A Good Resolution

“Living better doesn’t always mean trying harder. Ease up.”

Whole Living Magazine, December 2011 issue.



I wouldn’t have even seen such a quote thirty years ago; it wouldn’t have registered with me. But on the eve, (well four months to go), of turning fifty, I saw it; I got it; and now I share it.

I became an adult in the heady 1980’s, the Regan years, which were all about hard driving capitalists and prosperity. We all had the opportunity for success providing we got a good education, were competitive, and willing to work long hours. A lot has changed since then, both in our country and in our small towns, and not totally for the worst. One positive that has come from the recession which began in 2008 is that it woke a lot of us up. It changed us. It caused us to choose more carefully how we spend our money and our time. It made us more grateful for what we do have since we saw how precarious everything is – possible of disappearing in an instant for any one of us.

What I’ve learned as I’ve aged is the beauty of an ordinary day. I’ve learned that I love making meals for people close to me. I love setting a beautiful table, sitting quietly each day in my backyard, running my household as a gift to my family to make their lives more calm and smooth. I love books and candles and quiet. Buddhists have told us for years about the importance of quiet and introspection as a way toward finding inner peace.

What did our hard driving society give us? Heart attacks, anxiety, stress and anger? What does rest and easing up give us? It gives us life. And life with those we love.

Here’s to easing up in 2012 - Happy New Year!


Photo: Evergreen Cemetery, Portland

Christmas is......

 a freshly cut Evergreen tree from Maine

 the smell of pine

 sparkling white lights and red ornaments

 the first snowflakes falling on a dark winter night

 children padding down the stairs in footie-pajamas

 steaming hot cocoa in Santa mugs, crowned with whipped cream and
chocolate shavings

 candles

 the soft light of night in a warm home

 stockings hung on the stairs' banister

 the little "o" of a three-year-old's lips when he sees Santa has come

 "O Holy Night" at evening mass

 beautifully wrapped, colorful gifts beneath the tree with big bows

 the smell of cinnamon from baked French toast on Christmas morning

 an orange and a quarter always in the toe of my stocking as a child


Photo: The Old Farm Christmas Place, Cape Elizabeth, ME

Giving

‘Tis the season of giving…and I love it. I love to give. I love to think of what someone would like to have. I love to wrap presents beautifully and have spent oodles over the years on colorful paper, cloth bows, and fancy gift cards. Aesthetics matter to me and I get an oomph of pleasure just looking at beautiful packages under an evergreen Christmas tree.

In this month’s issue of O, The Oprah Magazine, an article asked what my own personal all time favorite gift was. What popped into my mind was so unexpected that I paused and thought deeper. Then I asked Frank his favorite gift of all time, and then I asked others. I love to ask probing questions like this that make people think because oftentimes, I’m amazed at the answers.

My favorite gift of all time came from my friend and next door neighbor, Sheila Sneider. When I gave birth to Ben, as we arrived home from the hospital, Sheila delivered the most beautiful gift basket filled with a hot meal – a delicious chicken/stuffing/swiss cheese casserole, salad, home-made dinner rolls, dessert – the works. Sheila is a wonderful cook and can create and bedazzle for get-togethers like Martha Stewart. The reason this gift meant so much to me is that it was unexpected and exactly what we needed at that time – it was like a loving embrace to two tired parents coming home with anxiety and a new baby boy.

I’ve loved so many gifts I’ve received over the years and have enjoyed them in the year they’re given, but when asked my “favorite gifts of all time,” the few that come to mind surprise me. None are from my childhood, and just think what we parents buy and spend over the years on kids’ gifts. My “ all time favorites” surprise me because they’re not necessarily from the closest people in my life. A couple were material, but it wasn’t the cost that made them special; it was the unexpectedness and the thought and meaning behind the gift.

•

a brilliant gold and pink sapphire necklace sent to me from my Aunt Georgia the Christmas after I spent a weekend with her earlier that year. It was a gift from her first husband and she wanted me to have it. No one had ever given me such an expensive gift. My son, Ben, said when he saw the necklace – “…and you only just met her? And spent one weekend with her? And she gave you that??? It must have been quite a weekend!” It was. I had met her once at 15 and then flew off to meet her again in my mid-forties for a weekend of a lifetime.

• a picture painted in Japanese writing by her second husband which means “less is more” from a phrase she read in my book, Away at a Camp in Maine, a phrase he said to her often and when she read it written by me, she knew I had to have it

• a painting of the Observatory in Portland given to Frank and me as a wedding gift from my boss at that time, Dave Kangas. The Observatory marked the top of the street on the Eastern Promenade where my husband and I began our life together as a married couple. It still hangs proudly in my home and always will – a marker of our beginning and the long road we’ve traveled since.

• The trip to Mexico my husband planned 100% - the best family trip we ever took. I lead and plan and arrange every day, at home and at work. To have someone else choose and lead is the greatest gift to me and I’m so appreciative of it! Everything about that vacation was perfect.

• Forty, white, long stemmed roses delivered to me on my 40th birthday at home from my boss at that time, Brian Noyes. That was the most beautiful flower arrangement I’ve ever seen – breathtaking.

• A few Hallmark cards given to me by my son, Matt, as an adult whose words mean everything to me – they are so touching coming from him. I keep them in my top desk drawer and read them whenever I feel like a perk.

I think of the WalMart guitar my sister Elisa gave my son Matt in the 7th grade – it changed the trajectory of his life and certainly is the most meaningful gift he ever received.

My son, Ben, said his favorite all time gift was the drum kit we bought….when we were supposed to be school shopping for clothes, on a whim, and it became a huge part of who he is. It’s a gift he uses most days. It is fun and shows a talent he never knew he had…and it’s a stress reliever on days when that’s the most pressing need.

