Moving On

The longer we live, it seems, the more we need to learn to move ahead without fighting it, because, the only thing in life we can count on is change. And if you have lived to the ripe old age of even two or three, you know that some changes are simple, and some are not. At two or three you might not be able to put that into words, but you know it just the same. Changing from spending the day with Mommy to spending the day with Nana is not so hard, but changing from spending the day with Mommy to spending the day in daycare probably is. And as we experience more of life, the changes are still both simple and not so simple. Today I am writing this blog entry on my new system, so I have had to watch the tutorial videos, do the housekeeping, convert files, and generally get myself up to speed. Every time I add some new piece of technology to my repertoire, I think “OK, now I’m up to speed” and within hours, I hear about some new program I should know, so I start looking into that. But all this is the easy stuff. It is also the enjoyable stuff, and what makes us lucky as hell. The hard stuff is the change we have to get used to when we have no alternative but to do so. When we have to cope with the changes that come as a result of illness, and when we lose loved ones, in other words, when change is not under our own control, and the change is not one we relish or have an easy time adjusting to, then moving ahead is more important than ever, and harder to do. I have had to remind myself so many times this past year, that every ending is a new beginning, and there is always a ray of light to be found if only we look for it in the darkness. How many times have you been plunged into darkness, whether it is due to a power failure, or being on a camping trip in the woods, and it seems like you can’t see your hand in front of your face, and then, magically, your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you begin to see shadows, and eventually the lights get fixed, or the morning comes and it is a glorious dawn. Healing and wholeness will come in time if we will only let them in, but so much better to hasten their coming with appreciative living. When we lose a loved one, we can dwell on the loss, or we can choose to remember the happy times we spent in each other’s company. When perhaps a job change forces us to move from a house we love, we can take it as a step down or a loss, or remember the parties we were able to host there, or how we spent holidays there, or the people we welcomed there when they may have not had another place to be on a holiday, the new friends we made there, and what relationships we built there. We all have to remember that happiness is a choice, and for most of us who are lucky enough not to have to live in survival mode, we can choose what takes precedence in our thoughts. Am I going to let that scratch on my car from the parking lot ruin the day I spent shopping and found just the thing I was looking for at just the right price? Am I going to dwell on the delayed flight home from Cabo, and how cranky the whole family is and how it means we will get home at midnight instead of comfortably early, or am I going to remember the sun and the sand and the water and how the family played together and enjoyed each other’s company? Choose happiness and move ahead gracefully. Happy New Year.

What is real and what is illusion?

This morning I woke up with a question in my mind: what is real and what is illusion? Is it because we are headed to a matinee of The Lion King, where we will be convinced that the actors on the stage are a group of animals? We will willingly abandon all our reason in order to suspend disbelief that animals do not talk or sing, that they do not relate to each other in the same ways that humans do, and they do not wear flowing costumes. But having said this, I can also say, that we have learned that whales sing to each other, that different families of dolphins speak different dialects of the same language, and have names for each other, and we know that many males of bird species sing and dance and don brightly colored costumes for courting, or if they are the same feathers, then they display them in different ways. So the question is: how do we differ from our animal brothers and sisters? Another question to ask is: when do we want to differentiate between what is real and what is illusion? The answer that jumps to the lips is…”well, always”. But is that true? The other night I had a dream that I was a younger self, and I was visiting old friends in the company of the young healthy selves of my beloved parents and brother, now of blessed memory. My mother leaned over to me in my dream, and kissed me on my lips, and in that delicious space between sleeping and waking, I felt her kiss on my lips. I woke with my hand on my lips, as if I were holding the feeling there on my lips, seeking to keep it from escaping me. Was it just a dream,, or did my mother find a way to come to me and comfort me as I approach the first anniversary of my brother’s death, to assure me that they were OK and together. Or was I comforting myself? What is real and what is an illusion? Every month, Oprah has a page in her magazine titled “What I know for Sure”. Well, I’m not sure that I know anything for sure, but I think that it is important to be as real as we can with the people we love best. It is important to feel gratitude every day for the gifts we have been given, and if at all possible to share those gifts with the world. It is important to pass on our love and knowledge, and to hold close the people we love and never take them for granted. It is important to seize the joy in every moment, and to look for and find it in even the most unexpected places. It is important to know that every day is different, and that when we feel strong, we should extend a hand to someone who needs a hand, and when we are in need of a strong hand, to not refuse the help that is offered by another’s strong hand. I know that it is important to look around and see what is offered, and to take it and to share, to actually stop and smell that lovely rose that perfumes the air around us, to preserve the world in the best way we know how, and to help others who have a better way, to love and to be loved to the best of our ability, and to just do our best. What is real? What is illusion? Open your eyes and your heart and you will see.

Visualizing Sweetness

“If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up the people to gather wood, divide the work, and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.” This quote is from the author of The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint Exuperay and is very sensible advice. Besides being extremely poetic, it calls to me about visualizing what you want in your life, and advises that if you learn what it is you want, and see yourself having it, you will find a way to get it. Visualization is one of the several practices we use in Learning Circles to achieve what we want more of in our lives. During this very commercial time of year, I keep coming across articles reminding people that it is experiences that we value truly. One advertisement says that we never look pack happily and say to each other “remember that text…” but rather when we are remembering something happily, it is an experience of time spent together with loved ones, or adventures we had, or when we went somewhere and saw something new, or met someone interesting. “Things”, even the shiniest, most wanted thing wears out, gets old, we tire of it, or it is outshined by the next new thing to come along. Think about what you remember fondly from your past. I remember sitting with my grandmother while she had a coffee in the afternoon, and dipped a cookie in it and shared it with me. I remember her combing her long hair, and singing to me. The other adults in the house were busy, the other kids were at school, so it was before I was five years old, but it is a treasure that has never worn out, never gotten dusty, and certainly never lost a piece or part so that it didn’t work anymore. It works just fine for me, like watching my mother bake, or being bundled up so I could sit in the garage and watch my father and brother refurbish an old broken down two-wheeler that my dad had bought for me for $6. He replaced the flat tires, and spray- painted the bike white, and it wasn’t so much the bike, but the effort that they put into it that blew me away. I yearned for a bike, and although it was not through my own efforts that it became mine, my world expanded, as I took another step into it. But it wasn’t my yearning that got me that bike, and put my feet on the road to wider horizons, it was the yearning of my darling dad, who read the want ads, and spent what little extra money we had on bike tires and paint, so that he could give me, a seven year old, a bike. Last night I had a rare dream of being with my parents and brother, all who have passed on now, visiting lifelong friends. In my dream, my mother leaned over to me, and gave me a kiss. It was so sweet, that I swear I could feel her lips on mine. And if I had that dream, it is because so many times in our lives together, that sweet thing happened and I am just now remembering it again. Now is the time I yearn for the sweetness of family life as it was, and I have it all in my head and my heart. Be sure to make sweet memories for your children to carry around all their lives, so that their dreams, even in advanced age, are of the sweet kisses you gave.

The Lights of Christmas

I am set to speak to a group this week about my favorite subject, Appreciative Living. This is a way to have more Joy in you life by looking for the positive in the things that are already part of you life, and by asking yourself, when you are at a loss as to why you are not joyous, “what do I want more of?” If you’ve lived beyond childhood, then you know that it isn’t “things” that bring joy, it the experiences you share with loved ones, the discovery of new ideas and the making of new friends. Both good and bad, uplifting and depressing, exist in all the experiences we have, and it is up to us to find the good and uplifting in what we do. For those of us who have lost a parent, or both parents, you know that the pain of loss changes over time. For me that acute sense of loss is the worst at Passover, partly because both of my parents died at that time of the year, and partly because the table seems so empty without them. But at this time of the year, my daughters and I shift into a different gear. My mom was absolutely fascinated by the lights of Christmas. We were often lucky enough to be included in the Christmas celebrations of our Christian friends, and Mom, who had a great sense of fun and looked for good times wherever they could be found, was thrilled to join them in their celebrations. But the outdoor displays of Christmas lights were her absolute favorite. As they got older, I used to drive my parents around the neighborhood every year, and watch my mother’s excited shiny face as she fogged up the car window with her “Oohs and Ahhs” over the Christmas excesses of Westlake Village. Since my parents have passed away, every year my daughters and I select a night close to Christmas, when everyone who is going to put up lights has already done so, and take the Regina Amira Memorial Christmas Lights Tour, and indulge in an orgy of happy remembrance of Nona’s smiles and laughter as she enjoyed the magic of Christmas. No one who celebrates Christmas could be more thrilled and appreciative of the glow of Christmas displays, than my very Jewish Mother. We miss you, Mom and Dad.

