Inching Toward Simplicity: Pragmatics and Prose

Please visit me...

2009-12-04T02:02:00.001-08:00

...At Harriet's Voice: Home Base for Writing Mothers. Lots of great links and quotes that will appeal to all writers (not just moms!). Sign up for updates, as contests, events, blog continue to evolve. Creative moms (not just writers), please take the survey.

I would love to add your quotes, tips, links to the site--please send suggestions via the contact link.

Thank you for your support.
Katherine

The Right Choice

2009-07-04T03:46:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Inching Toward Simplicity! I hope you find some words in the archives here that inspire or encourage you in your own journey toward simplicity.

The Right Choice is not always the easiest choice. But I need to put this blog aside so I have more time to pursue my writing career. I have a publisher interested in my book--a new take on writing and motherhood. I've my first poetry chapbook and a Web site on my book to put together.

Please stay in touch: khauswirth@sbcglobal.net. If you'd like to be on the mailing list for Harriet's Voice: A Writing Mother's Journey, please send your contact information.

Many thanks,
Katherine
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Turn Off, Tune Out, Drop In: A New Wednesday Tradition

2009-04-24T02:20:00.000-07:00

I am appropriating (and altering) the original Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out “mantra” of the 60s counterculture to suit my own counterculture purposes.

Deep River Land Trust sent home a reminder via Gavin’s first grade assignment folder: this week is National TV Turnoff Week. We were reminded of the many local parks and other unplugged entertainments awaiting us. So our family is making inroads into tuning out from the seductive, sedating hum that is our TV and “dropping” back in to that somewhat foreign experience known as “real life”.

Our first foray ended up in a rewarding natural high. Gavin chose a CD (Abbey Road) to wake us from our opiate (of the masses) slumber. He doodled and played for a while. I found small things for Gavin to help with: he refilled our hand soaps, washed dishes very meticulously, fed the dog and enjoyed it. We made dinner together.

Later, we all sat down for what turned out to be a killer game of Monopoly. I discovered that Gavin has the makings of a railroad tycoon. I also discovered:

TV doesn’t necessarily relax me; it often just helps me avoid and escape the business (and even the pleasure) of life
The seduction of TV is the ease. It takes a bit of an effort to figure out what else to do, especially at the end of a long workday. But once you reawaken those dormant creative muscles, some good surprises await you
TV can limit your child's experience of contributing to the household. It may feel easier to have Gavin “entertained”, but it feels infinitely better to see him take ownership of some more mature tasks
There’s no substitute in a family for sitting around a table or taking a walk together, for the increasingly rare gifts of undivided attention and real conversation

Tom had Gavin watch a video last night while I went out. He didn’t feel well, and hadn’t the stamina to make the effort. But today we will be back to a TV-free house.

I know if we kept at this ad infinitum that not every night would be as joyful as that first one, which of course carried with it a sense of novelty and adventure. And I imagine it would be harder to pull off in the dark and chill of winter. But the experiment, which I highly recommend, is a wake up to experiences that offer more mental, spiritual, physical, and emotional bang per buck. Once we “survive” Turnoff week, we are instituting a No TV Wednesday policy. I have a feeling it may lead to even more TV-free days.

Habit Forming

2009-04-04T03:54:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

• Patricia Wagner at Life Organizers.com writes about 21 days to a positive attitude. What better habit to form?
• There’s a balance to strike—have a routine, but avoid getting in rut. Here’s some advice from Shape magazine on breaking out of a routine that is threatening to suffocate.
• Here are 7 creative habits to acquire, from Creative Something.
• This could have been written for me - 7 (health-related) habits to break.

Prose

I wonder how it was determined that it takes 21 days to break a habit? And is it an equal amount of time if you want to acquire one?

I’m hoping a month will do it for acquisition. This month, National Poetry Month, I’m participating in a Poem a Day challenge at the Poetic Asides blog. Already I’ve missed a day (the first one--April sneaked in).

Thinking about the quest for keeping things simple, there is something to be said for routines. Good routines are a way to harness time, to set the clock for the day. Twenty minutes of straightening up prevents an overwhelm of chores on Saturday; the morning walk lends new perspective. Both of these simple tasks seem, at times, impossible for me to achieve with real regularity.

It may actually take a break in routine to get back into the routine you want. I’d been craving a breather from my heavy workload and took a few days off last week. Finally, I had time to think. I had time to realize that I’d been neglecting myself. Overeating, upping the caffeine, foregoing my treasured walks--neglecting the very habits that would have helped me cope with my crazy deadlines!

It’s hard to make the choice to adopt or maintain a good habit when you feel you’ve barely got time to breathe. But it is a choice, an investment in a better existence. One way that we are all surely creatures of habit—-we want to know what’s in it for us! Find a way to reward yourself for the good choices you make. In my case, a little dark chocolate goes a long way.

What are the habits that have helped you simplify your life? Please send me a comment.

Run Hard, Rest Hard

2009-02-21T05:20:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

-Here’s a WebMD piece on sleep deprivation and its myriad consequences.
-Here’s the link to the Spent book I mention below. Page down on the Amazon page to check your level of “Spent-ness”.
-The way we push ourselves can carry over to our children. Here’s an article on the signs of pushing your child too hard, with tips to help ease stress.

Prose

I heard a public radio piece about a couple who has done the Iditarod and many other dog sled races together. Asked about their strategy for long-haul races, they summed it up in four words: “Run hard, rest hard”. When they take breaks, they make sure to rest at least as many hours as they raced.

To adopt this motto for personal use, I’d convert it to read, “Run not-so-hard, rest hard.” But some harsh realities lately, including crises in my extended family and a daunting workload, have had me running much harder than I’d like. Last week, exhausted, I came down with an awful 48-hour bug. This was my body’s way of screaming that I needed rest. I took to bed and took care of myself for the first time in quite a long stretch.

This lifestyle of running hard is true for most of us, and one of the reasons the simplicity movement is so appealing. I know I’m not the only one to ask, "When does this crazy ride stop?” But I know that I have some control, at least some of the time, over slowing things down.

Most of us don’t rest as often or as long as we should. If we can’t get enough rest, we can at least make sure the rest we do get is of high quality. Dr. Frank Lipman’s recent book, Spent: End Exhaustion and Feel Great Again, is a sign of our times. I admire Dr. Lipman’s efforts, and want to buy the book, pronto! But I also know that, like the dog sledding couple that grabbed my attention, I need to make my own plan. Not an elaborate plan, but something simple to get me started on the right path.

“Resting hard” means incorporating those things that relax me, like walks, good books, and writing, into every day. It means clearing a space and time for rest, separating what really must get done today from those things that can wait. It means going beyond postponing stuff--how about crossing some things off the list entirely? Eventually, it may mean bigger changes, like reducing work hours.

One comfort of my personal dilemma is knowing that I am not alone in my “quest for rest”. Please add a comment—let me know what helps you “rest hard”!

What Lies Beneath

2009-01-03T10:58:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

***See the January 2009 Oprah magazine issue for the article Back to Basics! It discusses Simple Living America, which published Get Satisfied and for which I wrote an essay and the House Party discussion guide! ***

-Take the glass half empty or full quiz.

-Speaking of positive thinking, my glass half full “lecture” also brought back a happy reminder of an influential childhood book focusing on “the glad game”. Peek into Pollyanna (Chapter 4 = The Game) here!

-Here’s Kohler’s 101 on kitchen clutter rehab.

-I could have used the kid’s version of these tips for cleaning your desk in elementary school. I spent way too much time rooting around for my ruler and eraser.

-For my writer and editor friends (or those who want a peek into the craft), here’s a piece on literary triage.

Prose

This morning Gavin and I played Scramble, a timed shape-sorting game where you fit pieces into their slots, as many as possible before the shape tray pops up and startles you. I had to laugh when Gavin said, “I didn’t get the last piece in,”, rather than focusing on the 17 of 18 that he had inserted!

I went to the kitchen and ran the tap into an empty glass, dismayed to find that he labeled it “half empty”! We talked about positive thinking, something I can use a talk on myself at regular intervals. I thought about the wholly human tendency to focus on what hasn’t been accomplished, as in the old story of authors focusing on their one negative book review (versus the 10 blurbs of glowing praise!).

As the New Year unfolds, both Tom and I seem programmed to want to sort, to purge our lives of clutter. We get the surfaces managed, at least periodically—-papers in the recycling bin, dishes in the dishwasher, dirty clothes in the hamper, blankets refolded and shelved. But lately I am plagued by “what lies beneath”. The cabinets in the bathroom and kitchen are cluttered jumbles of empties, duplicates, and "can’t identifies". The pajama drawer is overstuffed with what no longer fits. The list goes on (you can probably fill it in, based on your own experience).

I have a fantasy of efficiency, one where I sort one drawer a day until I strike perfection. Then, of course, it would be time to start over on each area! Tom’s fantasy is to “take a week off and get everything done.” As if that would be a one-time proposition.