What was your favorite all time gift?

What can you give others this holiday season that might mean the world to them….due to unexpectedness and the thought, not ever the cost?

Halloween

A neighbor of mine, who has no children of his own, has described our street as "Mayberry." Watching the neighborhood's kids grow up from his vantage point made it appear they had what neighborhoods used to have -- lots of outdoor play with friends from the street, driveway chalk, jumping rope, tents in yards, baseball, basketball, bikes, lemonade stands. My street isn't unique to this - I see it replicated in neighborhoods all over Portland so for all we hear that's bad in our world, we shouldn't forget that "Mayberry" does still exist in some ways.

For me, nothing stands out like "Mayberry" than what our Halloween's used to be. I will never forget the joy our kids or we adults had when our kids were small, and we all made a party of Halloween every year regardless of whether it was a week night or weekend. It was as big as Christmas.

Our neighborhood attaches to lots of others so there are hundreds of kids. We had years of handing out 120 or more tiny candy bars; it was a constant parade of kids in costume aged one to fifteen. There was running from front porch to front porch, laughter, tripping on costumes, dropping of plastic pumpkins filled with brightly colored candy onto dewy or frozen grass depending on the year. There was "TRICK OR TREAT" yelled in tiny voices and "thank you" when prompted. There was awe by trick-o-treaters at my husband's intricate pumpkin carvings.

Some years, Frankenstein hung from our 2nd floor, the fog machine blew smoke at just the right moment when a child passed, or huge plastic pumpkins on the front lawn. Our neighbors, the Sneider's, are responsible for the majority of the festive atmosphere - their house decorating was fabulous and included a giant light display on their garage with a 'Happy Halloween' logo. A bat flew around the top of their porch making an eery, spooky sound. They made hot spiked cider for the adults and had not just candy bars, but made up bags of candy!

They also played pranks on us. When our son was only 4 or 5, they put steak gristle from dinner into tin foil as his "treat." When we helped go through his candy that year, there was a moment we wondered who would do such an awful trick...but very quickly knew it was them!

I am so grateful to my neighbors for their enthusiastic embracing of this holiday. I'm hopeful my boys will always remember. I know I will.

Happy Halloween!

Fifty

At first earlier in the year, a couple friends hit the big marker quietly and randomly. But with this past weekend's party for one of my best friends, my group of friends has begun sliding down the slippery slope in earnest. Two more friends are hitting fifty in November and three in December. Hold on, folks, we're FRIENDS FACING FIFTY in a big way - we're all in!

My girlfriend, the class clown, the one so much fun to be around, says fifty's not sitting well. She can't quite get her head around it.

On her cake, we wrote "Fit, Fabulous & 50." And she is. She's a do-er; she exercises regularly and has the endurance of a mule - she can ride a bike forever! She is independent and capable of anything. She has a wonderful family and girlfriends who have been at her side since she was a pre-teen. She has worked at her job for over 25 years, no small feat -- again the endurance of a mule! Not everyone is so blessed as they hit the half-century marker, but she's earned it.

And her gift to herself for turning 50 is a trip to France! To France! How cool is that? We couldn't have, or wouldn't have, done that at thirty or thirty-five. But at fifty, if we want to do it, man, we're actually doing it! That in itself is worth the marker.

I'm hearing friends say why hitting fifty is bothering us; it's a lot of things. Mortality seems to be the biggie - we're more than half way through our lives. Maybe we look too old; maybe we feel it. Maybe we're sad the kids are moving out and don't want change or maybe just the opposite - we're anxious for them to go because we're tired and ready for change. Maybe we've not done what we hoped to by fifty; maybe we fear the good years are past. At fifty, forty is sounding OK...when at forty, that was hard, too, but fifty seems to be a whole new ballpark.

Pooey! We've got to let all this go! We have absolutely no control over this and we should be proud of all we've done in our first fifty years because we've sure done a lot! I'm going to try to hold my head up and take the lead of "living the I's" I read in Patti Digh's book, Life is a Verb, for how I should carry myself from here. Being thankful for every day, doing what we want to do, and finding joy in the small things are the way for us to live.

Patti said, "It turned out there were six main ingredients for the fuller, richer life, all starting with the letter I, just as all change starts with I, the individual. For each of the six practices that emerged, simple actions stood out:
Intensity: Say yes
Inclusion: Be generous
Integrity: Speak up
Intimacy: Love more
Intuition: Trust yourself
Intention: Slow down"

*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 8
www.lifeisaverb.net
www.pattidigh.com

Photo: Not Mexico, but Rangeley, Maine...finding joy wherever!

Garbage In, Garbage Out

"Fear is a terrible sensation, one we never, ever want to feel. How lucky we are to live in a time and a place where it's so often possible to avoid the things that scare us most: violence, disease, natural disasters, dangerous animals, and, at least until the very end, death. Instead, we get to sit around on our widening behinds watching television shows....about violence, disease, natural disasters, dangerous animals, and death."*


Photo: Botanical Gardens, Boothbay Harbor, ME


*Beck, Martha. "Be afraid....Be Very Afraid." O, The Oprah Magazine October 2011: 67.

Sixteen

I was washing some large pasta pots when, out of the blue, Frank said, " Do you remember when we bathed the kids in the sink?"

Where did that come from?

Yes, I did remember. Like yesterday.

I loved bathing the kids in sinks. They were so wobbly, not yet able to sit up. Their perfect skin was soapy and slippery and perfectly white without a freckle or blemish. They laughed and stared deeply into my eyes. They loved warm water drizzled onto their bellies. They lifted their feet in the air, wiggling their toes. Rubber duckie, bubbles, plastic sail boats floated with them.