Madiba, Rest in Peace

A Voice in the World 12.6.13 Yesterday, was the first day in a week that I have had a voice that could be heard by others. Not even one week had passed since I had laryngitis, but I felt the loss keenly, because it meant the loss of contact, and I had the advantage of being able to write my words. My voice is the way I confirm my love and contact with the people I love, it is the way I express my happiness by singing a song, it is the way I express my thoughts most readily. So last night, as I sat watching and weeping over the reports of the death of a giant in our midst, Nelson Mandela, a man who his government tried to make silent for 27 years, I thought about what it means to be truly without a voice. All around our world, there are people without a voice. Every day I read the morning newspaper, and I see articles about children mowed down in the crossfire between gangs and police, not worlds away, but here in Los Angeles. There are articles about women worlds away, who are voiceless in societies which not only require that they hide their bodies, but punish them if they try to bring their brains out into the light. There are thousands of ordinary people “disappeared” by their governments, whose only voice in the world now is that of those grieving mothers who search for them in vain. And how many people live under “house arrest”, silenced for fear of what they might point about the ills of society? Our world is replete with examples of malignant silence forced on enemies of the state, enemies of those in power, truth tellers of all stripes. Many will emerge from their silence bitter and rageful, ready to tear down and destroy what they perceive as evil, and if the good get in the way of that, they just might be thought of as collateral damage. I wonder if we can find it in our hearts to model ourselves on the example of Nelson Mandela, a man who emerged from 27 years of imprisonment with a smile for even those who were responsible for his imprisonment, not because his neck was bowed, and not because he had triumphed over the system, but because he knew the time had come that his message of working together for the betterment of his people had come. His generosity and ability to see every citizen of his country as a brother and sister, white oppressors as well as rainbow shades of color that exist in South Africa mark him as singular. The smile he spared for all, the lilt in his voice, the dance in his step all marked him as a man who did not waste 27 voiceless years in bitterness. The obituaries that we have seen of the prison years on RobbenIsland have told of the friendships he made among his jailors, of the time spent learning their language, of the way a man in his 70s, freed after a lifetime of imprisonment, “hit the ground” running toward the life that he envisioned for all of his countrymen. His was not a grab for power, but a portrait of how a man can optimize the time he has been given on Earth, living gracefully within the boundaries of a righteous and courageous life. An example for the ages. Madiba, Rest in Peace.

Thanksgiving 2013

If we could only learn to give thanks not only on the last Thursday in November, but every day, it is amazing how much better our world would be not to mention our health and our relationships. Thanksgiving was created as a national holiday, but has turned into the gateway shopping day for businesses to catch up on their bottom lines, and for people who worry, and I mean actually worry, about gifting. We invite friends, or visit family, we travel great distances, we eat too much. Our hosts worry about what to serve, who to please, and whether Aunt Minnie and Uncle Herb will be bringing the fight to the table again. Some of our loved ones are too far away to make the trip, so we will miss them, and feel a bit of emptiness right next to our hearts. Those of us who have lost loved ones since the last Thanksgiving will be thinking and remembering; some will be still in the midst of their grief, and some will have made enough peace with the reality of loss to be able to remember the good times with a sad smile. Is yours a family that takes this opportunity to give thanks to the Almighty for all of your blessings? Or is yours a family that greets each other and falls on the food? Either way, I hope you will take this opportunity this year to realize that whether or not you approve of the government as it stands today, you and I a madly fortunate to live in our beloved country. Our history is often simplified to the point of Indians and Pilgrims dressed up in brown paper bags, feasting on candy corn and the like. But let us remember what has brought us here today. A group of people who were fleeing oppression, came to these unknown shores, not knowing what they would find, but knowing that they would probably never see the loved ones they left behind again. Some did not survive even one harsh winter in the new land, and probably died of disease or despair. But even they still contributed to the success they made of this adventure that is our legacy, one that we should recognize and be grateful for. This country, this United States of America is the grand experiment that we are fortunate enough to be a part of. We have not, as a country been perfect, nor or we likely to be, but we are trying. Our brothers and sisters, new Americans and old-timers, have lived through war, often brother against brother, depression, economic hardship, assassination, racial hatred, and more recently attack and yet, we manage to mostly help each other in times of hardship, to comfort each other in times of sorrow, and to shelter each other when the need arises. We are a lucky people, and when I look around, I see people with generous hearts, and open hands. We are Americans. We are sometimes foolish and silly like everyone else, we are sometimes good hearted and generous. I hope you will take a moment tomorrow to ask around the table what each of you is grateful for, and when you answer, to remember those who made the sacrifices that made it possible for you to be where you are today. It’s a long line back, and while you are remembering, remember also the brave Maccabees, who, like the Pilgrims made sacrifices to maintain who and what they were. Save your shopping for another day, and spend your day and evening thinking and giving Thanks.

Letting go and acceptance

How often in your life have you use the words “if only…”? We all do it. If only we had been kinder, if only we had understood more, if only we had been paying more attention, if only we had taken another path. That ‘if only’ implies that we are unhappy with the outcome of something that has happened, so if we had done something a bit differently, the outcome would surely been more to our liking. But we really have no way of knowing whether that is true or not. Perhaps taking another path would have led us to a different outcome, but can we really be sure it would have been one more to our liking? Every life, every person has things that come to pass that are just too hard to accept, too unexpected, too awful, and it is then that the “if only” jumps to mind. And even those mundane parts of life that happen differently than we would have liked them to, are subject to the ‘if only’ yardstick. We put ourselves in the frame of ‘what might have been’ and fight heartily, so often until we wear ourselves out mentally and emotionally, and still nothing changes. ‘What might have been’ is the ghost that we fight when we are feeling inadequate, less than, vulnerable. ‘If only’ is that nighttime companion that we argue with when sleep eludes us and we find ourselves searching for something to pass the time until exhaustion or morning, whichever comes first. No matter where our ‘if only’ fantasies take us, we really cannot get there, and the fight, the passion, the struggles only leave us bruised and battered, with no more acceptable outcome. It is like sparring with shadows. ‘Accepting what is’ and finding a way to make that work in your life is the beginning of creating a brighter tomorrow. ‘Accepting what is’ is not the same as giving up or giving in, it is the beginning of wisdom. It can be the beginning of finding a creative way to solve the problem, or the beginning of learning to ask for the help you might need. It might be the beginning of recognition that a new path might hold a solution. And it is certainly the first step in seeing ‘what is’ in a new light, and perhaps finding something to appreciate in it. There are some people who subscribe to the philosophy that ‘everything happens for a reason’ and isn’t that a parallel to what the poet Ranier von Rilke said, that “out of every tragedy, there are the seeds of something wonderful and beautiful”. Since we are not usually saying ‘if only’ when something terrific and marvelous happens, it is important to build that muscle, that acceptance habit, in order to move ahead. Acceptance is not about giving up, it is about stopping the fight before we are battered and bloody. If we can learn to look for the reason, for the wonderful, then we have a beginning on the road of appreciating what is. So think about starting the New Year with letting go of what might have been, and accepting what is.

Will you Celebrate or Cringe?

Yesterday, I wrote that I have been born into a community and have lived all the stages of my life in that community (with some interruptions when I lived out of town). When I enumerated the stages of life--child, youngster, teen, etc--it reminded me that I am not generally one to sit and look at photo albums. I have a pretty vivid memory, and I always think that I will remember this day or that occasion. But do we remember? And what do we remember? Specifically I am referring to the process of all those stages of life. As children, we are unaware of our looks if we are lucky and not some pageant child fulfilling her parents’ dreams. My favorite picture of myself at that stage is one in which I am in the backyard, wearing over-alls, and have dirty hands and a smudge on my face. I don’t remember that day specifically, but I do remember many days like it and how free and happy I felt. The overalls were gray. I, like other young girls, grew into an awareness of how I looked, and later pictures are of a more self-conscious girl, a teen maybe, whose hair was combed and who had a camera smile on her face. Wedding pictures show a young woman with nice makeup, a nervous groom, and stars in her eyes. Later pictures of that era show long dark hair, the silly clothes of the era, and either impatience with the camera, or posing for it. Then come the baby pictures, and the early birthday parties, when mom (me) is looking more tired, but mature and happy. Hair was shorter because there was no time for long hair and two babies. Life was far more complicated and it began to show. When I look in the mirror today, I am more aware of my father’s nose. My hair began to gray in my forties, but I liked it so I still have gray hair. Sometimes, the person I see in the mirror does not look at all familiar and I wonder who she is. When did this line appear? And what will I look like tomorrow? But does this scare me or make me sad? I am glad to say that it does not. The privilege of living brings with it some changes. Our skin is not as resilient, but our spirits are. Our eyes, which have seen sorrow, and shed tears when we thought our hearts would break, have also seen joy, and shone in appreciation at the beauty of a sunset, or a new discovery. If you are lucky enough to have laugh lines, I hope that you have shared the jokes and the smiles with those you have loved. Photographs sometimes take us by surprise when we realize how we have changed in appearance over the years, but I hope you are not disappointed. Because you have taken the ride of a lifetime, you have seen and heard and tasted and felt all that came your way, and along that way, you have used this wonderful creation that is your body. Don’t let vanity rob you of even a millisecond of those good times that may or may not have taken a toll on the package. Celebrate the party that you have lived!