Of course, we know that not everything will get done. Ever. So I get back to one task at a time, maybe one or two good “spring” cleanings a year, bags for the dump, boxes for garage sales, some decent nods to a more streamlined existence. It would be a full-time job to completely order things as I’d like them. Being that I already have a full-time job and a freelancing business, I must settle for triage on the battlefield of clutter and sometime chaos.

I used to be a triage nurse in an Emergency Room, and there was a good exercise in cutting through unnecessary anxiety, looking at the big picture, and making decisions based on real and in-the-moment priorities. I wish I was so efficient outside of the hospital!

Here’s wishing you a year of effective triage—may your priorities rise to the top, your most urgent needs be handled with calm. May your distractions sit patiently in the waiting room while you tend to the business of life.

Go Placidly Amid the Noise and Haste

2008-12-13T05:01:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

-Online shopping can avoid the crush, and the online “shopping cart” buys time for contemplation before making the actual purchase. Here are some tips from Newsmax to help you purchase safely from legitimate and secure sources.

-A lot of us shop for the holidays in spurts, unaware of the cumulative bulk of what we’ve purchased until it’s time to wrap. Try spreading your gifts, especially those for the kids, out on your bed. An “aerial view” of your consumer habits might help avoid overspending.

-Trying to stick to a budget, and to have a reflective and joyful holiday? Consider gifts of time and talents. See this article, appropriately published by a credit counseling company!

-It sounds like Max Ehrmann was a simple man, but the history of his most famous poem, Desiderata, has been confusing. Here’s some information on the man and Desiderata’s origins.

Ehrmann never knew that the wishes he penned would come to fruition after he died: "I would like, if I could, to leave to my country a bit of chaste prose that had caught up some noble moods. My life is spent in a time and among a people of commercial interest, with its attending selfishness, cruelty and ostentation. "; “I would reclaim a little of the heart of man, infuse some gentleness into the stern ethics of trade, and make life the supreme art instead of acquisition.”

Prose

My title today is also the start of Max Ehrmann’s timeless poem, Desiderata. It takes on enhanced meaning during the holiday season.

I started out going placidly--I really did--, scornful of the only-just-past-Halloween Christmas displays and shoppers in line at megastores before 4 AM on Black Friday. I wouldn’t be one of them. I was far above the madness.

It’s been a stressful week—one long day of commuting out of state for work, a round of layoffs way too close to home, lots of deadlines. So, despite the imminent approach of Christmas, I vowed to make this Saturday high on relaxation, low on expectations. I had to laugh at myself when my original list of three or four “to dos” morphed into more than 20, Christmas cards and gifts included, of course! I had to talk myself off the ledge of “must do it all today”.

We all know, at our core, what really matters. But the noise and haste of the season create a need to look for reminders of true importance. One such moment this week was Gavin’s delight in the first real snow of the season. He hastily pulled snow pants and boots over his pajamas, eager to taste the mini-drifts on the porch railing and falling backwards to make a string of snow angels. Days later, the melt created a temporary stream down the side of our yard, and Gavin ran to leap across it and look for places he could dam. I stepped to the porch that day and reveled in the mist fueled by melting snow and warming air.

Our gifts are already around us. Go placidly.

Doing More with Less

2008-11-22T02:34:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

-People like my mom are feeling sudden competition at their favorite consignment shops, previously a well-kept secret for a thrifty few. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, here’s the scoop: a simple online Yellow Page search for consignment shops will have you printing out a “treasure map” to their locales in no time.

-Every so often I plug Freecycle again. It’s a great way to recycle, save, and share, and the process of posting or acquiring some free stuff is pretty painless.

-New to meal planning? The resources seem endless. Real Simple.com is a good place to start.

-Food pantries need our help, now more than ever. Here’s a search engine for food pantries in or near your zip code.

Prose

As a nation, we are feeling a collective pinch. It’s hard not to internalize the sound bites that feature corporate failures, bailouts, and recession. In the pundits’ frequent comparisons to the Great Depression, the Depression seems to be coming out on top.

Of course, for those who have lost their jobs that pinch is replaced with a swift punch. Those of us fortunate enough to remain gainfully employed have to remember those who now fear being unable to provide even basic necessities to their children. Many of us know that, with a similar turn of circumstance, that could be us. Community food pantries need some extra generosity, with the understanding that it can’t be limited to the holiday season.

Necessity is the mother of invention. I just learned that Plato coined the phrase, so this truism has been around for quite a while. Some of us who had our career heyday in the mostly (or at least comparatively) prosperous 80s and 90s are trying on inventive economics for the first time.

I’ve seen a salvo of broadcasts on the rediscovery of consignment shopping, headlines on the 10 cheapest foods, and a plethora of coupons as local businesses strive to stay afloat.

It’s not all gloom and doom, and perhaps there is a silver lining for many of us. I get the sense that people feel good about taking stock, needing to prioritize, and cutting the fat from their day to day lives. It reminds me of my 9 months on Weight Watchers. What felt like deprivation at first became a new way of thinking about food, a sense that I was no longer eating in a mindless way. And that felt good, somehow crisper and cleaner, once I adjusted.

Tom and I made a list of ways to cut back. We’ve been better about burning oil—-since we work in the basement most of the time, plug-in heater at our side, we keep the house rather chilly during the day. For the first time in our 18+ married years, long overdue, I make a meal plan for the week. It’s nothing elaborate—just a list of potential entrees that we might otherwise forget, armor against the temptation to sigh “Let’s just get takeout.” We run the dishwasher on “energy-saver dry”. We’ve been thriftier about gift purchases for Christmas, taking advantage of coupons and special deals.

While we may be tightening our belts, all around us are reminders of how much we have had materially, perhaps too much. Decluttering has brought some good results beyond a neater-looking house. A thorough weeding out of our messy pantry and freezer showed me exactly what we had to make our meals—there was more than I thought hidden in the mess. Now that Gavin’s a sophisticated reader and has new tastes in toys, we gave a bag of kindergarten-level books and puzzles away through Freecyle, happy to know another family can benefit from our surplus. As Christmas approaches we’ll be giving away more, and I like the thought of meeting the beneficiaries of our paring down.

I have great optimism that an economic "diet" may be a wake up call for a lot of Americans to live closer to their priorities, to make good decisions. More can be done with less, and the benefits can extend beyond the pocketbook. Sharing what we have, when we can manage it, feels good. Enjoy your silver linings this holiday season!

Dig into the Past for Presents

2008-10-19T12:23:00.000-07:00

My last trip to the Niantic Book Barn yielded a sweet and unexpected gift. My mom shopped on her own while Gavin played fort on the playground and I leafed through my new finds. My reading cup was already overflowing when Mom pulled a surprise out of her bag: A Laura Ingalls Wilder book I had never seen before! It was befitting that Mom was the giver, as she had given me, one by one, the whole “Little House” series during my childhood.

In 1991, Stephen W. Hines edited a rediscovered collection of Wilder’s writings gleaned from farm papers and national magazine clippings: Little House in the Ozarks. These pieces, even though they were written earlier in her life, describe the life that came after the events depicted in Little House on the Prairie.

It has been a hard month—I think the nation is collectively feeling the grim state of the economy, the uncertainty of the upcoming election. So it gave me enormous comfort to read of another place and time. Soon into it, however, the words reminded me more and more of the present.

1917: Wilder writes about wildflowers and the pure memories of her girlhood. Her conclusion: “I believe we would be happier to have a personal revolution in our individual lives and go back to simpler living and more direct thinking. It is the simple things of life that make living worthwhile, the sweet fundamental things such as love and duty, work and rest, and living close to nature.”

1920: Wilder writes: “People used to have time to live and enjoy themselves, but there is no time anymore for anything but work, work, work.” By the end of the piece, she has reframed her perspective, recalling how much harder things were for her parents, and how far reaching a positive attitude can be, lightening the load of so much that has to be done.

Laura Ingalls Wilder, were she still alive, would be welcome as a guest writer on my blog any time, although I know she might very well steal the show. Her words showed me that human nature has an evergreen quality, that we are joined to other centuries by the similar longings and plans of those who came before us. The editor must have had the same experience, for he titled the section that housed these articles Nothing New Under the Sun.

Those that think deeply may complain, but ultimately they want to go even deeper. They were seekers in the last century; they will be seekers in the next. And their journey is ever one of persistence and hope. My slow, bumpy progress toward a simpler, more meaning-infused existence is not by any stretch the first such journey. It’s nice to know I have many centuries worth of company sharing the road.

The Art of Small Things

2008-10-03T13:41:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I enjoyed my final birthday gift: a seminar called Writing as a Blessing and a Prayer, at Mercy by the Sea. It was a day for writing, which I do well, and deep reflection, at which I have to work very hard.

It felt good to stretch my meditative muscles, and I also opened up to the idea of how many different ways there are to live artfully. During the discussion times, I met or heard about women who meditate daily, women who are skilled calligraphers, women who raised 6 children, women who are recluses, women poets, women who sew, women who keep art journals.

