday, March 28, 2010

"These are a few of my favorite things...."






I hope these simple things give you as much pleasure as they give me.








· James Taylor songs

· blue hydrangeas and purple irises

· skinny cappuccino from Arabica, in my own Dansk porcelain mug (I'm trying to save the planet one coffee cup at a time.)

· buying bread at Standard Baking Company early on a sunny, Saturday morning

· reading and looking at the beautiful photos in the Barefoot Contessa cookbooks

· strawberries and blueberries, freshly picked

· weekend cooking -- planning our evening meals is a weekend highlight

· Two Lights State Park, in winter

· sunset from the dock on Mooselookmeguntic Lake, Rangeley

· the tip top of a ski mountain, in the dead of winter, crystalline tree branches, North Pole-like

· John Denver's Greatest Hits (Rocky Mountain High is my favorite all time song)

· O, The Oprah Magazine -- I read it cover to cover, last page written by Oprah first

· the Cliff Walk at Prouts Neck, Scarborough

· big orange pumpkins, the shape of Cinderella's coach

· Cooking Light magazine (before their "makeover" in 2009) -- inspires me to exercise, eat healthy and cook

· reading in my bed before going to sleep, candles burning, shades open to a full moon over the field or listening to rain gently hitting our sky lights

· Starbucks Javachip ice cream

· the sparkling ocean on a summer day, talcum powder sand under my toes

· The Food Network -- Barefoot Contessa and Giada deLaurentis

· a blazing fire at a beamed ski lodge or at a rustic camp on the lake

· Maine Home + Design magazine; aesthetically beautiful and lets me dream

· memories of Paris with my Danish college roommate - Baguettes, ham, French cheese, and green apples in a basket have never tasted as good as they did in the gardens of Versailles.

· sunshine

· Evergreen Cemetery early on a Sunday morning in January, no one there but me

· puddle boots

· apple picking at "The Brothers" orchard in Alfred (a.k.a. Giles Family Farm)

· the first snowfall of the season


(photo: Turks & Caicos)

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Robert Redford



In Out of Africa and Horse Whisperer, one of my all time favorite movies, Robert Redford played the same character. Before realizing this, I wasn’t particularly a Robert Redford officianado. I hadn’t seen all his movies. I knew I liked the man, that he was decent and giving and was about more than just acting. I loved what he’s done at Sundance promoting would-be film makers by giving them an outlet to come together, create movies, and awarding the outstanding which may help them get their start. I love his Sundance catalogue – the items sold, the jewelry, the photos, the karma which emanates from his short paragraph he writes on the first page of the catalogue that is so telling of who the man is.

We sometimes confuse actors with their characters, and I’m not sure if my admiration of him comes from him, what little I truly know, or from these two characters he’s played. In both Out of Africa and Horse Whisperer, he was a loner. He had his fingertip on the pulse of the natural world and the wild. He walked the plains of Africa and had an innate sense, from patience and practice, of when a lion would spring, and when she wouldn’t. In Horse Whisperer, he rode the ranches in Montana and could connect and read horses in a way many humans can not. Due to his calm, intuitive nature, he could read people and animals, and to this I am drawn.

He was matter-of-fact with uptight Karen in Out of Africa whom he enlightened by showing her one could not possess things or people; they were fleeting and weren’t for the possessing. We are all just visitors, passing through. He was matter-of-fact with extremely uptight journalist, Annie, in Horse Whisperer. He said few words but in those few, he taught these women so much in a gentle, unpretentious way. He helped them see and learn for themselves.

He so understood these women before many words were spoken. He had a knowing and ability to read people all the way to their core. His type can be unnerving, but I’m drawn to them. They can see through pretense and false fronts. In a quiet way, he elicited in these women a change in their lifelong ways of being. They were drawn to him – his honesty, his gentleness, his civility and respectful nature. He didn’t try to change or get things his way. He would never try to control or take over, and yet, there was never a question who the strong leader was. He led himself and his life in both movies precisely the way he wanted. He was completely true to himself and his nature and he, in so doing, found fulfillment in his days.

I am drawn to his characters because I understand them, and I strive to be more like them or find them in real life.

(photo: Shelburne Farms, Vermont)

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Fireflies, song written by Lori McKenna


Makes me remember.
How about you?


Written by Lori McKenna / Pieces of Me 2001 Gyrox Records http://www.myspace.com/lorimckenna
Recorded by Faith Hill / Fireflies 2005 Warner Bros. Records, Inc.

"Before you met me I was a fairy princess
I caught frogs and called them prince
And made myself a queen
Before you knew me I'd traveled 'round the world
And I slept in castles
And fell in love
Because I was taught to dream

I found mayonnaise bottles and poked holes on top
To capture Tinker Bell
And they were just fireflies to the untrained eye
But I could always tell

Cause I believe in fairy tales
And dreamer's dreams
Like bedsheet sails
And I believe in Peter Pan
And miracles, anything I can to get by
And fireflies

Before I grew up, I saw you on a cloud
I could bless myself in your name
And pat you on your wings
Before I grew up I heard you whisper so loud
Well life is hard and so is love
Child, believe in all these things

I found mayonnaise bottles and poked holes on top
To capture Tinker Bell
They were just fireflies to the untrained eye
But I could always tell

Cause I believe in fairy tales
And dreamer's dreams
Like bedsheet sails
And I believe in Peter Pan
And miracles, anything I can to get by . . .
And fireflies
And fireflies . . .