Yes, I remembered.

Frank said this the first week of fall when my older son was entering junior year of college, now with some lines of experience on his face, and my younger son was entering junior year of high school, standing over six feet tall.

My younger son is sixteen and this summer, with all its glorious weather and joyfulness, was best for me in just seeing him bloom. I will always remember the summer of 2011 as "his" summer. He got his driver's license, first time out, and I got another gray hair. He got his wisdom teeth out. Last summer marked a lot of questions and changes. This summer marked a lot of becoming who he is. He blossomed. He became comfortable with who he is; he laughs; he is totally "himself" with his friends. From day one, he began driving to school this year, programmed the music stations he wanted, got an iPod adapter. He wrote a first paper on what he thought about walking into high school the first day as a junior. He said he was grown up now. He said, as he walked into high school this year, he was thinking he was half way through high school, of college, life thereafter, and jobs. Wow. Really? I would never have known. Great assignment, English teacher!

With his friends, they discussed how many freshmen there are this year. My God, it's like they're zombies, multiplying. It's like "zombie armageddon!" He mentioned that in high school, the central stair case becomes a mob scene between classes, a "crush." As he was routinely pushing his way through during that first week, he actually heard a freshman shout out, "I'm scared!"

But he's sixteen. Such a pivotal age. He is no longer afraid of the crush at the staircase; onward and upward. I need to get on this ride, buckle my seat belt, and get ready for the roller coaster of this important year in his life!

Worn Paths

"Maybe if I look at the paths I've worn, over and over again, I'll see that purpose show itself, the way cornfields create patterns I see only when I'm flying over them. Perhaps it takes some distance to see that path. At the very least, it requires a different vantage point."


Many people change their tastes as they age. They seek a new look for themselves or their surroundings; they change jobs; they yearn to travel and see new places; they leap into the unknown and try new challenges. But there are certain traits, skills, and attractions we have that seem to be inherent - built into our DNA. These have been present in us our entire lives. Although we may change something on the surface, the underlying trait or way of being is still present - that is the inherent quality that is the base from which all else flows and which is unique to us.

I am an introvert. I never learned of that word or what it meant until I was an adult. However, as I look back, I see the qualities and needs of introversion were present my entire life and I took certain paths to meet the needs I had not really knowing why I was doing them. For instance, I walked a lot, alone, when I was young. I studied alone, made decisions alone, shopped alone, exercised alone. I lived most happily in my own head. I wasn't a dorm-girl or go-away-to-overnight camp type. I was the kid who walked around the periphery alone to explore quietly. I could certainly participate and have fun with groups of kids; I just see now that those times had to be flanked by times alone to build the stamina to be able to function that way.

I grew up in a small home that was too crowded for my type....so I walked, far and long, in all sorts of weather since it was a daily need. I have always craved and enjoyed wide open spaces. I have always been a reader. Reading allowed me to be quiet and alone.

I am also a writer and have been as far back as I remember. I love the exercise and process of working things out in my head and then on paper. I love words. I analyze, instruct, question and come to my own conclusions through writing. I turned my back on my writing for half my life, but again, what happens with these inherent traits is that they don't leave you; they keep poking back out in various ways in your life seeing if you'll accept them and go with your inherent flow at some point. Paths I continued to take kept bringing me to the same center.

For you, it might be an inherent drive to help people, teach, paint, create or play music, or explore new things. If you think back on things you've done that have brought you joy or peace or felt so right to you, if you look at those paths and seek to see some similarity to them, you might discover your passion. You might discover your inherent ways of being. Just like wearing my hair to "go with" my cowlick, no longer trying to fight against it, is the right thing to do....so, too, is going with, not fighting, your true nature.

To help you find your purpose, look back from a high vantage point, and ask: What are my worn paths?



Photo: the White Mountains, NH

*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 173
www.lifeisaverb.net
www.pattidigh.com

Holding Tight / Letting Go

"While you're tightening the straps, ponder the wacky possibility that the people you're trying to save don't need saving."*




My 20-year old son arrived at our rented lake house to join us on our vacation and within the first hour announced that in two weeks, he'd be taking a road trip with a couple friends....to Milwaukee, Wisconsin via Philadelphia, New York City, and Chicago. Whoosh - the feeling of a punch in my stomach knocked the wind out of me. The calm and joy of several days into my vacation was wiped out in an instant and the tension rose to my throat.

For over a year, he has been dying for an adventure and craving a road trip.

"Why don't you fly to Wisconsin?" I asked.

"Well....because the road trip is the point....not Wisconsin really," he replied patiently.

Mind you, he wasn't asking me to go on a road trip. At twenty, he was courteously telling me his plans, clearly charted and ready to execute solo.

My husband and I are not good car riders. We're both poor with directions; I have a problem with my depth perception and use my air break too much whenever anyone else drives; we get impatient and antsy beyond a four-hour trip. We'd never attempt driving in a big city. Aggressive drivers make me crazy. We don't even drive in Boston if we don't have to - the train or bus is our preferred method of travel there.

My son and I talked out his plans, and I blasted him with all my concerns. He held firm.

It took me a day to mull it over, look at it from all sides. At twenty-one, I spent a college semester in London and traveled around Europe at a time when young people weren't doing any such thing. It was before computers, cell phones, or any communication outside long distance calls and letter-writing. My Mom was hosting a barbecue on the day Frank was driving me to Logan Airport to embark on my own adventure. I went out to the backyard to say good-bye. "Oh, are you going?" my Mom said casually. "Well have a good time!" I was leaving for six months.