Do you have a motto?

Forgot to post this yesterday: Last night I had the good fortune to attend a beautiful celebration honoring three people who have been long time volunteers in our community. I was born into this community, so I have lived in it as a child, a youngster, a teen, a “young lady”, a young married, a wife and mother, and now an elder. Many of those who I grew up with have drifted away from our community, some have died, and now newcomers, or should I say later-comers have taken their place as my friends and respected colleagues. Many of our later-comers, like those being honored last night, have traveled a long road, both literally and figuratively, to have arrived at this place. All of them born in other countries, they fled-- away from danger, and to what they hoped would be a better life for them and for their children. Their gratitude for what they have been given--the opportunity to earn, to learn, and to prosper has made them people who help others, who volunteer, who have vision beyond their own needs and wants, and who are happy to share. The couple who were honored told me that their motto is “To give more than to take”, and each of the three recipients of our synagogues highest honor exemplifies this in how they live and work with people. How fortunate I feel to call them friends, and how honored I am to be in their lives and to have them in mine. Congratulations, Hamid, Mireille and Saul.

Kindness in the face of Fear

It’s so easy, when you are in the middle of a crisis, to think only of yourself and of your own comfort, isn’t it? Closing down to the outside world is often just what you need to get through what is happening in your own life. But what about all the people who are worried about you? what about their concerns? Well, for most of us, we just let our friends and family talk among themselves to get the news. Over the past week, however, I have seen a sterling example of Grace Under Pressure from a member of my family. She had a difficult diagnosis, and had to undergo surgery. But even in the midst of her own worry, the need to comfort her own immediate family, awaiting results, and all the things that come with worrisome medical problems, she had the kindness to put out a blanket email to those of us who she knew were concerned. She did not leave it for someone else, she did it herself. Understandably tired from it all, she still took the time to text me after I left a phone message. This kind of graciousness is rare in the best of times, and in times of worry they are almost unheard of. So to my dear dear cousin, I thank you and bless you for your kindness when you had the right to let every one else fend for themselves.

Just say NO to Bullies

This morning I read an article about a group of three girls who had made a video about bullying for a contest entry, and won recognition in the form of a proclamation, so I took the opportunity to watch the video on YouTube. There has been a great deal in the news lately about bullying and its very real and very life threatening consequences. This week there was a story in the newspaper about law enforcement in Florida actually doing something about it, in the form of arresting the two girls who had allegedly bullied another girl to the point where she took her own life; in essence they bullied her to death. Along with my shock and dismay about the girl who died, the shock and sadness that enveloped me was with regard to the lack of empathy, the outright lack of feeling of one of the girls involved; and not only did she not deny having done it, her message seemed to indicated that she was proud that she had hounded another human being to her death. What have we become? Where is our society on its way to? Our entertainment, and especially that targeted at the young seems to consist of vampire tales, mean girls—the meaner the better—and zombie and other graphic novel characters who take the place of humans. We also have the super characters, like Spiderman, Batman, etc, who are human crossovers, and other human-like characters, like avatars, and men-in-black, and (Keanu reeves) But look around. Do you see any of those kinds of creatures? So far as I know, with the exception of the much debated Yeti and Loch Ness Monster, what we see when we look around is other people, pretty much just like us, with the same kinds of feelings, more or less, the same kinds of needs and thoughts and likes and dislikes. Ask just about anyone, and they will probably tell you that at some time in their life, they were bullied about something. It might be because they were small, or the only redhead, or fat, or different in some way from the “group”, whatever that was. And if you question them further, they will probably tell you that during the time they were bullied, even if it was by a sibling, they felt pretty awful. But taking it one step further, did they ever bully? Even knowing how awful it was to be on the receiving end of the torment, did it stop them from ever being on the “team”, or even standing aside out of fear, when the “team” went after someone else? Everyone at some time has the possibility of being the object of unwanted attention. And don’t we all have some flaw, or even some great thing about us that makes us a little bit different than the rest of the crowd? Whether it is positive or negative, being the exception seems to have become a dangerous thing to be among the tender young. Wouldn’t it be great if we could teach our children, and be the support of children other than our own to learn to withstand the pressure? Wouldn’t it be great if we could be an example of one who steps into the space between the “crowd” and the object of derision, if not to protect, then to remind the members of the crowd that the mob sometimes turns on one of their own, and they could be next. There is no loyalty when the mob become frenzied, is there? I guess what I am saying has already been said: “Be the change you want to see in the world.” And do it now, because innocents are dying.

Lovely Memories

Did you have the kind of Mom that taught you many of the “nice-ities” of life as it was then, and even though many of those things didn’t hold up in the way we live today, do you think of them sometimes? I do. I remember growing from a kid into a young lady that would wear gloves to certain occasions. And I remember graduating from white cotton gloves that one wore to visit someone, to beautiful, fitted kid gloves that were “smart”. My mom wore a dressy hat to my brother’s high school graduation and I thought--I was twelve at the time-- that when I grew up I would probably wear a hat to special occasions too someday. We learned to buy lovely nylons, which were held up by garter belts, and we know that today’s version serves quite a different purpose than the one our mothers taught us. Well, the only time I wear a hat today is to keep the sun off, and my gloves are the multicolored knit variety for the cold, such as it is here in California. So I have in my possession odd articles from the past that no longer serve their intended purpose, but they serve the purpose of reminding me of some of what I learned from my parents. My parents scrimped to make ends meet, but looking at these things, I can look back and see through the veils of memory to what was important to them, and what, of that, has been passed on to me and what has been lost to our fast paced, techno, but differentiated society. I have a box of evening purses that belonged to my mom. I remember too, the first beaded bag that I got of my own. It makes me kind of sorry that my daughters did not grow up in the kind of society where they had a need for beaded bags. They missed out on a certain kind of excitement that I experienced of dressing up, and there being dress clothes and play clothes, and one was not the other. Every girl dreamed of the time when she would have the need to buy a “formal”, a dressy dress or gown for a very special occasion. There was always such excitement when my parents got dressed up to go out for the evening, and it wasn’t clubbing, but perhaps to a dinner dance at the synagogue, or a party that a friend was making. No one ever went out for the evening in ripped or shredded jeans; actually there were no “good “ jeans. Levis were work clothes, and only men wore them, and there was no such thing as athletic shoes. My mom used to wear a skirt and blouse and high heels to go to the market. Ladies carried hankies in their purses, and gentlemen always had a clean handkerchief in their pocket. My father shined his shoes with paste wax, and buffed them with a brush. No one then could have imagined speaking to a small electronic box rather than to their dinner partner, and manners were important enough to be taught. I certainly don’t long for the days when I couldn’t run out to the store in sweats, or when no one had workout clothes, but I do think of the days when life had a certain rhythm to it, or at least my life did. There was homework in the afternoon after we walked a mile home from school, no lessons or leagues. My dad came home from work at 6 and we had dinner prepared by my mom. Mom washed the dishes and dad dried, my uncle called every night to say Hello, and plans were made for a picnic or a family gathering on the weekend. The “family” was the center of things, rather than the kids, and although there were not so many labor saving devices, parents were not so exhausted and preoccupied. I helped my mom with the housework, and we had good times that we created. We had less entertainment, but more fun. Something to think about.

How do you Feed Your Soul?