All of these women craved ways to express themselves, ways to connect their spirit with what they do every day. All of these women had journaled, some only a few words a day, many only once in a while. Still, the journaling seemed to mean a lot.

Men were vastly underrepresented, except for Rainer Marie Rilke (oft-quoted author of Letters to a Young Poet, a man who always seems to show up for these things). But the main men in my life back home were dipping into artful living, too. Gavin, who’s never been very interested in art projects at school, has become decidedly passionate about painting, and he got Tom to paint a sailboat scene. Eighteen years married and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him paint. Gavin painted the beginnings of his first “art book”, and called my artist sister Linda to share notes on “my latest project.” All this from a $6 purchase of cheap brushes, watercolors, and paper at Job Lot.

What I wouldn’t give to get back that uninhibited, consuming devotion that goes with new discoveries of childhood. Aiming for that, I’ll take the small moments I can get in the meantime. While I’m often too distracted to be utterly saturated in creative flow, I can take small steps in that direction.

One of the distractions that seems to plague so many is the quest for perfection. How many paintings or poems have withered on the vine because of a fear of imperfection?

I’ve been struggling with some of that--my great idea for a book on nature rendered me temporarily paralyzed in the face of two small acorns. I brought them home from the woods as a writing prompt. Between me and the acorns stood the agonizing (and silly) question: What if the book concept flops? I got an answer to that during my seminar - a quote by Alexandra David-Neel:

Neglecting small things because one wishes to do great things is
the excuse of the fainthearted.

So here I am again, revisiting my acorns (the younger one has already turned from green to brown). They seem to be laughing gently, sympathetic with me — they know what it’s like to have big plans, and to temper that grandiosity with slow and steady growth.

Once again I am reminded to attend to the small things. Big things are sure to follow (eventually).

Siesta Redux

2008-09-05T17:12:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-If you need a remedial Siesta lesson, here’s a primer on the custom.

-If you need more justification, this About.com column is a good argument for a nap.

-Stop the presses. Do not let the Spaniards cease to siesta! We need a role model for the USA.

Prose

Years ago, when I just started to think about having a child, I wrote a book about it. I wondered if Things My Mother Told Me: Reflections on Parenthood would read very naïve after I became a mother. But I don’t think it does. It is a collection of the things my mother got right. Things she said that made us kids think, or encouraged good habits; things she did that brought the family together. I still aspire to duplicate some of these positives.

One of the chapters is called Siesta Time. On weekends and over the summer, we kids were asked to retreat to our rooms. I don’t remember how long we spent there-—maybe a half hour? The only rule for these times was to do something quietly, and do it alone.

Looking back, these were creative times for me. I discovered that it was okay to feel restless, and also that it was okay to just rest. I rarely closed my eyes. On more restless days, I’d create something: a poem, a planetarium on the ceiling, a song. I didn’t feel, however, that I was “getting something done.” These creations were just natural occurrences, small gifts from the mind that’s allowed to wander. On more low key days I would sit and daydream.

As Gavin grows I see the Siesta as an important life skill. His generation is twice as stimulated as mine was in childhood. There is always something to plug into, and this translates into relying on something external to fill your needs. How important it is to be able to sit with yourself and learn to like your own company! How important to take the time to figure out what you think and feel, who you are.

Our Siesta experiment has only just begun. The first time, I relished stretching out on my own bed and hearing Gavin down the hall, tinkering with toys and humming to himself. It was a novelty for both of us. The second time, he seemed to find Siesta physically painful. He complained of a headache. How hard it was for him to take a break!

I look at grownups all around me with this aversion to Siesta, and that includes myself at times. What a gift it will be if Gavin (and the rest of us) learn that it is okay to spend some time just thinking, just quiet, achieving absolutely nothing tangible. Gavin did seem to get my analogy of your body being like a car, and siesta being like a refuel that keeps it going. For a week that’s left me running on empty, it’s a great time to heed my own advice. Even better, in the midst of all the madness we had a new mattress delivered. Yes, sometimes the universe conspires for Siesta.

The Road to Soup

2008-08-17T15:16:00.000-07:00

My efforts this week at soup are so far only a mental exercise. I managed to pull out the appropriate recipes from my pile of printouts — tortellini spinach soup, cold beet soup with fennel. Even printed Julia Child’s classic Salad Nicoise recipe to round out my meal plans. I’ve got the cans of stewed tomatoes and organic veggie broth stacked near the stove. Maybe I can take some partial credit after all – I did boil green beans and potatoes this morning, getting ready for the Nicoise. Gavin took immense pleasure in poking the boiling potatoes (every 4 seconds) with a fork.

But where is the soup? Still simmering in my mind.

Soup pleases me. Maybe it started with the Stone Soup story when I was a child—each guest adding something until the idea of the soup becomes the real thing. As mom gets older and doesn’t cook as much for herself, I love the idea of making double portions so I can share the wealth. I love the sloppiness that soup allows for-—not-so finely diced vegetables, a little extra broth, a little shortage of spinach, and it can still end up tasty. When I manage to make a batch, it is the lunch special for the week at home, sometimes the dinner special, too. It’s a dieter’s secret for filling up, and it’s usually a pretty cheap endeavor. To indulge an expression I heard a lot growing up on Long Island, “What’s not to love?”

So why the thinking about soup, the writing about soup, but not the soup? I managed to buy everything but the (ahem) beets for the beet soup. The sink is full and I don’t want to empty it before I cook. I haven’t written much this week. Worst of all, the book Crazy Busy has sat on my dresser since July 27, when I brought it home from the Kent Library book sale. Sad to say, too crazy busy to read much of it so far!

Soup is my analogy for the concept of Inching Toward Simplicity. I am getting there, and each time I create something new I feel rewarded. People taste it and ask for more. But sometimes I stray away from the path, distracted by bills, or family, or the dog, or daydreams. Tonight, I am thankful that I have reunited with my efforts at Inching Toward Simplicity, soon to be followed by the emptying of the sink and, hopefully, the beginnings of two pots simmering. I’ve also thrown in an old writer’s favorite recipe: Deadline Soup!

Fishing Truths

2008-07-15T18:03:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-"Teach a man to fish, and you have fed him for a lifetime" is a Chinese proverb that's been a bit overquoted . Here are some sillier variations on the idea.

-This blogger's Sustainable Seafood Event online was a big hit. Recipes, fish stories, conservation all spoken here.

-Here's a treat, maybe a soundtrack for the Prose below: Otis Redding, singing Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.

-A new nature-committed hero to consider: Roger Tory Peterson, who conceived of and created the first field guide. His initial efforts later spawned several fish guides (couldn't resist the pun).

Prose

This weekend Tom, Gavin, and I tried fishing. Salt water--you don’t need a permit for the marine district in Connecticut. I hadn’t fished since before I was 6 years old. Tom’s last cast was at 12, and for Gavin it was a first.

First came the flurry of gear acquisition, a fun field trip to the outdoorsman’s mecca, Cabella’s. Then the novelty of bait purchase, sandworms and a meaty fish. Tom grappled with the pole’s mechanisms, different from the secondhand rod he’d acquired as a child. Then, finally, the day of the dock.

Such expectation! My father had been a fisherman, and I wanted to honor his spirit with the same intense commitment. But I couldn’t bait the monster of a sandworm, something straight out of a Grade B horror flick. I couldn’t watch it writhe, couldn’t witness the horrifying twin squirms after it was bisected.

Tom had his own ideal to aspire to, that of the father-son bond that comes from looking out over the water and waiting. And wait we did. For a 6-year-old, it wasn’t easy. Gavin pulled in his line a lot, to see if the bait was still there. He climbed the steps up to where he could look across at the osprey aerie. He peered into other family’s buckets, gear boxes. I walked him down to the other end of the boardwalk, hoping we’d spot a turtle. We commented on the raising and lowering of the train bridge, the curve of a sleek sail, the narrow beach that got buried under vegetation since spring.

I knew it was inevitable, after all Gavin was asked to wait for more than an hour. “I’m bored; when can we go?” A few more casts by Tom, who’d found his groove and had a few tugs by way-too-clever fish. “When can we go?” came again and again, each echo closer to the last. I was timing the whines like contractions.

Gavin did well, for the first time out. Even for me, with my father’s legacy and my quest for simplicity, it was hard to ease into. Through it all, there was always that distant hope for a fish, mixed with the realization that I hadn’t a clue what to do with it. This sitting and waiting, this gazing out, this not knowing the outcome felt foreign, in one way. And I could have done without the bait smells. But it also felt free; it felt accepting and calm and rare.

It’s good that we did this, this waiting and watching, together. I hope our abilities to acquire both quiet contemplation and dinner can grow together, as a family.

Silent Nights

2008-07-01T09:23:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-Here’s one blogger on falling asleep to owl sounds.

-I was delighted to find a good sample of morning birdsong on Youtube! The videos are a bit odd, since it’s really more about the sound than the sight.

-Listening to Nature: A Soundwalk across California is another treat for the ears.