Later, she told me, of course, she was nervous, but she didn't show it and that was the kindest, most expansive, most wonderful parenting trait she could have shown towards me. I got onto that plane for the great beyond, elated, and full of positive thoughts - no fear. And....that adventure remains one of the most joyous times in my life and one I'm so thankful I took.

The final argument in my head about my own son was that he could be in Afghanistan fighting a war; he could have gone into the army at eighteen like a friend of mine's son did. Let's keep things in perspective, I told myself. Let go. Let the man, no longer a boy, take a road trip in the U.S. of A. if that's the adventure he wanted to take. So I did....

...and upon his return, all smiles, his increased confidence emanating from his being, fun photos...I told him he had been right. And now that he had done that, I truly felt he could do anything. I told him I could and would let go. The three, with their GPS and iPhones, found their way halfway across the country and visited the sites that mattered to them. They were responsible, efficient, and 110% capable.

I don't need to tighten, and will even do damage if I try. My son doesn't need saving.




Photo: hummingbird at Loon Lake, Rangeley, Maine

*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 120
www.lifeisaverb.net
www.pattidigh.com

Dogs

I was bitten by two different dogs when I was younger than 7 years old... and it still troubles me to this day. It's marked who I've become. I'm afraid of dogs - have been since then. I wish I weren't. I so understand loving dogs, man's best friend. I get it. I yearn for it. I just don't have it. And I've read how dogs can sense when a person fears them and as you could expect, it makes them more aggressive toward that person. It's the whole energy-we're-emanating thing which I so believe in, so of course, they'd feel how tense and uneasy I am, and it would put the dogs more on edge, too. It's the perfect storm when dogs and I come together. If I go into a friend's home with five other people, the dog will always come to me. He senses something not quite right and comes to investigate.

Going away to the lake every summer is a highlight of my life. But....dogs come into play because, of course, there are a lot of dogs, loose, running around camps. As they should be. They're protecting their country abodes and enjoying getting out of the city themselves.

But, I need to roam. I'm not one to sit still and need to get outside each day and move. I cannot be corralled into a tiny place.

This past week, we were fortunate enough to rent the most beautiful lake house on Loon Lake in Rangeley. One morning, Frank and I headed out for a walk down the dirt camp road which smelled of pine and was lined with the most beautiful Indian paintbrushes, lupines just getting passed, and daisies in full bloom. A half mile or so up the road, at a rustic cottage, four dogs came bounding toward us, growling. Frank, as usual, got in the middle of them, tried to calm them (to calm me) and keep them occupied so I could pass unnoticed. These four were not falling for it. The owner of the dogs was sitting on his porch and Frank asked if he'd call them back.

He said, "Are you kidding me?"

Courteously, I said I had been bitten; I was afraid of dogs, would he please call them back so I could pass? He refused and told me to stop acting weird and they'd be fine.

I attempted to move forward, past memories and fears crushing my heart with each step. One of the dogs bounded toward me and I retreated. "No," I said to Frank. "I can't do it. Let's turn around."

Frank shook his head. He didn't want to turn around. He wanted, and believed it was our right, to walk further down the public camp road. I knew if I made it past, I'd have to come back, and I wasn't willing to do it.

The next day, I attempted to run 3 miles within the perimeter of our 1-acre property. Can you imagine how many loops you have to make to get 3 miles running around 1 acre?

I asked Frank about what mace would do to dogs - I never carried it for people or animals before and knew in my heart that wasn't the answer. After a day, I thought I had it all backward. I should carry dog treats, not mace. Be nice, not mean. (I'm not mean.) "Then they'd follow you," Frank said. Oh. Bad idea, then.

I relented. I tried to look from the camp owner's perspective wanting to let his dogs run loose in the country as they should be allowed to do. I pulled back. No hard feelings. It was my issue, and I seemed to be in the minority. I would find my own ways to roam, in a smaller fashion when in the country in unknown territory.

A couple days later, Frank was walking by the man's rustic camp. (He was out for a 6-mile run, but knew he needed to walk past the man's camp so the dogs wouldn't get all rowled up. It inconvenienced Frank, too.)

The man was again on his porch and shouted out to Frank. "Was that your friend the other day who didn't dare pass the dogs?

"That was my wife," Frank replied. "She's been bitten. Twice."

"Please tell her I'm sorry. I'll tell her myself if I see her, but I handled that very poorly. I was insensitive. I shouldn't have reacted that way."

I was so impressed. Both the dogs' owner and I, upon reflection, thought of the other and tried to view the situation from the other's viewpoint. I didn't pass the camp again on foot during our week, but I was comforted in how both he and I had learned something and were more civil and understanding of the other's perspective.

What a wonderful thing to reflect and be broad minded. I'm still afraid...but I can remain a believer in the goodness of man when he looks at issues from all sides.

Play

"The opposite of play is not work. It's depression." -- Brian Sutton-Smith


It is the season of play in Maine. For residents of other states, they may not understand that there is truly a season for play, a time for it, a time that it is a must. For people living in climates that are perpetually bright and sunny, there may be no distinction. It may be all play time...or no play time at all depending on the person, not the environment.

But, I think for people living in climates so dictated by dark/light and the weather, like us in New England, there is certainly a time for introversion and a time for extroversion. There is a time for work and a time for play. There is a time to hunker down and pull inward and then a time to throw your arms open wide and dance.

I find I get a little greedy in the summer, especially as I age, because I refuse to be inside on a sunny day. I will not be brought down or waste this precious time of light and warmth in places or with people that don't suit the karma of it. The sun seems to awaken and make some part of my DNA tingle inside and the river of my blood flowing through me seems to ramp up like white water, not the calm tidal pools that I experience in winter. My even keeled self becomes giddy.