The title of this entry came to me several days ago, and I have been mulling over what to say about it since then. But what I wanted and needed to share wasn’t as immediate as the title. Perhaps it was because I knew that my soul needed desperately to be fed, but I was not consciously sure of how to do it. (If you have read my blog before, you know that recently my dog Lucy died and I have been missing her terribly.) I have also been having disturbing dreams of loss, and feeling somewhat weepy. Losing track of time should have been a sure signal that something was really amiss, because I am always very aware of what day it is. On Thursday (which I thought was Friday), when the Santa Anas woke me with their screaming howl, I got up to check out what was going on. A couple of chairs had been blown into the pool, not to mention buckets, plastic cups that had been left on the patio, and even a pillow from the outdoor swing. The patio tent that we had erected at the beginning of the summer with Chris’ help--or more accurately-- the patio tent that he had erected with our help, was being picked up by the wind and moved toward the pool. It was already dipping one of its corner supports into the water. I quickly ran outside and tried to remedy the situation, but no dice. I needed help. Now that is one of my weak spots—asking for help. I woke Bob and he came to my aid, and when my daughter came out of the shower, she too came to see what the commotion was about. Together we moved the structure back into position, and pulled off the tent roof, which allowed the wind to blow through the structure without moving anything. In the process, I tripped over the hose, fell right onto my knee and thought I had broken all my bones. But lucky for me, my bones are good, and I was eventually able to get up. Again, the weepiness took my by surprise. I remembered dozens of skinned knees in my past that got patched up and forgotten about. It was the dream that I described to my daughter that undid me. And it was the hugs and comfort that that I received from her that started the healing process, not the Neosporin and bandages. It was the care and caring that I received from my family that started the process that would bring me back to my equilibrium. And in the midst of it all, coincidences not being accidental at all, I came across a column by Dr. Brene Brown about setting boundaries by saying no. I had overextended myself, was overtired, and as I have already established, am not so good at asking for help, even though whenever I do, people are happy to pitch in. Saying “no” when we are over extended is not a bad thing. It leaves us time to refresh so that the next time we say “yes” we are rested and ready for a new challenge. And saying yes to what we need, like a day in bed, reading a romance novel cover to cover, or in my case cutting out a new sewing project, can feed a hungry soul. I know that I am hungry for doggy kisses and hugs that will not come again, but saying yes to the other goodies that feed my soul will have to suffice for the present. Finding out now what feeds your soul—because it is different for everyone—and then actually using that information to stave off the hunger that causes your body or your unconscious to take charge and say “enough” by taking you out of the action is a lot easier on the knees. So feed your soul today and every day. Your knees will thank you for it.

What is your Yardstick?

In writing yesterday about success, I wrote about measuring yourself by your own yardstick, rather than one that is imposed by, or suits someone else. From the moment we are born, we are being measured against some while-not-always-arbitrary standard, one not necessarily our own. At birth, if you are born in a hospital in the US, you get an APGAR score, which has to do with color and breathing and other standards of newborn vitality. But while a good APGAR may measure the unlikelihood of infant mortality, it is not an infallible measure, and some babies with poor APGARS defy the odds and manage to grow and thrive. We know the fallibility of standardized test scores and how they may measure how frightened or upset a child is, rather than their intellectual achievement. And while these may seem extreme examples, aren’t we surrounded by suggestions, if not downright dictums about how to measure success in life? Some manufacturers of luxury cars tell us that if we are not driving their product, then we have simply not “arrived”. The same goes for other luxury products, like purses, and watches, and shoes that proclaim that a woman has attained some standard by being able to afford these luxury items. Not to say that men are excluded from this race, and their toys also define them. All I am speaking about, is the imposition of a yardstick not one’s own, and then defining oneself as a failure because of it. If I were to allow the makers of the BMW motorcar to define me, then I would indeed have failed to measure up. However, since I don’t know them, and they don’t personally know me, why should I let them set my standard? Same goes for the nameless crowds who need to be seen in the “best” stores, or the “in” watering holes. They don’t define the extent of my success or failure; do you allow them to define yours? Every day that I get to know myself better, I add to the truth of creating my own standard, and as I add to this truth, I am less likely to be made unhappy by not meeting someone else’s. Measuring yourself against someone else’s standard is as ludicrous as someone measuring the “redness” of my hair. There is no redness in my hair. My hair is salt and pepper, and has been for the last many many years. It was not red and will not be red, just as my height should not be measured against the norm for a runway model. I am far shorter and have no hope, at this time in my life, of reaching that standard. I am learning, and I hope teaching as well, to know myself better, to accept myself more respectfully, and to find harmony and balance in my life. And I am adjusting my yardstick as I go. I hope that you will do the same for yourself.

What is success?

Have you ever heard of someone in your very outer circle, meaning, friends of friends, or relatives of friends, or relatives of relatives, as kind of someone who didn’t quite “make it”, only to learn later of the great love that people felt for him, and the esteem in which they held him? I recently had that experience and although I never really knew this individual personally, I was ashamed that I had swallowed this ‘unsuccessful’ description of him without a thought or even a challenge in my own mind of who he was and what were his accomplishments. When I recently questioned my own feeling about regrets that I had over the things that I had and had not done, someone suggested to me that perhaps I was using someone else’s yardstick to measure success. And I began to see that we need to measure success in our lives by what we ourselves value. While some value money and the outward trappings of financial success and security, it is just as sure that others measure success by the number of friends cultivated and cherished, and still others by the number of good works accomplished, or whether if tithing, for example, is a value to them, they are meeting their responsibility to do so. I think that what you value bears thinking about on a regular basis, because, as we are well aware, our values change, due to circumstance and experience. Not that if you valued being a good and charitable person, that might change, but if you find yourself in new circumstances, what it means to be a good and charitable person might change. Let me give an example: if you are used to donating a certain amount of money every month to the food band, and you suddenly lose your job and have to watch your pennies, then you might not have the money to donate, but rather might have more time for hands- on help. It doesn’t make you any less charitable, it just makes you charitable in a different way, and both are sorely needed. Whether you do one or the other, you are successful and true to your own yardstick. So I urge you to define your idea of success so that you can live up to it, and you are not always running around trying and perhaps falling short of someone else’s definition of success. Look around--who do you admire, and why? What do they do to achieve their idea of success, and what do they have to bypass or leave undone? Is that OK with you? If you have to miss out on your child’s sports league in order to have some level of success, or if you have to disappoint your parents, how does that feel to you? Be honest with yourself and weigh your wants and needs in the balance. Find your own yardstick for success, and keep looking, because as sure as the days pass, your measure will change. And then be the best of what you have decided is important to offer the world. It will make you feel great, and will make the world a better place.

Designing your life

Designing Your Life 9.23.13 I usually have a list of things that I need to do everyday. The list is the usual “to-do” list: go to the cleaners, drop off the library books, call someone, buy something, make appointments, etc. But, it occurs to me that life should really be more than a list of things to do among and between the routines of our lives. If we are lucky enough to be able to build a home, or even remodel a room in our home, there is a plan, a blueprint that we follow in order to make the end result fit our projected use and what we had in mind for it to look like. We do all the preliminary work, the shopping, the comparing, the prep, with the end result in mind. And if we think of the things that we do on a day to day basis as individual projects, we do the same, whether it is making a party, or planting a garden or making dinner. We know what we want the end result to look like, and then we do what is necessary to hire the people, or buy the ingredients, or create the ambience to make the end result as close to what we had in mind as possible. I have been thinking about what a difference it would make if we approached designing our lives in the same way. How much of life is done on an ad hoc basis? Sure when the baby spills his milk, it may not fit into your designed life to have to clean it up, and when you are dressed and ready to leave for the theater, and your child suddenly comes down with the flu, or the baby sitter cancels, designed life be damned. But over all, I wonder if it is possible to have an overarching purpose that you mentally check in with every day to see if you are fulfilling it? It is so easy to get bogged down in the minutiae of days and weeks, in the needs of the moment, that we forget to check in with ourselves. If your soul is getting short shrift, if you are starving for meaning, if you are rushing around and never arriving at a destination that feels satisfying, then take a moment to stop and think about imposing a blueprint, thinking about the eventual outcome and seeing whether what you are engaged in matches the end result you had in mind. A colleague of mine posted the following on Facebook recently, and it made me think about this very subject, and whether I am feeding my soul or just marking days off the calendar. Perhaps it will make you wonder as well. Be good to you Be yourself, truthfully Accept yourself, gratefully Value yourself, joyfully Forgive yourself, completely Treat yourself, generously Balance yourself, harmoniously Bless yourself, abundantly Trust yourself, confidently Love yourself, wholeheartedly Empower yourself, immediately Give yourself, enthusiastically Express yourself, radiantly