-Listening is not confined to the country. Here are New Yorkers who are soothed by buoy bells, the Amtrak whistle, or even the white noise of traffic!

Prose

The temperature reached the mid 90s last night, so I tolerated the icy drone of the AC as I fell to sleep. I prefer to avoid the AC, even at the cost of feeling a bit sticky. It makes me feel confined, shut off.

I thought back to childhood evenings of summer. I had an early bedtime, and never an air conditioner. Lying flat under a thin sheet, I fell to sleep listening. The requisite crickets all summer, of course. Chris, three years my senior and the ultimate crush of my youth, sitting on the curb with his friends, their restless voices making plans. The voices of Chris’ parents in their yard, lingering as the barbeque cooled. The rise and fall of my own family’s voices, less frequent as they tired. My sleepy mind could never follow the conversation.

As I listened, I also watched. Watched the slant of the light as cars drove down the street, watched it elongate and then narrow the shadow of my blinds and lace curtains. Sometimes in early evening or early morning the shadow of a bird on the telephone wire graced my pink wallpaper. Or sometimes bare tree branches appeared in silhouette. In the winter, of course, fewer sounds to accompany my drift. But I heard the rain, or the early morning snow plow. On autumn trips to our Vermont cabin I heard Daddy get up and get the fire going. For a few weeks every winter I watched the halo of light around a plug-in blue Christmas candle, the same color that I imagined for the Virgin Mary’s robe. I was filled with a holy feeling.

I was struck with gratitude that my room had been completely “unplugged”. Pre computers and cell phones of course. But no AC, no phone, no TV. What a different person I might have become if I’d fallen asleep every night to the TV, or to the sound of cool, compressed air filling my room. What if hadn’t heard summer just before I fell asleep? What if I hadn’t woken to birdsong? I swear I can hear the dusk and dawn, and even on the most stressful of days some small part of my mind treasures this connection.

When I left the still running AC behind in my bedroom this morning, the birds greeted me again. It was good to be back among the living.

Today’s Deals

2008-06-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-Here’s a blogger's insight into the seductive anxiety that online, time-limited deals create.

-Yesterday’s find, tumbling out from a cover of more predictable flowers, inspired me to learn how to grow strawberries. Here’s eHow's primer on strawberry gardens.

-I’ve mentioned the Niantic Book Barn in my blog before, but here’s a photo tour that does it better justice.

Prose

This morning I find a reminder e-mail from a bookstore Web site, and dutifully click on the link. I am greeted with, Hello, Katherine. We have recommendations for you. The computer spits my demographics at me. Forty-something working woman who drinks decaf coffee and sometimes likes to meditate. Oh, and she seems like she can lose a few pounds, if you note the South Beach diet products listed. Any product I have ever lingered over but not purchased greets me from the Recommendations list. One, a book On Being a Minor Writer, stings a bit. Is this what my computer really thinks of me?

The site’s got me all figured out. Well, almost. Although I am intrigued by the thought of marketing and computer geeks creating algorithms that help select what I “need”, I take great pleasure in running through “Today’s Deals” with a skeptical eye. I never knew I needed (greatly reduced) freshwater pearls, reconditioned framing nailers, or a jump starter with built-in radio. Lower down, some of those items I previously viewed but ultimately abandoned appear again, haunting me with their availability. Robert Frost and Yeats are 35% off! Hmmm…My cynicism softens. but just for a minute. It’s like a boyfriend who knows how to sweet talk me, but deep down I know he’s still the same old superficial dude. I’ll be visiting Niantic Book Barn again soon—no Yeats emergency that requires overnight shipping here.

I think about Today’s Deals, the ones that have nothing to do with calculated commerce. I get to blog this morning, a treat for a weekday. I took an early morning walk without looking at my watch--a day off pleasure I should enjoy more often. We are going to Vermont. Soon most of our family will be reunited, seeing Will, our youngest nephew, graduate. Yesterday’s Top Deals included finding an exotic darning-needle type bug on the porch, one that let Gavin and me hold it for quite a while before zooming off. In the evening, I showed Gavin two “secret” staircases that are often overlooked in Chester. Both are shaded by overhanging trees. The best deal was the almost-ripe strawberry that we pilfered from someone’s front garden in Chester. Gavin carried it home like a prize, showing it off to Tom and placing it in a clear Tupperware box for display. We discussed the merits of leaving the strawberry with its owners’ garden, but in the end it was irresistible.

These are the real deals. To borrow from the advertising line: Possible purchases from thebookmonolith.com: $87 and counting. Day to day moments with family and in nature: priceless.

What’s on Your Front Porch?

2008-06-02T02:39:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-Here’s some history on the American front porch—its window onto nature, its promotion of community, and more.

-Here’s one porch sitter’s photographic record, of (presumed) purple finches on the porch, from nest to post-flying the coop.

-A YouTube video of baby mice. Snowy and Twinkle (see below) are darker than this—must be a few days old.

-Here’s a good guide to identifying your insect finds.

-I am not the only porch enthusiast. See NPR’s listener submitted porch stories.

-If you are really serious, joint the Professional Porch Sitters Union.

Prose

Spring’s fecundity is fully ripening into summer. In the delight of barefoot mornings, Gavin and I have taken to visiting the front porch first thing. We’ve started a log of what (or should I say who) we find there. Today’s entry:

· Black moth
· Brown moth (looks like a leaf)
· Pill bug
· Potato bug
· Black beetle – shiny (dead)
· Smaller black beetle

This inventory seems important. It chronicles an intent to be aware, to be appreciative of what is literally just outside our door. It imparts lessons that my father, who died when I was six (Gavin’s age now), tried to impart. His love for nature came through, although I don’t remember many details of our discussions. I remember being told that fog was “clouds on the ground”, and that dewy grass predicts a dry day. The message I got was openness—to look, listen, smell, and feel the world around me.

On our trip to Florida a couple of weeks ago, we immediately appreciated the warmer air. It was still comparatively chilly in Connecticut, and the 10 + added degrees had us kicking off our shoes and lingering on the hotel balcony. The area we stayed in had a host of attractions, but what stayed with me the most were spontaneous contacts with nature— the brown lizard who puffed his neck up when we caught him, speckled eggs en route to the pool, birds chirping out alarms, guarding a nest at the miniature golf course. These encounters warmed me in a way that no tropical climate can.

Scooping out mulch to fill our flower beds today, Tom retrieved some unexpected tiny lives. Baby mice, eyes not yet opened, squirming and squeaking for their missing mother. Yes, we’ve become their surrogate parents. Snowy and Twinkle are sipping milk from our hands, snoozing in a cardboard box cushioned with grass and paper towels. What better gift? We know their grasp on life is shaky, but treasure their warm bodies curling into our palms, clumsily lapping up milk.

What’s on your front porch, or just beyond?

Mary or Martha? The Art of Choosing Joy

2008-05-08T05:23:00.001-07:00

Pragmatics

-CT readers: My author friend Abby Seixas will be speaking at the Deep River Public Library this Saturday, at 3PM. Her book Finding the Deep River Within contains some much needed sanity and encouragement for (sometimes) task-crazed women like myself!

-Of course we all want some semblance of order when guests arrive, yet don’t want to get too sweaty and crazy about it. For short-notice kind of visits (or if you’re just feeling lazy!), here’s a quick clean guide, more about creating an illusion of cleanliness than the real, elbow-grease deal!

This author writes about choosing joy by choosing meaning.

Prose

I knew Saturday morning was going to be pretty intense. An old friend from Long Island was coming to visit with her 2 boys. I hadn’t had much time to prepare during the week. Tom and Gavin started their day with errands, courtesy of a long list I handed them. That left me home alone to dig in and clean.

I put on some old CDs from my college days to get me going. And I should have listened more to the lyrics of Roll with It by Steve Winwood! For quite a while I got caught up in the “musts” and “shoulds” of my day, and even the “what ifs”. Must scrub those cabinets. Should have gotten more food. What if they get here before everything is “perfect”? Tom had gotten himself into a similar frenzy. After all of the errands he wanted to race home and mow the lawn, weed the beds, hose off the porch, etc, etc. All in record time, of course, should Suzi and the boys arrive early. For a while we indulged in our complaints, and endless litany of “to dos”.

Maybe Steve Winwood’s musical suggestions to “roll with it” or “get back in the high life again” finally sank in, because in the middle of the craziness I corrected my perspective. Suzi is like family. I should have been filled with joy at her arrival, not worrying that things would be less than perfect. I should have been savoring the fact that I’d finally meet her younger son. So I started dusting off some junior high school memories while applying Pledge to the coffee table, and I began to relax and smile. As fate would have it, she made record timing and arrived 2 hours early. A final quick scramble after her call from 15 miles away—dirty laundry shoved into the basement, overflowing garbage cans hastily emptied. A record-time shower, and I greeted Suzi’s family with wet hair, no makeup. I honored my friend with a joyful, attentive greeting and let my musts, shoulds, and what ifs dissolve.