And the most important thing I can do is go with it.

Happy summer! May you feel the rush of white water within you and connect with friends at get togethers, swim in the icy ocean, run soaked in sweat on a hot morning, smell the flowers, eat the fresh berries, and dance whenever you feel the urge!



*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 29
www.lifeisaverb.net
www.pattidigh.com

Everything is a Miracle

"There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle. The
other is as though everything is a miracle."
-- Albert Einstein*

I realize now that I've been blessed in that I didn't grow up and don't live my life with an abundance of money or "stuff." As a result, from an early age, I knew I needed to find happiness with simple things - going to parks instead of on extravagant trips, visiting sites I could drive to versus flying in airplanes, reading books to take to me to faraway places and to meet new people, finding beauty in the nature around me not at gorgeous man-made resorts. I've been blessed because it's brought me to nature. My free time is spent in nature exercising or just sitting and being, and as a result of being there, I notice.

We've brought friends to camps with us or on rides who talk and talk and never turn their heads to look out the car windows or at the mountains or the lake when they sit at the lake shore. They don't even seem to notice the nature. To them, possibly, nothing is a miracle; they don't notice.

Anyone who spends time in nature regularly looks at the world more as a miracle than not. When in nature, how can you not? An author has written a book of late about the "e-generation," our kids, and his concerns about how they'll turn out. He says that due to two things kids are being deprived - the myriad of electronics that are overtaking our lives and frightened parents that don't let children just be kids and be on their own but instead keep them inside where they're safe, controlled, nearby. He says that not spending time in nature depletes human beings in every way - physically, emotionally, spiritually, creatively. All the things that make up the totality of a person are being starved by not going to nature regularly. How will this generation be lacking due to this critical life force being hidden from them?

Those who see everything as a miracle notice; they make an effort to truly see the details. If you truly look at the intricate patterns within flowers or in spider webs, and they're all different, how can you not pause and see the miracle? How fortunate we are to be able to see all the vivid colors in nature. How can it not make you pause and wonder?

The way to see all things as miracles is to get into nature, look at the details, pause, get quiet and observe, just be. Turn off your electronics from time to time. Don't rush and be preoccupied with the busyness of daily life - get away to the greens, the blues, pinks, purples, oranges and the earth tones of the nature all around us. Notice. Breathe it in.




*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 176
www.lifeisaverb.net
www.pattidigh.com

Photo: Scarborough Beach

I Am (the documentary)

Tom Shadyac is a Hollywood director of such films as Liar, Liar and The Nutty Professor. His films made him successful, and he began to acquire the lifestyle and all the trappings of a Beverly Hills celebrity. He lived in a 17,000 square foot home, flew in private jets, had fancy cars and extravagant parties. But...he had an ever present feeling of emptiness and something being not quite right.

In 2007, he had a near death biking accident which is what triggered his complete change in direction. That experience brought him clarity and purpose, he says.

Tom is the kind of man I admire and whose company I would enjoy - creative, kind, thoughtful, athletic, and a leader in his compassion and sharing of ideas, a man unafraid of asking "why?" and "why not?"

He began to let go of all the trappings. He moved to a modest mobile home; he began using his bike as a means of transportation...and he says he's never been happier. This is what prompted him to create his documentary I Am which I recommend. Initially, I heard it would only be shown in select U.S. cities, Philadelphia being the closest to me in Maine, but then, one night on my drive home from work, I happened to turn my head as I waited for the light at Temple and Middle Streets, something I rarely do, and I saw it was playing at Nickelodeon. My son was willing to join me. The documentary was well done and thought provoking.

He began creating his documentary by asking two questions: (1) What's wrong with our world? (2) What can we do about it?

Tom shows the science behind his message and writers and professionals declaring that Darwin's message was actually misquoted. Although Darwin did describe "survival of the fittest" in a small part of his work, what he talked more about was how the nature of all animals is primarily democracy and cooperation, not dominance and competition. Lions do not kill all gazelles, but only those they need to eat. A redwood doesn't take all the nutrients from the soil; it takes only what it needs to survive and flourish. Men are not, as is sometimes stated, inherently violent beings. More soldiers die from suicide than in war.

The Lion King was the first Disney movie we brought our older son to. I had no idea a children's movie would touch me so deeply. The circle of life, taking only what we need, and everything on earth being interconnected was a message more fitting for adults than kids.

After my son and I saw I Am, he, who has sometimes thought he may be a socialist said to me, "I don't like to say I'm part of any group. I'm not a socialist. If anything, I think I'm a collectivist." He sees that we're all interconnected; we get more from empowering, educating, uplifting people than dominating, humiliating, controlling and killing.

Some of the authors and books Tom's documentary highlights are:
Lynne McTaggart The Field and The Intention Experiment
Howard Zinn People's History of the U.S.
Noam Chomsky Profit over People, Failed States, Hopes and Prospects
Thom Hartman Screwed. The Undeclared War on the Middle Class, The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight.

If more of us think of one another, a sort of "collectivism-type thinking," and taking baby steps with small acts of kindness toward others, we can impact and shift behavior.

Tom's title of his documentary comes from: I Am (the problem); I Am (the solution).

For more information and a preview of the documentary, see www.iamthedoc.com.


(Photo taken from www.oprah.com)

Memorial Day

Memorial Day kicks off summer in Maine. We go from winter to summer now, it seems. What happened to spring-sixty-five-to-seventy-degree days with afternoon showers, green buds popping on trees, daffodils and tulips lasting more than a few days? Now it goes straight from high forties to eighty-five! We'll take it no matter. I promise I'm not complaining!