A time for every purpose

I have been reminded lately in so many ways, that so much of what we study in the Bible, if heeded, would lead us to not only understanding, but to an easier ride through life. I was reminded the other night and told my darling daughter that there is indeed a time for every purpose. My sweet dog Lucy had a time to live, and although my heart fights it, the time to die came, and we must accept that there will be sorrow and grief for a while, but after that, there will be the happy memories of walks in the park, watching the ducks, conversations we shared, even though I did the actual talking for both of us, and the sweetness of true love. To love and to let go when the time is right is all we can do in our powerless state. I am in a place in my life when I look at the “stuff” around me that is left from the acquisition phase of life, and remember how many times I acquired something because it was cute, or interesting, or even weird. Many of those things have memories attached to them. Some of them even have someone else’s memories attached to them. But the ones that I really treasure are the ones that seem to tell me or remind me of something valuable that I might have forgotten, or not yet learned. I have the cigarette case that belonged to my grandfather, and it reminds me of his methodical way of counting our ten cigarettes in the morning, filling the case, for that was all it held, and when those were done, no matter the time of day, he was done smoking. I keep the case, not because I smoke, but because I hope that seeing it will teach me when ‘enough is enough’ in all the different areas of my life. Just because there is more cake on the plate, does not mean that I am not finished with my portion. Just because I can think of a few more angry words, does not mean that the disagreement is not over when everything that was necessary to say has been said. As I prepare to part with the things that have less importance to me, I love that someone else may find the very things that I can part with something that has or gives great meaning to their life. For years, I have had bookcases full of books in my house, and I have recently begun to sort them, and to share them. Mostly, I have already read them, and will not be doing so again, with few exceptions. Having them gathering dust in my library does not introduce a new idea into the world, it does not improve anyone’s mind, it does not add to the learning in the world, or be the germ of a new idea. Giving them away, hoping that someone else will have the enjoyment that I had when I first read that book, or connect with an idea that they had not previously entertained, is so much better than the dust platforms that they had become on my shelf (although I do dust my books quite often). This time of year is the time to plant, so that we may sow later, it is a time for new thoughts, new friends, new learning. It is also a time for remembering—what we have done in the past year that we would not like to repeat, what we need to see with new eyes, who we need to see in a new light, and what we would like to create with this one precious life we have. Every morning that we open our eyes is a new opportunity to have more joy, to share it, to create love and share learning. I have been looking around me, and the long hot summer has taken a toll on our gardens, and even the trees look dusty. As we enter upon a new year, let us hope that Nature will be kind to us, and bring rain in its season in the proper amounts so as to nurture us. And then let us return the favor, to nurture our planet and to be kind to it, to care for it, for it is the season to harvest and rejoice.

Healing and Wholeness

The loss of a beloved pet is unlike any other. It’s not greater, or less. But it is different. Today, only five days since my darling Lucy died, there is a hole in me that I feel will never be filled. Of course I will heal from this loss. I have achieved a sort of healing from other losses in my life, my beloved parents, brother, grandparents, and even other pets, but this one is different. Losing Lucy was like losing a part of myself. She was my constant companion, since the day we brought her home from the shelter. She was attuned to my moods; she followed me around the house, and awaited my return when I had to go out. She told me things with her glance and her body language, and I always felt that when I spoke to her I was carrying on a two way conversation. I am still in the depth of the shock of loss. I realize, however, that accepting loss is an important part of life. And as we get older, the losses mount up, and we face loss in so many forms that when we are younger, we just never happen to think about. When we experience loss, we learn empathy and compassion, but we also learn that the pain of loss is worse even than physical pain. Dean Koontz, in his book Odd Hours wrote: “Grief can destroy you—or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it.” So the reason I allow myself the indulgence of writing about my loss, is to reflect on the sacredness of the bonds that we make in life, whether for our families, our loving and loved friends, our beloved pets, and even for the ‘things’ we love because of the memories they represent for us. Grief is the recognition that something that we had and valued has passed out of our sphere. And if we are careful not to become bogged down in the grief, we can take the next step in the process by recognizing the gratitude we feel for the joy of having had that person, or that pet, in our lives—for the joy shared, for the sacred times and bonds of love. I am still expecting to see Lucy when I get out of bed in the morning, when I look over to the spot on the floor of my office that she occupied when I was working on my computer, and when that place is empty, I feel the pang of loss, but I will not always. I am making the effort to appreciate the hours I spent grooming Lucy, and how we both enjoyed it. I am remembering her doggy smile, and the days when she would chase a ball on our early morning exercise, and I am reflecting that smile. I am consciously trying to capture a sense of gratitude for all the years of happiness that we shared, and when I do those things, I know that healing will come and with it some restoration of wholeness. It will take a while, and the wholeness will never again be really whole, because the Lucy part will be missing, just like the Victor part is missing, and the Mom and Dad parts are missing. But with the wake-up call that each loss is for us, let us be more aware of the sacredness of each relationship and each day, and experience the gratitude for it that makes life worth living.

The Lessons of a Life

In every act that we undertake in life, there are lessons to be learned. And in even the hardest lessons that we have to learn, there are choices to be made and things for which to be grateful. We may not recognize at the time what we should be grateful for, but given an open mind and heart, it will come. Today, I have made the choice to put aside the pain of having had to make the choice to release my beloved Lucy from the pain with which she has been living, and to make of my own life a more barren place, a place without a fuzzy friend and companion who shared my deepest secrets, my highest highs, my greatest disappointments and fears, and who kept counsel with me when I needed a confidant. Lucy came to us from the shelter. She was two years old, not particularly housebroken, because she had been kept out of doors all of her life, even in the rain. She had not had an easy life. She was timid, even though she was a large dog and could have been fierce. She had been mistreated in the home she lived in, and brought to the shelter with two other dogs to get her away from an angry old man with a cane that he wasn’t afraid to use as a weapon. Her sweetness was apparent to Reina who was almost eighteen at the time, and we said it was her turn to choose. When we adopted her, she carried the name “Negra”, meaning black. She was black and tan, as beautiful a German Shepherd as can be, and when we left the shelter, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” was playing, and she became Lucy to us. She loved to chase a ball, she wasn’t much interested in food, and I had to teach her to bark when the doorbell rang. We would go toward the door together, me barking, and her looking at me as if I’d lost my mind, but she finally caught on that she was the one who was supposed to be barking. Her patience in learning how to live in a household where she was treasured and pampered and loved was almost hard to watch. She expected to be punished when she made a mistake, and she had to learn, I think, not to be afraid. From the early days, Lucy learned that I would take her out, feed her, brush her, and I had to learn that she would miss me, and wait for me by the door and depend on me, and sleep near my bed, and shadow me everywhere in the house. I had to learn to be loved with that adoration that only a dog can give. She was young and strong and would leap into the back of my car to go for rides. Taking her out in the morning taught me the value of regular exercise. When we went to our local park, children would often gather around us, because she was so big and beautiful, and some would hang back in fear, but she would win them over with her quiet ways. She would stand still and let me show the little ones how to let their hands be sniffed so that Lucy could be sure they were not dangerous. Never once in eleven years did I see her become aggressive. Bob often said that having Lucy around was like having a tranquilizer in the house. She was so mellow and loving, that even the worst day could be made better by petting her. Our home was a better place because she was part of it. Our previous pet had attacked food the moment it was put on the floor for her, but Lucy, one of three in her original household, learned that food had to be approached carefully, because it might be fraught with danger, a lesson that we could possibly all afford to learn. Today’s lesson was the hardest. It was that I had to let her go. I could not hold her for myself, but had to consider her pain and her welfare first. Lucy will remain part of me as long as I live, and it is one of the great comforts that I was able to bring a measure of happiness and love to her life that she had not previously known .Holding Lucy in my heart is not like holding Lucy in my arms, but it will have to suffice. If there is a Rainbow Bridge, and I truly hope that there is, I know that my other dogs were waiting there for her to welcome her to that place of no pain. All the pain is left behind, but here there is also gratitude—for the lovely and loving years we spent together, me as your Mom and you as my sunshine, my eternal toddler. I know that as the days pass, there will be other lessons as well that you have left behind, my darling dog, and I will keep learning them, as I must.