I did not die, and Suzi did not leave, when I confessed that I hadn’t finished vacuuming before her arrival. No one seemed offended by my un-coiffed appearance. There were hugs and kisses all around. No one inspected for cobwebs or dust!

Carolyn Patierno, a minister at All Souls Unitarian Universalist church here in Connecticut, gave a sermon that left quite an impression on me, several years ago now. She asked her listeners if we were “Marys or Marthas” in our approach to life. Mary and Martha were sisters who often hosted visits by Jesus. During one visit, Martha was caught up in the housework while Mary stopped her work and sat with Jesus. He said, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:38-42). The better part, the choice, is joy. Joy in friendship and in thought; joy in stopping to rest. Inherent in that joy is the simple ability to let go, allow things to unfold with forcing or fretting. It takes some focus, this joy, with so many potential tasks always swirling in the ether.

How good the conscious decision to just let go and be happy felt! I must practice being a Mary more often, and put Martha in the basement along with that dirty laundry.

It’s in There

2008-04-12T05:37:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

Turning your attention within can yield surprisingly powerful results. Here are some links to helpful tools for the process:

-CT/NY readers: If you can make it to Shelton tomorrow, April 13, Abby Seixas, author of Finding the Deep River Within, is speaking at Written Words bookstore, 2PM. She offers a solid guide to accessing your own forgotten strengths.
-This link contains free exercises from Martha Beck’s Steering by Starlight.
-Here’s a meditative exercise called “The Inward Smile”, courtesy of care2.

Prose

So much of our experience can be about turning outward to seek what you need. Last night I was reminded of how much turning your attention inward can yield. I got to see Martha Beck–writer, life coach, self-help guru–speak. I am not always impressed with the self-help genre. Too many clichés and “buzz words”. But I can see why this lady has such a following—she’s a Harvard-trained social scientist who opened up to things mystical in a far-from spacey way. This was after talking with many women who reported unexplainable experiences and having some of her own, followed by years of denial that these things could happen. She’s the type of impressive intellect that can summarize how quantum physics fits into our spiritual experience (or vice versa), an explanation I cannot duplicate but definitely appreciate!

I was reminded of the power of just thinking, just remembering loving experience, and the potential for much deeper meaning in every moment. Bestselling books like Beck’s Steering by Starlight really just serve as reminders, tools for dipping into that inner well.

I’m missing the book talk of a friend of mine this weekend. Abby Seixas authored Finding the Deep River Within. Like Beck, her book is the result of talking to many women and noting a common experience—among them the habit of being drained by other’s needs, forgetting the resources that reside within your own spirit.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that so many of these authors use an analogy to nature. With Beck, it’s the sky. With Seixas, it’s a river. I raced through a “nature walk” yesterday morning. I wanted the joy of being in the woods before starting my workday. But I had limited time, and I needed some real exercise, so it was nearly a nature jog. As my walk came to a close, I regretted that I had not been able to slow down and observe more. Still, I made mental notes of what I had glimpsed along the way—a fresh anthill, a boulder balanced on its thin edge, the ancient, green and blue patina of lichen. Beck might say these glimpses were important because somehow all of us are connected, and nature especially seems to want to teach us to appreciate and contemplate. Being in nature yields a reflection in possibility.

Things have a way of coming together, and a friend lent me a memoir by Madeleine L’Engle recently. Her well-written musings reminded me to go back to a childhood favorite, A Wrinkle in Time, a hard-to-classify, fictional sci-fi adventure that manages to carry a much deeper message, a message of inner power and peace. Quantum physics in this one, too. Wish my brain would expand to fully get that aspect.

Whatever the analogy--rivers, stars, or time wrinkles--a world of excellent writing offers many paths to greater insight. Wishing you many “inward smiles.”

New Spring, New Year

2008-03-25T05:34:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

I don't have a lot of pragmatics this time around-- must be the spring fever.

-I do, however, have a great book recommendation, very much in the theme of new beginnings. The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty is a treat, a very hopeful and poignant treat, for the mind and soul.

-Unrelated, but a little crowing to do: The Get Satisfied book enjoyed a healthy dose of publicity via MSN.com. Here's the link to "5 Money Books to Change Your Life."

Prose

Saturday, much of it filled with errands, held unexpected joys. The local IGA market seemed to hold half the community in its aisles, many of them preparing for Easter. I caught up with neighbors, chatting on everything from church to walking to finding true happiness at work. Half the carts seemed to balance tulip plants and asparagus, and my neighbors’ faces seemed lit up with the promise of spring and its gateway holiday, Easter.

Later, Gavin and I met friends at the library Easter Egg Hunt, and then walked over for the year’s first Saturday playground romp. The wind was mild, Gavin and Zakariya reveled in their boundless energy, and I got to know Zakariya’s mom much better. I even got just the slightest hint of sunburn on my nose.

After Easter dinner, our family strolled down to the foot of Essex Main Street and enjoyed the mini-beach that abuts the Connecticut River. It struck me as we drank in the early spring sun that the year contains many beginnings. On March 20 I heard several people, young and old, work the first day of spring into their conversation. Crocus and daffodil sightings are now reported regularly, with sincere enthusiasm.

The last “beginning” was the official New Year, when the ball dropped and we all resolved to make a multitude of changes. But the spring beginning feels more real to me, more in the moment. Not so much of “I’m going to…” as “I am here; I am noticing the world around me. I am experiencing hope.”

Another new beginning awaits me: after 3 days of training in New York City, I’ll be a truly home-based medical writer with an Internet company. I am looking forward to more relaxed mornings, a low key wardrobe, and diminished gas and dry cleaning bills. I hope my home schedule also translates into wiser use of time— working more efficiently and steadily, planning meals and home tasks more thoughtfully, using lunch to write a few creative paragraphs. I’m looking forward to seeing it unfold.

Come to think of it, each year contains so many new beginnings: the turning of each season, birthdays, back to school, out for summer, and of course the actual New Year. All of these are opportunities, naturally occurring reminders to step back and reflect, to both appreciate and create new promises.

The Suspended Animation Experiment

2008-03-09T05:20:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-Inching toward mediation? Here’s a good summary of the benefits.

-I’ve just signed up for a free e-publication“101 Things to Do Instead of TV”. It’s kid-oriented, but just scanning the list I see a lot of things I want to go after myself, things that can get lost—more outdoor time, crossword puzzles, audio books, letter writing, etc.

-This blogging parent, in The Not Quite Crunchy Parent, has decided to use after school time, sans TV, to fill in some educational gaps that her children might have. She calls it afterschooling, but framed of course, as something fun for the kids.

-Yesterday, in the midst of some computer work, I was soothed by the sight and sound of misty rain outside the window. The Watching Nature site is a good substitute for a real walk outside, perfect for one of these cold March nights spent longing for spring.

Prose

Last month, I set out to try 2 weeks without TV. The first week went swimmingly once I got into the groove. I found myself in the den fairly regularly, usually reading while Tom or Gavin watched. I could only take in small bites—no catching up on War and Peace. My best read was a small book of Thomas Merton’s reflections on nature. I envied his simple existence—devoted to contemplation and appreciation, noting how the ice formed or how the sun set. I mourned my shortened attention span, which I cannot attribute to TV alone. I am convinced it is a sped-up lifestyle overall that has my mind flitting when I want it to float.

The second no-TV week was a flop. It was a stressful week. I had some big decisions to make, preparations for Gavin’s birthday, lots of schedule hassles. Turning back to TV as a “numbing agent” reminded me of overeating, a habit I’ve (mostly) overcome. As you do it, you think, “I am slipping back into this, but I don’t feel I can overcome it right now. Maybe tomorrow.”

I think part of inching toward simplicity has to do with expanding your alternatives. It wasn’t just TV or reading that I had to choose from. I could have gotten on that neglected exercise bike, called a friend, enjoyed a hot shower, or simply closed my eyes and rested. If I didn’t have the fortitude to write, I could have sorted through my new markets or made a list of ideas. But I must admit, those things are not initially attractive when you are bone tired. It takes some wherewithal to shake off the electronic sedative, expend some energy and get into something new.

Another aspect of expanding your alternatives has to do with avoiding black and white, bad and good thinking. It doesn’t need to be TV bad, reading good; therefore no TV, ever. Still, I know that my life would benefit from regaining at least half the lost time.

I might be able to live with minutes lost to TV, just some time to zone out and reset my energy meter. So I’m planning on applying my own parenting tool beyond Gavin this week. Since his toddlerhood, I’ve set the timer for all sorts of things. I sometimes use it as a cutoff for TV time—when the timer buzzes it’s playtime again, and Gavin can be counted on to find a way to amuse himself. The buzzer will be my reminder: prevent my zone out minutes from becoming hours of channel surfing.

I’m also resurrecting an old meditation CD I bought for Tom. I remember back to my Nurse Practitioner days, when I led a meditation group. Even leading the group, just a half hour of dimmed lights and soft music, with me doing my best to murmur relaxation-inducing suggestions, left me surprisingly refreshed. There’s an experience that’s worth revisiting.