Summer to me means.....

friends & get togethers

Scarborough Beach and walking to Prouts Neck

icy ocean water and seaweed wrapping around my ankles

the smell of salt ocean air

sunshine sparkling on waves

charcoal cook outs at Two Lights State Park

clam cakes and fries at the Lobster Shack once per season

decks & barbecues

the smell of coconut oil

blue hydrangeas in a glass vase on my table

swimming, kayaking, tennis, walking, running (slowly)

camps on lake

outdoor fireplaces and lounging chairs

potato chips

watermelon & lots and lots of berries -- strawberries, blueberries, raspberries

...............Summer to me means....a-h-h-h-h

Photo: Echo Lake, Mount Desert Island

Thank You

My travel memoir, Away at a Camp in Maine, came out last July. I was amazed and humbled from the support and positive reinforcement I received from friends and family - it went beyond anything I had imagined.

Marketing to bookstores, gift shops, and kids' summer camps in Maine as a parting keepsake for campers (since Chapter 17 is about just such a camp on Crescent Lake) has gone harder than I expected. There is less interest, despite my sending hundreds of requests and emails.

The shelf life of a book, unless you're Charlotte's Web (!), is really only about a year or so. This spring, I wanted to give my little gift book one final push before I called myself "done" with it. What I found is that it was absolutely right to take a chance and a leap of faith and publish it in the beginning and it was absolutely right to give it a final push. For all of these things, I am so grateful. The kindness of others has touched me deeply and validated something that has been important to me all my life. From the bottom of my heart.....thank you.

• my book hit the shelves of L. L. Bean just in time for Memorial Day tourists - the Pulitzer in my world!
• July 15, I will be doing a reading/speaking/slide-show about the book at the Portland Public Library in their "local author" Brown Bag lunch series
• June issue of Down East magazine displays an ad for my book
• On a recent trip to Florida, I saw my book as a "coffee table book" in my relatives' homes.
• I was called out of the blue on a rainy Saturday a few weeks ago by a woman who bought my book at The Good Life Market in Raymond. She worked with my father-in-law many years ago and tracked me down. She loved my cover, the title, and the book itself. She told me she grew up on Watchic Lake and had "the leeches, the drowning boy," everything I described. Wow. She made my day.

Photo: my book on the shelves of L. L. Bean

Vacation Day

A couple weeks ago was school vacation and I took a day off. I have female colleagues with small children who struggle to find sitters for each day of vacation so they won't have to take time off although they have plenty of vacation time to use (some goes unused each year) and certainly the pressing need for a small break. I have taken some days off during every school vacation of the last fifteen years since my boys have been in school....and I've loved it. I no longer need to, but I want to.

It's been good for the boys....it's been good for me. Generally, school vacations come just at the time when I'm so in need and due for a little time off myself -- perfectly scheduled throughout the year. Why not? I do something similar by taking one vacation day each Tuesday through the summers. It provides change and breaks up the ho-hum flow of our everyday routine. My being home to make lunches, cookies, a good dinner, allow friends in, or give rides to the movies or the Mall are appreciated by my family. They don't have to do same-old, same-old every day. We can do something fun together or we can do nothing - that's what vacation is supposed to be.

On my day off, instead of jumping up to unload the dishwasher, put in a load of laundry, pull on the running sneakers and pound the pavement, I grabbed my Oprah Magazine and got back into bed....by myself. Can't remember the last morning I stayed in bed alone. It was fabulous! It was quiet and peaceful and big! (I mean the bed was big when I was in it by myself, my husband long gone to work.) My son was still asleep; I was cozy and relaxed and doing something different than my daily work routine.

Ideas began to come to me in almost everything I read in the magazine. Truly, I got the inspiration for about 20 blog ideas. I've been a little dry on ideas lately but that morning, they were just free flowing almost like a waterfall, gushing out of me actually, and giving me such pleasure in having them and thinking more about them. I laughed out loud. It is only when we pause, when we change our routine and do nothing, that everything else comes into focus. Stopping allows whatever is deep inside us to stir. Keeping perpetually busy, surrounded by conversation and noise, squelches our ability to hear our inner voice.

That morning, I was a calmer, saner, more enlightened person than when I went to bed the night before. That feeling lingered and everything in my life, even when I went back to work, benefitted from it. A vacation day, quiet time alone.....what a beautiful concept!

Photo: Stroudwater

Take Charge

"When you take charge of your life, there is no longer need
to ask permission of other people or society at large. When
you ask permission, you give someone veto power over your life."
-- Albert F. Geoffrey



Oprah's new network, OWN, presents a show called "Masters" in which people Oprah admires -- such as Sidney Poitier, Maya Angelou, Jay Z, Condoleeza Rice -- share their thoughts and their life lessons. They are "teaching," giving insights from the journey they've walked thus far. Last weekend, I was fortunate enough to watch Oprah herself as the guest speaker. Her words were inspirational and thought provoking.

Oprah (and I) believe there is no such thing as luck. We believe every person makes his own luck with preparation and then noticing and accepting opportunities when they come along. As I listened, I thought it was easier for Oprah to give this advice now that she has truly found success and she can look back with 20/20 vision. In hindsight, once successful, I imagine, it's not quite as difficult to look backward at the turning points or opportunities taken that changed a life's trajectory and moved it to the place they have become. I think it's harder to identify those decisions made that moved us ahead when we don't know what "ahead" is for us.

Many people don't seem to ever find out what their passion is. They don't hear a compelling message or calling. They don't feel it in their bones. Some don't even desire to know it. It's these people who may certainly miss those opportunities when they do present, having not been in tune with their direction or even their desires.