Things Gained and Lost

This morning, as I moved the wet laundry into the dryer, I relived a sweet memory, or memories, of the years I spent hanging wet laundry out on a clothesline. It got me to thinking of all the changes we have all made over time, many to the good and some not so good. When I was in junior high school and had learned to type, I typed my older brother’s term papers on a manual typewriter. We had bought it second hand, the clacking keys sometimes stuck and made so much noise, that often when I got the pages to type late and was typing late into the night, I had to do it downstairs where I did not disturb the rest of the family. When the ribbon needed a change, I practically had to take a bath afterward because I got so dirty. And if we needed more than one copy, I had to deal with carbon paper—and the erasures on the copies that had to be dealt with. Later, when I was eight months pregnant, I typed my husband’s thesis on an electric typewriter. Because it was electric, each keystroke was equally hard, so the printed page appeared more even. There were no especially dark letters, but the erasure problem persisted, but since there had to be five perfectly printed copies, if there was a mistake the whole page had to be retyped. All of this brings me to today, as I sit here at my keyboard, looking at my monitor, making corrections as I go, and even having the machine itself call for spelling and grammar corrections, knowing that each printed copy, no matter how many I want, or whether I want them to be printed “portrait or landscape”, they will all appear exactly as I decide I want them to. And even if I decide I want to make a few changes later, I can do that too without starting all over. And how many other things can we point to and say pretty much the same things. I never go to the market or out in the car without my cell phone, and yet, for many years I managed to shop without calling home, and I managed to get around town usually without needing assistance. Yes, I am happier to know that my daughters have a cell phone should they need help in a hurry, but what has been the price of all of this convenience? Sticking to just these two examples, the price of having my computer is the fact that my desk is dedicated to it. Without a room dedicated to it, others have to be annoyed by the glow and the sounds, and the clacking of keys. One price of the convenience of email is that we no longer send love letters on beautiful stationary that can be tied up with a ribbon and put away to read later when we want to remember. It is also that we are forever at the mercy of advertisers, or the urgencies of others. It is the vulnerability of young children to predators on the internet. I fear that another cost is our attention span. When dial-up is so slow that we can’t stand it, waiting for an elderly person to finish crossing the street is at risk. Sometimes being able to call someone right now when I am in a foul temper, rather than waiting until I have gotten home and put away the groceries, giving me time to cool off and get some perspective is no advantage. I feel as if I am getting to be a curmudgeon, when I see people in the park talking to their phones, rather than to each other or their children, when I see teens in a group, all texting, rather than laughing and flirting and talking to each other, and it makes me sad and a little angry at the same time. We are losing the art of face to face conversation, of hearing each other, of considering the effects of our communications. I do not argue here for the abolition of technology or advancement, I guess what I want is an understanding of what can be lost if we do not take the gains in our stride.

Peace and Quiet v. family commotion

The first thing I want today’s blog to say is Happy Birthday. My cousin, with whom I grew up, and with whom I have shared many many birthday celebrations, is having a birthday today. We couldn’t be together yesterday as we planned, because it just didn’t work out, but tonight, I think that I will raise a cupcake to my cousin’s birthday, right after I call her to wish her a very Happy Birthday. Since I was planning to write about family commotion today, certainly birthdays can qualify. In my very early life, I lived in a multigenerational household, the youngest of four children there, and enjoyed the commotion that accompanied a group of nine people, speaking two languages, an autocratic patriarch who I adored, a sweet, smiling, but sickly grandmother, two sisters sharing the chores of a large household with an invalid, and none of the labor saving devices that we take for granted today. We children couldn’t be parked in front of the TV to keep the noise down, because there was no TV. We played outside until dark, all up and down the street with the other children on the street. We climbed trees, dug in the yard and buried treasure, played hid and seek, and busied ourselves. There were no lessons, or organized classes, or after school activities. The older kids walked to and from school together, unsupervised, while I waited at the front window for them. I can’t speak for everyone, but I remember that part of my childhood as very happy. In the evening, we sat around the console radio that was four feet high and three feet wide, and glowed green from the display dial with it was on, and listened to serialized stories, like The Shadow. Mom and Aunt couldn’t cook meals ahead or take frozen veggies from the freezer, because the freezer was about half the size of a breadbox, and held only a couple of ice cube trays. We had to eat in shifts because there wasn’t enough room at the table for all of us at one time. If we were lucky enough to have a couple of bottle of soda as a rare treat, there was endless negotiation over who would share—two to a bottle. Cooking for upcoming holidays was a whirlwind of activity, and we kids were smart enough to stay out of the way. A tiny house, probably half the size of my present home or less, housing nine people of three different nuclear families, one bathroom, close quarters at best, yet always a place of welcome to visitors. Today I wonder, I analyze, I question “how did they manage?” It was lively in the best sense of the word: full of life. We had no pets, there was little money, and certainly none to spare, but the values of family allegiance, closeness, love and loyalty, adherence to a belief system and the passing on of a shared and loved history were all there in that tiny house. My parents, brother and I all shared one bedroom that we slept in, but there I learned the value of privacy, and the fun of sharing a small space. I remarked to someone this week, that the first time I had my own room was when my brother moved away to go to med school. And I realized that the love and closeness that we shared all our lives came from the experience of sharing, that necessity forced on us. My fondest memories of my brother teaching me to tell time (on an analog clock), of listening together to the Sunday morning broadcast of the “funnies” on the radio, of playing “Mother, May I?” in the concrete backyard nest door with the neighborhood kids. I didn’t learn ‘peace and quiet’ that I value today in those walls, but I learned the valuable lessons that family commotion were so good at teaching. Happy Birthday L.

New Beginnings

We think of Jan 1 as a new beginning, but today I was thinking of how many more new beginnings there actually are.Today I am making a new beginning in staying true to spending some time blogging every day. Certainly, Spring is a new beginning, with the little green buds peeking out of bare branches, and the leafing of trees, but each season has its own new beginning as well. In the Summer, we begin to have longer days, we begin to think of vacations, we start to harvest the crops that we have planted earlier--even urbanites have pots of tomatoes that are delicious right off the vine. In the Fall, the kids start back to school for a new school year, a new beginning to make a good impression on new teachers, new friends. There are new schedules and new arrangements. My cousins just took their oldest son to college and got him settled in, while the kids at home are beginning to see how life will be without their oldest brother there. The college boy is beginning life without his parents to consult every day; he is starting the most independent part of his life, and he is beginning to see what life is like without his two siblings close by every day. The kids at home have more room, and the kid away has the world at his feet. For us Jews, although it is the seventh month of the year, it is a new year, the season when our Torah is wound all the way back to the beginning, and we begin the cycle of reading all over again, so that with maturity, we may gain new insights. Each year, when we begin again to read the words “In the beginning”, I feel chills run up my spine. It is a new beginning: A new year in which to do a better job that the one we did last year, a year in which to be more aware, more helpful, more grateful. We will be passing through a period when people send each other cards that say “May you be inscribed for a good year”, because the imagery is that G-d will write your name in the book of health and life and wholeness, or not. There are ten days between the opening of the holiday, and the time when we say that the gates are closing. Those ten days are, or should be, days of contemplation, days during which we reflect on promises not kept, on behavior that may have been dishonest or hurtful to others, and on the asking of forgiveness of those we might have wronged in some way. Another new beginning, yes? So we reflect and we pray, and there is a new day, each day to do a better job than we did the day before. But in order to begin again, we must rest and regenerate and reinvent. In the same way Winter is the way the world rests, we sleep. It too is the beginning of new thinking, of the creation of new cells that we need to live and be vital, for if we never rested, we would always be in a tearing down process. The most delicious apples need cold nights to be sweet the following harvest, so even though I have lived in California most of my life, I know that there are crops that need to be buried under a layer of snow for a time to be optimum during their new beginnings. Every day we humans have the opportunity to call the moment from which we open our eyes a new beginning. And surely there is something that we can find in every day for which to be grateful. And that in itself is a new beginning.

Un-intensions

It was never my intention to take the summer off, mainly because I don't view writing this blog as a task, but rather as a pleasure. But I have found the summer to have undone me in so many ways. I have had a bit of illness, never pleasant and always a surprise, and I have gotten very busy with some committee work, which was somewhat more time consuming than I originally anticipated. The illnesses are gone, thank goodness, and I hope never to return, and the work for the committee, which has been to honor some very deserving people, is drawing to a close, at least my part of it which has been to do the advance stuff, like invitations and letters. Committee work is always a challenge, because, it is necessary to depend on others, their own timetables, and the vicissitudes of the lives of more than one person, and everyone has them, whether it is one's car on the fritz, or visitors from out of town who require attention. Some of the interruptions are more pleasant than others, but we all have them. As a result of my unintentional absence from the blog, I am just stuffed with things I want to say and to share. All summer long, I have been thinking about life in all its different phases, ages, and how we travel from one to the other, revising our thoughts, rearranging our ideas, reinventing ourselves, and adjusting to the things that we have no control over. And all those things are good things. Wouldn't life be boring if we continued to think the same thoughts, have the same ideas, and never be open to the new, the challenging, the fresh, the exotic. Now that the whole world is open to us via the internet, easy international travel, extensive television coverage, we are party to all that goes on (whether we want to be or not). It makes me re-evaluate what I might have thought yesterday and a week ago, in light of new information. It also makes me realize that there are parts of my thinking that I really have to get to work on and bring up to date. This morning, I reflected on the fact that every morning, I awaken with excellent intentions of what I am going to accomplish that day. Some days I go to bed with a sigh of satisfaction that I have met my goals, and accomplished the many things I had set out to do. Other nights, I resist going to bed in the knowledge that I have been thwarted in my goals but a myriad of things, unanticipated traffic jams, allergies, someone at home needing our attention, phone calls, and a hundred other small and large annoyances. At this time when we are preparing for the New Year, we Jews are re-evaluating what we have done in the past year, and how we cane be more worthy in the new one. I was happy to attend a lecture on Saturday, where we discussed the sounding of the shofar, the ram's horn, and what it has meant to us. It is a clarion call that means many things to many people, and the Rabbis through the ages have interpreted it and explained it many times in many ways. For me it is the signal that there is a chance at renewal. It is the sound of the roundness of our lives, the sea ebbs and flows, the moon waxes and wanes and waxes again, the years come and go around, another fall, another spring, but we humans march in a single direction, ever aging, but with the chance to make our lives better ever day by our deeds, our thoughts and ideas. So as we await the sounds, the sights,and the tastes of the new season, the new year, let us also join in the renewal of this season, and re-create ourselves in a new way, re-invent a better self to share with the world, and not let our un-intentions take over. To live with the intention each day to find the good, the positive, the enlightening, and to live our lives looking for those things is to have something to be happy about every day.