Sweater Weather: Bundled in Abundance

2008-02-21T02:07:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

Here is practical content from Real Simple on how and where to donate old clothing.

Walking around New York yesterday, I walked by several homeless people before sharing some of my wealth. Still, I was troubled by the conundrum: can’t give to everyone, and wouldn’t it be better to give to a homeless coalition? I appreciated this take on panhandling by a formerly homeless individual .

Short and sweet: 5 ways to cultivate an attitude of gratitude.

Prose

Down in the basement, years ago, Tom erected a zip-up, stand-alone vinyl “closet”, for the overflow. My old nursing uniforms are still down there, as are a miscellany of odd items like graduation gowns and spare scarves.

Packing for Presidents Day weekend in frigid Vermont, it occurred to me that I have worn the same 4 or 5 sweaters all winter. My favorite is an oversized, tweedy green men’s sweater, its hole well hidden by the roll neck collar. But Vermont seemed to call for an arsenal of woolens (I always overpack), and it occurred to me that a visit to the Port-A-Closet was in order.

For a woman who relishes sweaters (and I also seem to feel the cold more as I age), my basement epiphany felt like Christmas. A dozen forgotten sweaters were resurrected!

Two thoughts came immediately with the 12 sweaters. First, how blessed I am with abundance, to have a stash of items that I can manage to forget between seasons. Right after that, I realized how much less I could live with. Yes, in the first half of the winter I wished for an extra sweater or two. But I made do with my well-loved handful, thinking of an end-of-season sale that might fill things out for next year. No doubt I have done this a few years running, and then, like the squirrels in our yard, forget where I have stashed my winter stores.

Some of the sweaters are near duplicates—surely I can give these away. Rule of thumb: if your abundance goes unnoticed and supplies doubles, surely you have some to spare!

More abundance rediscovered this week: little snippets of reading, writing, or just plain sitting quietly. Going without TV (see Suspended Animation post), with one or two absent-minded exceptions, hasn’t been difficult at all. So far, my small episodes of reading, etc, are short attention span activities, too (has TV rotted my brain already?). But these pursuits seem to bring me back to my core self, while TV seems to help me avoid my inner life.

Finally, grateful for a long walk in heels to and from an appointment in NYC yesterday. The woman I met with mentioned her titanium hip, her multiple surgeries. My feet ache from pounding the pavement, but I relished every moment of the cool air, my sushi meal, the overdue exercise, and the sights and sounds of Manhattan.

There’s something about sweater weather, perhaps the added time for reflection, that sparks an “attitude of gratitude”.

Suspended Animation

2008-02-10T04:44:00.001-08:00

Pragmatics

-Turn off your tv.com offers, among other things, a very scary statistic: At the rate they are going, today’s kids will spend 7-10 years of their lives watching TV.
-This blogger claims that 4 benefits occur when you cut out TV: “The first thing you notice is the reduced stress level. The second thing...you're reading more. The third thing...you get out more, and you lose a little weight. The fourth thing you might notice…is more sex." OK, I’m all for it! She’s got a lot to say on the subject: go to Creating Passionate Users to read more of both firsthand impressions and related research.
-Kid's Health provides a wealth of information on TV for parents.

Prose

I’ve made today the official start of my experiment. No TV for 2 weeks.

I’m not a regular watcher of anything. I couldn’t tell you, without double checking, when House or CSI or Law and Order is on. I am a flipper. Ready to zone out, I’ll pick up the remote and scan by the 100 + channels our satellite has to offer. Mostly I land on the aforementioned shows and escape into the realm of medical or criminal mystery for a while. Much more rarely I find a thought-provoking documentary or an admired author reading their work on Book TV. Lately, of course, there’s been the privilege of watching the debates, with the very tangible benefit of reading personality behind all the rhetoric.

We only recently switched from basic cable to satellite, and often I wonder why. More channels to choose from, and yet still I flip restlessly among them, sometimes finding nothing at all that’s worth my time. On these occasions, rather than hitting the “off” button, I go around and around in a cyclical flip for a while. I feel like one of those cartoon characters in a trance, with spiraling black and white circles for eyes.

I don’t think TV is all bad. But lately I’ve come to feel that it keeps me from going deeper in my life. I use it as a sedative, when I could be catching up with a friend, trying out that meditation I crave but never really pursue, pushing myself to write just a bit more (instead of complaining about my time shortage).

Similar thoughts for Gavin and what TV might be preventing. We’ve set reasonable limits: only PBS for a few minutes on school mornings, an hour at most on school evenings. We are looser on the weekends, although I make sure we have outings, or get our minds busy and hands into something like Play Doh or Magnetix. Still, I worry that Gavin leans too heavily on TV’s promise of entertainment and, yes, sedation. It’s very easy as a parent to lean on these effects, too.

Tom and I earned the dubious distinction of owning the same TV for more than 18 years. We knew it was dying, and I saw this as an opportunity. I suggested that, when it finally took its last breath, that would be our cue to do a family experiment and go without TV for at least a couple of days. Our response spoke volumes: within hours Tom was shopping for a replacement, and I didn’t protest too much.

Reading this back, I realize that TV time is the only time when I am not productive in some way. And I really believe that we all need nonproductive time, time to just be. But it’s almost as if TV is the only way I’d give myself permission to be, and I don’t like that aspect of it. I’d like to be without a soundtrack for a while.

My friend Camilla lent me the first in a journal trilogy by Madeleine L’Engle. I did my pilot mini-boycott last night with this book in my hand. Appropriately, it is called A Circle of Quiet. I don’t think all of my non-TV pursuits need to be literally quiet, but I hope that they are more thoughtful and centered than the zoning out that feels too dominant these days. I enjoyed this quote from the book: “Here we are, living in a world of identity crises, and we have no idea what an identity is”. Written in 1972, when I was the same age as Gavin, this phrase has proven pretty timeless. I am hoping this experiment uncovers some lost or buried facets of my identity, gets me closer to who I really am without the noise.

No Man Is an Island

2008-01-27T06:51:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

-John Donne said it first and best. I just learned that “ask not for whom the bell tolls” was in the same meditation as “no man is an island”. He packed those insights in, in one paragraph in this case!

-Here are one woman’s thoughts on reinhabiting her own community as part of her efforts toward simplicity.

-Thomas Merton, a new favorite of mine, had a lot to say on this topic (he wrote a whole book with the same title as this blog). A man who experienced (and perhaps preferred) much solitude, he did not fail to recognize how vital community was: “Only when we see ourselves in our true human context, as members of a race which is intended to be one organism and ‘one body,’ will we begin to understand the positive importance not only of the successes but of the failures and accidents in our lives.” Here are some other quotes of his.

Prose

I write fairly regularly about alone time and down time, both being necessities I have discovered along the way. Both contribute, for me, to a meaningful and balanced lifestyle.

But this week, it’s the flip side I’ve been thinking about: community. One essay I read recently (wish I could remember where) wrote about a different kind of lifestyle than most of us have now. Before TV, before even radio, neighbors were known to visit. They would pass time and share stories. Especially in less populated areas, like the frontier, fellowship was vital for both sanity and survival. I do think there’s something to the in person community, versus all of these online forums we have today. But both come from a good impulse.

Two weeks ago, I experienced community at Burgundy Books in East Haddam. Linda and Chuck were warm and gracious hosts, every writer’s dream. Just a small handful of friends turned out for my Get Satisfied reading, but it filled my heart to feel their encouragement and interest.

My two readings in these last 2 months have called for courage. It was not the courage to stand up and read what I wrote. I needed courage to reach out, to let people know that I wrote something, to ask them to come to my event. I’m also gathering the courage to connect with other writers, exchanging information on agents and workshops. This includes contacting writers much more advanced than I—to get to their wisdom and their encouragement, I am willing to risk rejection.

In keeping with my simplicity focus, I’ve also found likeminded people online, via Freecycle. I’ve decided the types of people who frequent Freecycle want the value of their possessions to be meaningfully maximized, something I can relate to in my efforts to discard with discretion. Rather than dump hauls they are thinking about who might use what they can no longer fit into their home or lifestyle. They are taking reduce, reuse, recycle to a new level of productive community exchange.

Then there’s a more serious kind of community: my first NarAnon meeting last Tuesday, a much needed tool for dealing with an addict family member. To be greeted with warmth and understanding about such a painful dilemma was a long overdue step for me.

It seems all 12-step groups have a lot of catch phrases. These phrases provide important, easy-to-recall reminders of truths that should not be ignored. At NarAnon, I heard, “Keeping coming back. It works if you work it.” The same can be said of community. It’s a well that should be dipped into more often, a tool that can be applied to solve so many problems.

I like this quote by Black Elk, a Sioux holy man. It speaks to our connectedness, to the need for each other that cannot be overlooked:

Hear me, four quarters of the world - a relative I am! Give me the strength to walk the soft earth, a relative to all that is! Give me the eyes to see and the strength to understand, that I may be like you. With your power only can I face the winds.