Another type of person is me. I am one who thought I did know what I was meant to do from when I was a teenager. But, yet, I'm not doing (full time) what I think I'm meant for. Have I missed opportunities or turned my back when they presented? Is what I think I'm meant to do not really it? Have I been mistaken all these years?

Asking for permission or doing what we think we're supposed to and thereby giving someone else veto power, is closing our doors and not hearing the whispers pointing us in the right direction for us. The best thing any person can do is to take charge of his own life. That is how we'd get the best from every person. One thing about aging and beginning to "get it," is perhaps taking back our veto power and making our own decisions which are always the right ones.


*Source: Digh, Patti. Life is a Verb. Guilford, Connecticut: skirt! The Globe Pequot Press, 2008. Print. P. 35.
www.lifeisaverb.net
www.pattidigh.com

Aging

"I traveled through my history
From certainty to mystery"*

Songwriting is poetry; songwriters, poets. Listening to music is a way we are exposed to poetry even if we don't read or listen to that genre per se. We're attracted to the rhythm of songs, the instruments used, the beat, but we're also captivated by the words and some speak to us depending on what's going on in our lives. With my favorite songs, I know they're my favorites because they touched me at the precise time I needed them. When I hear them at later times, they have the power to bring me right back to where I was when I first heard and enjoyed them.

The lines from Carrie Newcomer's song describe me, describe us perhaps. I used to think I was different from everyone else; I don't any more. I see that every person goes through the same phases and cycles, and we're more alike than different.

I love aging; truly. OK, the lines on my face are just beginning to get to me, but not that much. I've earned every line. I am outside every day, in Maine, so what should I expect? I'm out in the rain, the wind, the sun, and the snow. Being outdoors is more important to me than lines on my face. And it's OK with me if when you look at me you recognize a woman who has spent a lifetime outdoors. My sister calls my Mom a Shar-Pei; perhaps that's where I'm headed due to genetics!

I like who I am and what I know now more than what I was and knew when I was twenty. At twenty, I was filled with certainty. The world was black & white. I charted my course and set out steadfastly, without a worry or concern, so certain that what I gave would yield precisely what I wanted. What aging does is soften us (even our faces). The certainty becomes a little uncertain and more uncertain as time goes on. We start out sure of ourselves; we end, sure of very little. The black & whites all become gray. Aging is turning gray....which is not all bad.



*Source: "Leaves Don't Drop (They Just Let Go)" from Geography of Light 2008 Rounder Records, Song written by Carrie Newcomer © Carrie Newcomer Music BMI Bug Publishing & Michael Mains BMI

What if everyone did yoga...

As I left restorative yoga class Sunday night, calm and relaxed, both physically and mentally in a very zen sort of place, I paused on Broadway before being able to get in my car door due to the fast traffic passing by and splashing me with muddy, snowy puddles. The radio in my car was so out of place - I just didn't want to hear the noise and chaos. I didn't need it.

As I watched all the cars driving over the Million Dollar Bridge and through the Old Port, I wondered what it would be like if everyone had just left yoga class. What if every person was in the same zen kind of space at the same time? Would there be less aggression? Would there be more kindness and a slowing down of drivers and walkers on the streets? While anger and violent images and games increase a person's adrenaline and make him more likely to strike or lash out verbally or physically, yoga could have the opposite effect.

What a dream to have a kinder, gentler world with hearts turned toward each other rather than away. Seeing our fellow men as worthy of our kindness, our civility, and our lack of judgment would create a very different world for us, wouldn't it? Can the answer be as simple as yoga for everyone? Namaste, my friend.

(Painting by Liz Brown)

Flash Mob

Not being an avid You-Tuber, I hadn't heard of a flash mob before I saw Mitchell jump into one at the Mall in Modern Family. I thought it was hysterically funny. Of course, watching Cam's reaction of not being included, in something as dramatic and fun as that, made it more funny.

And why not? How I would love to randomly start flash mobs at the Maine Mall, on Commercial Street in the Old Port in summer when tourists abound, or in One City Center just outside my office door as I head out to get my afternoon cappuccino.

I'm not really funny. I'm definitely not a prankster, but something that just got me reeling as a kid was putting a tack in someone's seat. For some odd reason, that was just about the funniest thing to me. I was giddy just waiting for the unsuspecting classmate to sit down, so unsuspecting and innocently and then wham-o, they'd jump a mile, instant reflex. I would laugh hysterically. Those who know me know I don't have a poker face so there was never a doubt who the culprit was.

Now what I think is just so, so funny are flash mobs. Of course, I'm the one trying to do the Macarena at weddings or the Electric Slide - the concentration, the music, the camaraderie are the draw.

People are caught up in their long working days, ho-hum routines, maybe a little sad or overwhelmed by whatever stresses they're holding. I can't imagine that an instant and random flash mob breaking out wouldn't bring everyone in the vicinity complete, utter joy. Just a few moments of unexpected release and yet connection with the strangers who know the steps and hand movements just like you do - connected in a moment in time in such a funny, joyous way.

Several years ago, we took a family trip to Turks & Caicos. After a delicious dinner one night, we knew there was a bonfire party on the beach. It was still early, so we meandered over to take a peek. There were at least a hundred people there, all ages, having so much fun eating, talking, listening to the island music played from the stage, teakie torches lit. The four of us walked around watching all the fun.