Showing up

After reading the interview with Dr Brene Brown in June’s O Magazine, where she claims that “‘daring to show up and be seen’ is the key to everything we want in life”

I decided to attend my 50^th High School reunion--very much against my better judgment. Well, Saturday night was the night and it was quite eye-opening. First of all, after obsessing for weeks about what to do with my hair, and worrying that I hadn’t had the discipline to lose some weight, one fine day all of that flew away and I was free of the anxiety of taking a step forward.  I stopped worrying about my hair, or what I would wear and who I would impress and how I would impress them. They would just have to take me as I am—or not.  It was incredibly freeing.  I found myself free of more than just worrying about the reunion, and best of all I began to accept myself just as I am much more often and to accept the fact that what and how I feel about many things, while they might not be right for others, were usually pretty fine for me. This does not imply that I can’t and shouldn’t improve, or open my mind to other opinions or new facts, but that I am doing pretty OK.

In the spirit of the Buddhist belief that “when the student is ready, the teacher will appear, I continued to read the Interview with Dr. Brown, who does vulnerability research. What in the world is that? I thought. She explains it as not being about winning or losing, but about showing up and being seen—being in the arena. She also goes on to say that anonymous comments she had gotten about her TED talk that criticized her hair or face, were obviously from people not in the arena, not getting the point of taking risks and, sure, sometimes failing, but attending to the business at hand. Allowing oneself to be vulnerable by taking the next step-- going to the reunion, making a speech, opening oneself up to the new, the untried, the groundbreaking-- and not letting fear hold one back, leaving the armour at home, is being vulnerable. Perfectionism, of which I am guilty, “is a way to avoid or minimize shame and judgment.”

Dr. Brown’s interview was fascinating in itself, but I knew why I it all resonated so with me when I read the words that Oprah paraphrased from her book that “cultivating joy and gratitude are the way home.” What I teach in my small group seminars, based on the work of Jackie Kelm is just that--how to cultivate joy and gratitude in your life.  Practicing Appreciative Living is how I have gotten through the last six months, and while it has not always been successful in dispelling the sadness I have often felt over the death of my dear brother, on an incident by incident basis, it has gotten me through the day.   Who cannot have looked at the “supermoon” last night and not thought “I am so lucky to be alive tonight to see this”; who cannot take a breath of the early morning air, sweet and fresh, and hear the sounds of birds calling to each other and not appreciate the variety that life offers us, who cannot have felt the love of a child or a pet and not appreciate their own ability to feel this delicious emotion? The ‘who’ of those questions is the people on the sidelines, making comments, evaluating others, gossiping, not taking part, not taking chances. Be grateful that you are in the arena, and ignore the comments. Wear the bruises and scrapes of participation proudly, knowing you have added something to the human experience—Yours.

Becoming YOU

I guess as we reach what I call the “reflecting years”, everyone begins to think about what life experiences have made them who they are.  I realize that I could be very wrong about this.  Some people never reflect, they just go along day to day, not looking back. For me this is just not a possibility. We are the products of all of our life experiences, and I would venture to say, in part, all of the life experiences of our parents and those with whom we share time and history. For boomers whose parents grew up during the depression, a consciousness of money, deprivation, or the need to be conscious of them became part of who we are. We reacted to it all differently to be sure, but it is there just the same. For later generations who were born during the bubble years, it may seem as if there is a bottomless well to which they can go for refilling. But of course, these are all generalizations and extremes.

What I have come to realize over the past few weeks, is that we are a much a product of the things we said “NO” to, the things that we made ourselves believe weren’t important as those we have always said “YES” to. And I have come to realize that the wisdom and recommendations that came from my mother, were the product of her being the child of immigrants, the fear she experienced when she saw people in her apartment house put out on the street with their belongings because they couldn’t put together the rent, the life lessons she experienced when my father’s union went out on strike and there were mouths to feed. Her counsel was to marry someone with a stable income, someone who would never fear for his job. My counsel to my daughters is different, but also the result of my grandmother’s, my mother’s, and my own life experiences, and the changes that the world has undergone in the last century: be someone with a stable income who wouldn’t have to worry about being out of work.  A bit different, but not really.

I am coming to realize that as much as the things I pursued in my life, the things that I ran away from have shaped me and my beliefs and thoughts. What I insisted was not important may have been just as important as what I thought was.

As a Mother, I would love to be able to take all of the accumulated and hard won wisdom born of experience, disappointment, and triumph, and hand it over to my daughters, polished and wrapped, so that they don’t have to make the mistakes, suffer the consequences, and live with the results of bad decisions or unintentional errors in judgment. But then, they wouldn’t be they.  They would be me.

So my Mother’s day gift to them is to say, “Think carefully before you take that step, but when you have considered all that you should, take it with gusto and don’t look back.  It may turn out for good or ill, but enjoy the ride and know that whatever the outcome, you will bear the consequences.”  And remember the lesson I am learning from a wonderful book that I read and re-read: there is no failure, there is only feedback, and the lessons you learn will be there to take to the next effort.

Making a Difference

This morning, after spending a good deal of the night up with Lucy, because she needed me, I found myself simply unable to get it together to go to a meeting I had on my calendar.  I felt really bad about not attending, and even worse about being unable to give the chair a “heads up” that I would not be in attendance. I will write him a note to say sorry, but I got to thinking about what I have done and not done on this committee since I joined last September.  Until January, my mind was elsewhere as my brother’s health worsened and he died, and then I had bronchitis this spring, so I was again not in shape to go to some of the meetings, let alone participate in the wonderful work that the committee does. I wondered what they would talk about, and if there was work for me to do there, but I have concluded that although I joined with the best of intentions, I have not pulled my weight, as it were. I have determined to resign from this committee, although the people were very nice and welcoming, because I feel that if I sit on a committee, their mission has to be mine, and their charter mine as well.

And isn’t that what we all want and need? To feel useful, and to feel as if what we put our minds and hearts and efforts to is accomplishing something that is important to us? Sometimes the most important work that we do is to offer a smile and a kind word where it is needed, and sometimes it means going through our closets and culling the things we don’t use for the use and pleasure of someone else. One is not more important than another, but what we do needs to make a difference in our own mind and heart. The people who receive the benefit of what this committee does are lucky that there are people who give their free time over to the health of the community and what it deems important.  The people who do the work are also lucky that they have the health and vitality to help others and to feel like they are making a difference.

So this is what I am going to do.  I am going to find another group who needs help, who I feel I can help, and hope that the effort that I put in will make a difference. To the people who I met who are doing the work of the committee, you are a terrific group of hard workers, and I am happy to have met you. I hope that we can meet again in some other effort where I can feel more effective. 

Thanks, Mother Nature

Every so often, we human beings are treated to the reminder that Mother Nature is a smart cookie. “What?” you say.  “What’s so smart about wild fires, tsunamis, earthquakes, hurricanes and the like?”  My answer to that, and I realize that this is indeed my answer, is that being in the path of an oncoming disaster makes us reflect on what is most important to us.  And because disasters happen sporadically, and not at expected intervals, with the exceptions of blizzards and hurricanes which have seasons but their severity is still sporadic, it is obvious that what is important to us changes over time.

 The last couple of times fires swept through Ventura County-- in ’93 and again in 2005-- its proximity caused us to think about what we would want and need to take with us if we needed to evacuate. I noticed that Friday as I watched the flames about three miles away from my front porch, the only things on my mind were pictures of my deceased parents and brother, my darling dog Lucy, and not much else. Bob and Shoshana would be able to take care of themselves, I knew that I could put my hands on the old picture albums of when the kids were babies in a flash, and all the other stuff was just stuff, even the expensive stuff. Sure I’d hate to lose all the work I have stored on my computer, I would love to save my sewing machine, which is a good companion and source of pleasure for me, but in the end, doesn’t all that is really good and really important in life boil down to the people we love?