Saying Thank You

2008-01-12T04:11:00.001-08:00

Local readers: I will be at Burgundy Books in East Haddam tomorrow (Sunday, January 13) at 4PM, promoting Get Satisfied. Please come!

Pragmatics

-If your thank you note skills have gotten rusty, here’s a good primer.

-Still feeling stumped? Here are sample notes for all kinds of occasions.

-Here are some tips to encourage kids to write thank yous. For the beginning writer, they make fill in the blank cards—Mad Libs for etiquette!

-I liked this blog by a young woman with diabetes. Obviously challenged by the demands of the disease, she devoted her space to wholehearted thanks this past November.

-I recently saw some troops in the Memphis airport. Regardless of my feelings about the war, I saw their young faces and was struck by how much they are sacrificing. Check out the Gratitude Campaign’s video on saying thank you to these brave men and women.

Prose

After every celebratory event of my young life, I was strongly encouraged, ordered really, to put pen to paper and write a glowing thank you note. This practice has slipped a bit in recent years – I often let a phone call or e-mail suffice. But this year I’m savoring the thought of sitting down with my fresh packet of blank holiday thank you cards.

I’ve already received some thank yous. Aunt Norma penned the first note. She has always been the note writer, signing Uncle Jack’s name first, except now there is no choice in the matter. Uncle Jack suffers from dementia and Norma carries every task imaginable these days. Life has not been easy, from young married farm life through present health concerns for both of them. But I feel Norma’s irrepressible spirit when she writes of her “deep appreciation for our many blessings”. She also reminded me, as Jack turns 80, to “Spend some time enjoying life and togetherness. Time is so precious…”. My mom’s notes echo the same sincere thanks to a family that she loves deeply.

Tom’s sister Corlyne would not rest until she knew that Gavin’s package had arrived. I think of the many long-distance family members who phone in orders, wrap packages, and wait in line at the post office thinking of us. Christmas morning is peppered with their phone calls, some reunions with folks we should call twice as often.

My mom needed help to haul our gifts up the steps this year. She always manages a true surprise, this year a noisy electric guitar for Gavin. He picks it up at least once a day, and every “riff” recalls Christmas Day and his loving “Nanny-Jean”.

Our neighbor Mr. Dube is often a “wave-to” neighbor. Each year flies by, and we see him less when the cold weather sets in. But he is faithful in his pre-mass Christmas Eve visits, always wielding an oversized toy for Gavin and wine for the grownups. He also remembers Gavin’s February birthday, when I recall waving down the driveway to him while in labor, panting, “we’re off to the hospital, finally!”

This year’s thank yous don’t feel like obligations. They feel like a meditation on the many blessings that surround us, in the form of people who genuinely care. I guess I’ve got Aunt Norma’s and Mom’s appreciative genes, a gift I treasure more than any other.

Resolution Solution

2007-12-30T03:53:00.000-08:00

CT readers: Sunday, January 13 at 4PM is the new “snow date” for my reading at Burgundy Books in East Haddam. Here is a link to Author’s Track, a site on local readings and signings. (See lower right for the Get Satisfied reading. The site also links to Burgundy Books.)

Pragmatics

In the interest of simplicity, I propose boycotting yet another “to do” list, this time in the form of 2008’s resolutions. I have chosen instead one philosophical perspective to aspire to, embodied by a quotation (see Prose below).

I hope these quotation sites spark some genuine inspiration and motivation that extend far into 2008.

-Of course, some quotes on simplicity, from ThinkExist.com.
-It all boils down to just living thoughtfully day to day. About.com has several great quotes on the business of living well.
-Make this year a more creative endeavor! Follow your dreams.com includes a collection of creativity quotes.
-Just for fun, here are some quotes on the New Year itself from the Quote Garden.

Prose

This has been a hard season for me, the kind where I feel I’m doing everything right and everything still goes wrong. I wrote in early autumn about complicated families, and this last entry of 2007 could very well be part 2 of a long-running series on the topic.

But I know that it is time to regroup, a concept the New Year’s holiday uniquely champions. Stopping to think back on the last month, even with the formula of usual holiday stresses + family problems = near insanity, I am grateful to recall several windows in time that offered comfort and joy, just like the Christmas carol says.

Both Christmas Eve and Day were graced by family walks, a budding tradition I relish much more than gifts and meals. The Eve found us strolling around unseasonably warm Essex, CT. Gavin played on the mini-beach that joins Main Street with the Connecticut River. We fed the gulls, ducks, and geese. Tom popped into a store for some very last minute stocking stuffers. We were refreshed by the cool air and the smell of the river water. Christmas Day dinner was capped by a walk in Chester. All of the stores were closed, of course, and the silence on the street, only our footsteps to interrupt it, was a treasure.

My sister also struggles with these family calamities, and sent me the gift of appreciative words in the middle of a chaotic week. She shared the visual clarity of a berried shrub peeking out of the Vermont snow, a big silver bucket of cranberries at the ready for the holidays. These words of appreciation reminded me that there is always beauty to be found.

I want a quotation to center around, words that summarize what I want and need for my New Year. There are so many sophisticated words to choose from, wise insights from great academics and scholars, sweeping poetry verses that quicken my pulse. But I keep returning to a fluorescent green index card that seems to repeatedly resurface around my house. One Sunday at church, the 4th through 6th grade class greeted each attendee at the door with a neatly handwritten card. Their project had been to choose and distribute quotations to the congregants. I was given one from Aesop’s Fables:

Gratitude is the sign of noble souls.

There’s simplicity for you. It is difficult to embody gratitude when times are stressful, and yet I know that this message is key for me this year. It looks backward at my childhood love of the character Pollyanna; it looks forward to the sort of writing I want to do and the kind of days I want to spend. And for today, it centers me on all that I have, versus what is lacking.

Wishing you the happiest of New Years.

The Sanctuary of Sleet

2007-12-16T05:42:00.000-08:00

WEATHER NOTICE: Today’s book signing at Burgundy Books has been postponed (new date to be scheduled soon—stay tuned).

Today’s book signing was postponed, a wise decision as the roads look pretty slick. It’s possible we’ll venture out later, but for most of the day we are “iced in”. Disappointed at first, I am coming around quickly to being grateful for the “enforced” home and family time.

I am reading The Year of Living Biblically, by AJ Jacobs. I admire this writer’s open mind. He is not religious-leaning but has a lot of curiosity about biblical rules and their origins, and he manages to remain open-minded about even the most archaic sounding dictates.

In one scene, he manages to lock himself in his apartment’s bathroom. No one is home, and he goes through the usual aggravation before finally settling down and awaiting his wife’s return. This 4-hour confinement leads, ultimately, to some rather profound thoughts. He writes, “I know that outside the bathroom, the world is speeding along. That blogs are being read. Wild salmon is being grilled...But I’m OK with it…I’ve reached an unexpected level of acceptance. For once, I’m savoring the present.” Jacobs realizes that this is what the Sabbath should feel like: “A pause. Not just a minor pause, but a major pause….a sanctuary in time.”

This is a speedy season. Despite pacing myself, there’s still that December 25 deadline to consider, cards that must make it on time, packages that must get shipped. True, the world won’t dissolve if things arrive late, but as in my work life I always feel compelled to hit those deadlines.

So this enforced Sabbath, albeit a real reformed version, is a welcome break for my family and me. I’ll give Gavin a long bubble bath later, and we’ll put up the tree that waits on our front porch. We’lI wrap our nieces gifts so they can ship to Florida on time. Yes, an orthodox Sabbath observer would be unlikely to do even these things, for they still involve work of a sort. But to us, this is a pleasurably slow day in, tasks done at leisure rather than at hyperspeed.

This is the second involuntary change in plans in 2 days. Extended family needs left us drained, and we decided not to push ourselves to the church pot luck and variety show last night. Instead, we grabbed the last pre-darkness hour to chop down our tree at Joe’s Christmas Tree Farm right here in Deep River. After a frigid walk and chopping our spruce, we sat on hay bales around the fire and roasted marshmallows, surely Gavin’s favorite part of the outing. Another unexpected break, another much needed mini-Sabbath.

I think interruptions, be they snow storms, cancellations, or mechanical failures, deserve a second chance especially during this season. They may contain a message, or at least some respite from the daily grind. Wishing you “sanctuaries in time” that allow a deep breath, a reflection, some much needed rest.

What, in fact, WOULD Jesus buy?

2007-12-04T17:34:00.000-08:00

Connecticut readers: Please stop by Burgundy Books in East Haddam on December 16 at 4. I will be reading from Get Satisfied and answering just about any question you ask.

Pragmatics

No one truly knows what, if anything, Jesus might buy if he was here today. But I like to think he would, if he had to shop, center on compassion and justice. Some thought-provoking links:

The What Would Jesus Buy site lists several like-minded partners that also weigh the human costs of mindless shopping and unfair labor practices

Teenage girls in the movie, clearly fashion lovers, log onto responsible (aka sweatshop free) shopping Web sites for more information.