Suddenly, limbo started and lots of people ran to get in line....as did I. My husband and sons looked at me incredulously and said, "What are you doing?" They probably thought I'd embarrass myself...or them. I knew I used to be able to do it, pretty well, too, when I was about thirty years younger and fifty times more flexible. Well, ha, just like riding a bike! The music was wonderful; I floated around the circle in a conga line in between the picnic tables barefoot on soft, white, sand, a buddy to my fellow dancers ahead and behind. My family loosened up as I made it under the ever-lower pole again and again and again. Their faces made it so worthwhile. When I was one among the final dozen left trying, my boys were laughing their heads off and high-fiving me as I danced around the corner in front of them. When I finally fell, the announcer, a native wearing face paint and a headdress, said, "Hey, man. My money was on you!" Ah. Awesome! What a fun, fun memory.

And my family looked at me completely differently from then on. "How do you know how to do that," my sons asked, and I gave them the middle-age-Mom reply, "Oh, dear....there's a lot about me you don't know. I was once young, you know!"

From the limbo to hopefully a flash mob someday. Look out Monument Square -- I'd love it!

Love is Blind

“I heard today that women are more prone to heart disease and heart attacks if their waists are more than 35 inches.”

He paused.

“You’re about a 25, aren’t you?” my husband asked.

A 25? Inwardly, I laughed incredulously. “I… don’t… think so,” I replied laughing. I used to be less than 25 inches...when I was in my twenties maybe.

The beauty of long term relationships and being with someone from when you were in your prime is that they remember you back then. Somehow time stops and their vision of you is back there when everything was beautiful, wonderful, new. There are so many fond memories of those faraway times, that those get stuck in the memory banks and replayed over and over like a DVD. My husband remembers me, remembers us, as teenagers, possibly some of the most wonderful times of our lives when the world and our future held so much promise.

And sometimes, like right now, it shows that he still believes, truly believes, that I have a 25-inch waistline. God Bless him!

That he was thinking about women with heart disease, and me with a small waistline, and that he would then verbalize his thoughts to me…wow. That is love. That is what makes me pause in my crackpot, cynical world and be grateful for all that I have. That someone in this great big, cold world might notice something, and care, is everything, isn’t it? That’s what being blessed is all about. To have even one person care matters.

In that sentence, he gave me more than champagne or diamonds or a romantic dinner out. He moved me beyond words.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

He has, so simply and quietly, given me the very best gift of all.

To Be Known

My friends’ daughter, Emily, is seven. She’s a petite, dainty, precocious, dramatic, funny girl. She is a sprite – a tiny little fairy with a big smile, beautiful blue eyes, and light brown hair. She loves attention and loves to entertain. She is happy. She is loved and knows it; she is very comfortable in her little body. She’s well behaved, kind, considerate, and giving. We see her only a few times each year, usually at barbecues or short visits. She always wants to stay with the grown-ups and sit on her Dad’s lap; she’s all ears, very interested in all we are saying and offering quips when she deems them appropriate to our conversation.

Frank saw her Dad, John, on the golf course late fall after we had gone to their house the prior weekend for dinner. John said Emily came down the next morning after our dinner and said, “Guess who I am?” She smiled and laughed, and at the end of the laugh, her voice lilted up in a unique way, kind of staccato. “I’m Kim,” she said laughing.

When Frank told me, I began to laugh….and lilted up in a unique way at the end. That she would notice that, that she would care, that she would re-enact it the next day made me wonder. I didn’t know I did that; I had never noticed. I know as I’ve gotten older, my laughing has become more hardy, more joyous, more physical in my body. And Emily noticed it. It had to have been noticeable enough that she was even able to mimic it. How cute, I thought. I felt honored she’d care.

Then, I told my son about what Emily did. Before I described the laugh (lilted up…unique), he described it to me and said exactly that! He told me how my laugh intensified at the end and then he did it on the phone. Now, I really wondered about all this. My immediate reaction was not embarrassment or concern that my laugh was a negative....a joke. It actually made me feel very good to be known. These two people were describing a habit of mine that they noticed, that they thought was a little endearing maybe, and something I didn’t know about myself. The warmth it made me feel to be known showed me how everyone wants just that – to be noticed, to be validated…..to be known.

Photo: Oat Nuts Park Trail, Portland

My Favorite Day

There's nothing like a hot Saturday in July at the seashore, especially if Frank agrees to sit way at the end of the beach, toward Prout's Neck, beyond the life guards and hoards of people with blankets nearly touching each other. We sit quietly and watch the sun sparkle off the waves, read, nap, chat occasionally, bask in the heat of the sun on our bodies, dream and plan future vacations or places we must see someday. I wear my straw hat.

As wonderful as those days are, if I have to pick my favorite, favorite kind of day, that wouldn't be it despite how much I enjoy it. My favorite day is pouring rain or lightly snowing, especially early in winter, before I'm sick of gray and barren and snow. It could be a day just after a holiday when all is quiet. No one calls; we've just spent lots of time with them. No one visits.

I run early in the morning. I run better in the rain or snow, perhaps because truly I'm dying to get back inside so don't stop or slow down. I was told when living in London that rain is great for a woman's skin; I always remind myself of that as cold water drips off my ball cap and rain soaks through my running pants turning my thighs beat red.

On the gray afternoons, I light candles, turn on soft lights in the daytime, and pull inward. If my chores are done, I love to while away the hours in quiet cerebral pursuits.

I write. I move from laptop to PC, room to room, chair to chair. I listen to soft music, especially Sarah McLachlan's Wintersong or Sting's If On a Winter's Night. I read. I look at pictures in beautiful books I've saved for just such afternoons. I have a cup of coffee at 2:00 and a glass of wine at 4:00. I let my mind wander and peacefully dream. I love the quiet. I love the solitude. I love the seasons that foster this introspection....for this, I live in Maine.