My commitment to the thinking and methods of Appreciative Living has caused me to think of the positive in situations, even though all things are present in every situation--both the good and the bad. So although I have lost my parents, and more recently my brother, which makes me feel desperately lonely and sad at times, at those same times I am also aware of how lucky I am to have had such wonderful parents, such a loving brother with whom I shared so much, for so long. Of the “things” I have that I enjoy having, were I to lose them, I think that I could say I enjoy seeing them, they awaken memories of good times, or special moments, or the people I associate with them, but they are still things, and as long as I am amble to remember, I will have them with me. The tendency to see the glass as half full, to appreciate what is going well in my life, to view situations through a lens that highlights the positive, is a gift beyond anything.

So today, on my list of three things I appreciate are: 1. the firefighters who have come from all over to help us in this time of need. Their alertness, their willingness to serve not only save homes and people, but renew our faith in our fellow man, 2. The cold and gloomy day, with its dampness and its chill that are giving the firefighters some respite in their fight, and enabling them to see a good ending to their hard work, and 3. all of the people and the pets that I have loved in my life, who have loved me back, and made life worth living.

Rough Patches and Lessons

This week, my family hit a rough patch, not unlike the kind of rough patch that every family hits now and then.  Tempers were short, harsh words were said, or shouted, and I would venture to say that not one of us felt good about it.  There was so much tension in the house that Lucy, my dog, refused to get out of the car to come in the house the morning after when we got back from the park, after she had spent an anxious previous night pacing and panting.

I have spent the last couple of days trying to find the hidden positives in the situation. Believe me, it was not easy, but since good and bad, positive and negative, exist in every situation, I knew that “there must be a pony in there somewhere.” And this morning I think that I have finally found it. 

Families are fluid. In every family, children are growing older, either from child to tween or teen, to young adult; parents are also growing older, from inexperienced parent, feeling their way, to the more experienced  empty-nester, to the more senior parent of the boomerang generation. In every role, we all have to try it out, give it a test run, and hopefully, conquer the ups and downs of the unknown road ahead. And in these endeavors, we also have to live in close quarters, tolerate where the others are on their journeys, and try to get along while attending to our work, our fun, our friends, and the necessities of everyday life.

I have come to realize that what makes the rough patches tolerable is that there is an underlying level of love and caring for each other that we mostly want to maintain. If we were to walk away after a rough patch, we would be left with no history, no lasting friendships and no experience of how to reconcile, how to forgive, and how ask for forgiveness. We would not know that we can be angry and still love the person we are angry at, we can feel terrible about what was said, and still come back together, hopefully smarter and more careful of someone else’s feelings. 

So the lessons I found this week are as follows:

·   A cooling off period is really valuable

·   When you are too angry to talk, putting your anger on paper is good  

·   Not sending the letter is even better

·   Letting a few days pass, and then writing another letter that lays out what you are feeling and why, is good

·   Not sending that letter is even better

·   Understanding that life is not smooth, that we all react to many things that might have nothing to do with the argument at hand is a very valuable thing

·   Writing another letter that offers to meet, discuss, help is good

·   Sending that letter is even better

·   Learning to forgive is excellent

·   Learning to say “I’m sorry” is even better

People and Memory

Today, I am so grateful for the ebb and flow of people in my life.  Sometimes, particularly when we are young, it seems as if the people in our lives will always be there, that this or that friend will be your BFF, and that while others may come and go, this one is permanent.  We also learn, as we grow up, that family members who seem as constant as the sea, are not necessarily.  Some of us are lucky enough to have parents into our own advanced age, and some lose parents unexpectedly young.  Each situation has its own happiness and heartache. 

When we have our parents into their (and our) advanced years, we are the witnesses to their physical and sometimes mental decline. But we have all the good times that we shared for so long, all the tender moments, and the opportunity to still feel like someone’s beloved child.  The people who were our guiding lights, who taught us the things we needed to know, or were even examples of how we did not want to behave, sometimes become a responsibility, sometimes even a burden. But the loss of parents, or even siblings at an early age, is a different kind of responsibility.  It entails keeping their light alive in us. We have the advantage of remembering them as they were, at the height of their health or beauty, but it reminds us that we lost out on creating more memories to take with us into the future.  It makes us enforce a mental stamina to not give in to overwhelming grief, and to appreciate the years and the days of happiness that we spent together.  Remembering is the scaffolding that helps us build on the foundation that was laid when we were together. To be overtaken by sadness is to surrender all the good times, all the laughter and the anticipation and the enjoyment that we had in each other’s company.

This week I had occasion to feel the sadness of loss, because we are celebration holidays that I have always been particularly fond of.  But I let that sadness be a signal to me to also remember the happy times, the closeness, the love that we shared, and the things that I learned from my loving parents and brother, of blessed memory. Feeling the sadness and their absence, I felt the empty place that they one filled.  Allowing myself to feel further, happy memories of the love and laughter filled that empty place and I felt gratitude. Appreciating how lucky I was to have had them for as long as I did, I felt gratitude that I can remember and enjoy the good times that lifted me up.

As a result of that loss, I have been lucky enough to reconnect with old friends, with members of my family that I had not seen in a very long time, and to take comfort from that renewal. There is present in every event, every day, every moment  both good and bad, happy and sad;  it depends on where we cast our eyes and let them rest that we decide what kind of life we are going to live.

The Renewals of Spring

There are many things that remind us that life renews itself, and if we are able to let it, it can be a renewal of our spirit, our feelings, and our attitudes.  Last night my family celebrated the holiday of Passover, with its attendant reminders of renewal, and also with reminders of the past. This week, my Christian friends will celebrate renewal with the Easter holiday, and last week, I attended a Nourouz celebration, Persian New Year, with all of its attendant symbols of renewal. My favorites are the customs of jumping over fire, to leave behind the bad things of the old year which cannot follow you, and the breaking of noodles into the traditional soup while making a wish for the year ahead. I am quite sure that other cultures celebrate the coming a spring, with its newness, its green-ness, the flowering of plants and the promise of the fruit to come. The celebrations of Spring are the celebrations of Life renewed.

Keeping in mind my philosophy of appreciative living, and that all things are present at all times, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, and that what we choose to look at is what becomes our story, I was able to look around my table and not only note the absence of those I have loved who have now passed on, but also the smiling faces of those who I actively love and appreciate today and every day.  I was and am grateful for the love I felt all my life from my parents and brother, who are now departed. Yes, I miss them, but I choose to remember all the good times we shared and let that make me happy.

I was able to appreciate the other people that they were responsible for bringing into my life, my sister-in-law, and my niece, and now her boyfriend.

This season of renewal reminds me that there are things for which to be grateful all around, all we have to do is to see them.  So pull back the curtain, let in the light, see all that there is to be grateful for, and ENJOY.

Lighten the Load

Have you ever been in a place that made you tired before you even began?

It is so easy, on a day when we are pressed with all there is to do and to accomplish, to feel bogged down, under fire, or just plain worn out. But remembering the principles of Appreciative Living has helped me to a new place where no matter what is happening around me, I am able to find a thread of appreciation in myself that makes it all a bit better. So, when there is dinner to prepare, and the dog to feed, and thinking about the calls I have to make, and the work still waiting on my desk, my mind has begun, through my training and training others to live and think appreciatively, to automatically turn to the good fortune implied in all of those things.

When there is dinner to prepare, I feel lucky that there is food in the house, that it is fresh and nourishing, and that I have the good luck and blessing to be sharing it with my loving family.  My dog Lucy, who depends on me for all her needs, provides me with the unconditional and devoted love and loyalty that only a pet can provide.  I can tell her things that I can tell no other being on earth, and she will not judge me, or find me wanting in any way.  Her devotion to me is as sure as the day dawning. The calls I have to make, whether they are for business, or to check in with the people I love, add something immeasurable to my life.  I have found something that I love to do, and I am lucky enough to be able to teach it to others, so that I can hope that their lives are as enhanced as much as mine has become with the practice of living appreciatively. Keeping in touch with friends and relatives is not only something that was taught to me by my parents’ example, it is a sacred duty and a pleasure. And the work on my desk is the extension of my thinking, the expression of who and what I have become: a teacher, a person eager to share what is good in what I have learned.

In every circumstance, there is something to appreciate, and there is a way to find it and make it ours.  At adult gatherings, where there are children fidgeting; there are healthy, smiling, mischievous faces, eager for fun. When we witness an unfortunate circumstance or an accident, if we notice that there are people who are trying to help and provide comfort, there is something to appreciate. When we look back, or reflect on unhappiness, there is, if nothing else, something to be grateful for in the fact that it is behind us.  Even in the loss of a loved one, there is the time we have spent together, the love we have shared, the happiness we have been lucky enough to have partaken of that makes us grateful for the good, if only we can see it that way.