Before you met me I was a fairy princess
I caught frogs and called them prince
And made myself a queen
And before you knew me I'd traveled 'round the world
And I slept in castles
And fell in love
Because I was taught to dream"


(CD photo: courtesy of iTunes)

Saturday, February 13, 2010

In Celebration of Women!


When I think of you, my women friends, there is commonality in your wonderful, beautiful qualities. So many women try so hard every day to be more, do more, try more. I write to honor you women and inspire you to stay the course. Your efforts are worth it in so many ways. You are:

· devoted caring mothers who put your children first in all aspects of your lives even when it requires great personal sacrifice

· lovers of books, reading, and sharing your thoughts and opinions

· health advocates who take time to exercise, walk with friends, go to the gym, and who are aging beautifully (perhaps better than a lot of men our age)

· social beings who love to spend time with girlfriends (or therapists....they offer some of the same benefits)

· keepers of traditions, either passed down in families or created yourselves. Every year, you bake, invite family & friends, dress the tree, place candles in the windows, put the leaves in the table, break out the china, and iron the tablecloth. You select birthday themes according to where your child is in his life even if it means long, stressful afternoons at Jokers.

· volunteers. You run the snack shacks at games, book sales, team dinners; you coach, chair committees, sit on non-profit boards. You volunteer in the classroom or tutor special needs children. You volunteer in your communities whether by teaching reading to English-as-second-language adults newly moved to our town, biking for the American Lung Association or doing triathalons for Breast Cancer.

· rocks in the storm. You are the anchor that so many in your life are tied to -- your own parents, siblings, friends and children. Your tentacles are far reaching. You persevere, keep your heads up, and always try to see the positive. On days you're down or when you're going through a particularly bad spell on your journey, you seek means you need to carry on and do the best you can day in and day out.

What I describe, I see in so many of you women, done in your own unique ways. You are beautiful and oh, so valuable to so many. I raise a glass of Veuve Clicquot to you in a beautiful fluted glass and send my thanks for all you do to inspire and show me the way.


(photo: Valentine's Day roses)

Sunday, January 31, 2010

EXCURSION: Oat Nuts Park Trail



Oat Nuts Park Trail is in a rather unlikely place - in the midst of a bustling neighborhood off Summit Street surrounded by hundreds of homes. The first time we walked it, all the way to the Presumpscot River, we marveled at how we had no idea such an oasis in the woods existed just up the road from our house.

The trail is part of the Portland Trails organization (www.trails.org). We are so fortunate in Portland to have this wonderful group who have created more than fifty miles of trails around our city including: Back Cove Trail, Eastern Prom Trail, Peaks Island Loop and the Stroudwater Trail.

Oat Nuts Park Trail begins on Summit Street between Olde Birch Lane and Juniper Street and connects to the Presumpscot River Preserve. You can park right on Summit Street while you walk. It's about a half mile to the river, a little tricky as you get close to the water, but mostly an easy hike. Snowshoers, cross country skiiers, mountain bikers, and folks walking with babies, toddlers and dogs use the trail regularly.

The land for Oat Nuts was originally an old subdivision of very small lots, the deeds to which could be found in boxes of Oat Nuts cereal, hence the name.

On a winter's day, it's an easy and beautiful wooded hike that meanders to the river which you can then follow for a ways either toward Allen Avenue or Westbook in the opposite direction. When a fresh snow has fallen, this hidden trail can be absolutely magical.

(photo: Oat Nuts Park Trail, Portland)

Friday, January 15, 2010

A New Take on the Oldest Resolution


The premise for this blog entry is from the chapter "Time Alone" in my manuscript Mothers Fulfilled.

One time in my life I was successful at dieting. It came at a time when I was questioning my health, and my cutting down of food and increasing daily exercise was more for health benefits than beauty. When your life depends on it, you find the willpower. My weight dropped to below my high school weight; it was just falling off me. I believe in a balanced weight loss program eating healthy foods from the food pyramid; no fad diets for me. I am a Taurus and have a worker bee mentality. I never expect a quick fix in anything. I put the weight on slowly; I should expect to take it off slowly.

I was eating everything, just smaller portions. Although I consider myself high energy, at this time, I developed an energy source that was greatly heightened. I felt boundless. I also had more focus, clarity of thought, and creativity. I had not anticipated this and had never experienced it, so it was an odd benefit to losing weight. Having lived it though, I learned the possible intent of fasting required in certain religions. Certainly, part of it is simply to experience what sacrifice feels like. But part of it may also be to get a more focused, clear state of mind. Without clogging and numbing yourself with food, you are sharper. I do not fast, but it opened my eyes to its potential as far as what it can do for your mind. Not stuffing yourself with food you do not need and letting the body run at its optimum level produces optimum results.

The potential of cyclist and six-time Tour de France winner, Lance Armstrong, is probably within all of us. Yet, most of us do not have the commitment or drive of finding it. He is such a fine example of how brilliant and powerful the human machine can be.

The Lion King showed us so beautifully the circle of life and the interconnectedness of all beings on our planet. This one time of successful dieting showed me the circle within my own life. The human body is the most amazing machine we will ever know. Allowing it to run at its peak level of performance can bring energy, clarity of thought, inspiration when listening to that inner voice that can come through if you're not numbed down with food or alcohol or drugs. The best thing to fight mild depression is exercise.

Keeping this year's resolution may be easier done if we're doing it for these benefits, not same old, same old.
(photo: Oat Nuts Park Trail, Portland)