Here are some thoughts on the many nonmonetary rewards employees want. Surprisingly, monetary rewards rank 12th on employee wish lists. Workplace wishes like recognition and the opportunity to contribute are surely a microcosm of the broader life experiences we all crave.

Prose

Regular readers know that I had an appearance last week. I had the privilege of reading part of my Get Satisfied essay in conjunction with a movie screening. Director Rob Van Alkemade spoke in eloquent terms at a screening of his film, What Would Jesus Buy. But he didn’t really need any verbal talents: his compelling movie spoke for itself.

I’m already in the “stop shopping” mode, however gradually I approach it. But Reverend Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping, the attention-grabbing and often laughter-provoking central characters, made another thing clear to me: there is a global “emperor’s new clothes” mentality that drives the consumer frenzy, at Christmastime and beyond. If those around you are driven to acquire the latest Xbox or designer tag, and you have not managed to center on what matters deeply to you, you may join the crazy, hazy group delusion in which these passing fads are utterly indispensible.

But there is another dimension here that bears examining: the ripple effect. Where you shop and where it was made matters. Look more closely at companies that construct an image of compassion. In some cases, the subtly colored packaging and sweet soundtrack might mask some hypocrisy in their practices. It’s hard to be vigilant 24/7, and even the indomitable Reverend Billy (or was it one of his crew?) admits that they don’t expect anyone to completely adhere to the “Gospel of Stop Shopping”. But a pause before spending, a decision in the right direction might stir some serious ripples. The movie’s laments about big business and values-blind consumers are equaled by the hopes that supporting your local business and buying from ethical manufacturers just might accumulate in a significant difference.

Simple Christmas is an oft-expressed wish and, to many, an oxymoron. Please share your favorite simplicity- and humanity-friendly holiday traditions via the comments link. This is a gift I would truly appreciate.

Cutting the Fat

2007-11-27T19:58:00.000-08:00

Connecticut readers: On DECEMBER 1, at 7:30pm, SIMPLE LIVING AMERICA will host a special Q&A with the director of What Would Jesus Buy, Rob VanAlkemade, following a screening of his movie. As a contributing author of Get Satisfied, I will also be part of the Q & A.

Please come!

CRITERION CINEMAS
86 Temple St., New Haven
Call (203) 498-2500 for info.

Tomorrow is weigh-in day. Yes, I’m in the company of countless middle-agers who have joined Weight Watchers, and so far (it’s only been 2 weeks), so good.

It feels good to regain control, to stop and think about balance, and my attraction to this approach has got me thinking beyond my waistline. If only I could “track points” in every area, look thoughtfully at my consumption at the end of every day, and regroup. How great it would be to have this feeling of mastery over the money in my wallet, over my energy use, over the ebb and flow of my relationships. How useful it would be to have it all mapped out on a spreadsheet for my perusal, to be able to say “today I excelled”, or “this morning I overdid it.”

But the real world isn’t like that. And if I managed to design a “system” for everything, I’m sure it would become tedious very quickly. Getting back to the Weight Watchers model, you’ve got to leave room for a splurge, allow a reward for a week of wise eating. Feeling starved will only lead to a food fest. But after the splurge you might want to conserve a while, to avoid tipping the scale.

Splurge, to me, has a happy, bubbly sound, while binge takes on an ominous tone. I am thinking of these words, specifically, in relation to Christmas. It is so easy to leap from splurge (one delightfully indulgent item) to binge (can’t stop shopping even though I hate the mall) in a matter of minutes.

Does consumer binging arise from feeling starved? When we binge with our wallets, are we hungry for renewal, craving approval, starving for a deeper satisfaction? After the binge do we feel any better, or just drained? Best to back off the retail buffet if your consuming starts to make you feel consumed.

Extremism doesn’t work for most of us, not for diets, not for shopping, not for simplifying our lifestyle, and almost never in the long run. But an attitude of thoughtfulness can really effect some change. In my new weight loss effort, it occurred to me that I don’t need to eat right after awakening. I am a very early riser, and come to think of it not really hungry as I march first thing to the pantry. A simple rule of sticking to just coffee until at least 7 has defeated my Hobbit-like craving for “second breakfast” every morning.

In the Christmas shopping swirl that starts to deepen into a vortex, similarly small changes have kept things more sane this year. Mom is leading the charge to each buy 1 gift per person, and the in-laws suggested no gifts for the grownups (what a relief!). Tom and I are getting a coffeemaker and exchanging pajamas. Mom’s effort is founded on simplicity, the in-laws’ on their practicality, and Tom and I share the love for all things warm at the holiday. Simple, practical, and warm sounds quite inviting to me. And it feels like quite enough.

Joyful Juxtaposition

2007-11-19T03:49:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

Sometimes contrasts allow us to see better. Some thoughts on the topic:

I found another writer who married juxtaposition with joy. Here are some thoughts on learning from contrasts in the workplace, as well as the garden
This is the second reference I found to the joy of juxtaposition in gardening.
Here are a photographer’s thoughts on how the act of simplifying allows, by contrast, the important things to stand out.

Prose

I finally tackled it yesterday. Well, some of it. The mess in our house had reached critical mass, partly the fallout from busy schedules, part the fallout from domestically unfriendly choices (like using precious spare time to write). My disgust with the clutter grew for weeks, and it was this disgust that propelled me to clear the decks with the pace of a whirling dervish.

It felt good to be ruthless. Magazines that I hoped to someday read found their place in the recyclables paper bag. Tom’s tool bag and work equipment have landed too many times on the kitchen chair, so I cleared a new home for them in the pantry. Gavin consented to donating his “baby Legos” to charity. Once the decks were cleared, I dusted. I thanked the heavens for our Roomba purchase. The automated vacuum did not come cheap, but it saves me heaps of time and energy. It makes it possible that I can dust and vacuum in an afternoon, rather than having to pick one!

I clean best when indignant and angry—it fires me up. But in the bedroom I ran into some items that quieted my rant. I started to notice the beauty in our mess, framed by the contrast between real and ideal. The primary colors of Gavin’s many books strewn about our bedroom, clashing with our attempt at muted tones. A “great job” giraffe sticker stuck to the top of our otherwise sleek alarm clock, a memory of a worthwhile day at Kindergarten. A cardboard “treasure chest” next to my jewelry box, recalling the day when Gavin split his gems with me. Countless shells and rocks and leaves, cluttering our windowsill but also memorializing many fine walks. Any decorator worth her salt would have me hustling to remove this “clutter”, and I did find better homes for most of the items. But I appreciated those imprints of a busy, happy family and all of the clutter that can entail.

I also thought back to a personal joy I experienced this week. A columnist at the Baton Rouge Advocate gave eloquent thanks for things not owned, a thought that propelled me reduce and recycle (and acknowledge that there are some things I can’t reuse). Even better, he called my essay in Get Satisfied "charming”, definitely a banner moment.

The contrasts outdoors are getting more extreme: branches against sky, the sharp cold against our skin, and soon the fall of snow that will soften but also showcase every shape. I'm hoping for a winter where each juxtaposition lends a lesson, each contrast uncovers a forgotten joy.

The Art of Saying No

2007-11-11T17:24:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

Saying no is a hard-won skill. Here are some links to learning the art:

-Online organizing.com supplies 20 ways to say no—a great cheat sheet!
-Real Simple did a spot on saying no to requests for money. It may come in handy this holiday season!
-About.com’s stress management column offers some practical tips for naysayers. I like the time-tested “let me get back to you” option.
-Even the Mayo Clinic deems saying no a worthy cause.

Prose

Pursuing simplicity is an act of embracing. Embracing what and who you love, embracing your beliefs and ideals. At the same time, it is a turning away—from demands and expectations that threaten to overshadow the good stuff; from possessions and practices that clutter your home, your mind, the environment.

Embracing comes naturally to most of us. After all, we are embracing those things we already love. But saying no takes practice and skill. Today I insisted I really needed some time to write and relax. This meant no to a family ice cream outing (definitely a tough call), and it also meant disappointing my husband. But now I am happier: I got to slow down a bit and write; I got to play Cat Stevens (major childhood memories) in the kitchen and make crab cakes with Gavin. I feel refreshed and much less cranky—and hopefully more fun to be around.

Christmas is not far off and we are starting the season, as we do every year, vowing to have a simpler approach. Tom and I don’t really need gifts, and have agreed that just having a long-postponed date would be more rewarding. But already I feel the vortex pulling me in: maybe just stocking stuffers, maybe just something small. It is hard to stop that snowball effect of buying more, incurring unneeded debt. I want a clever scheme that will save me from The Ghost of Christmas Must Have. Still working on that one.

Then there is that backlog of stuff you didn’t really need in the first place, or maybe you outgrew it. Gavin, only 5, is already experiencing some of that hanging onto stuff, and it seems tied in with sentimentality. In anticipation of Christmas we started to clean out his (several) toy storage bins, starting with a big hallway trunk. The emphasis on charity didn’t work as well as I hoped. What worked better was my allusion to Santa’s assessment of toys already owned, and how he might bring fewer toys to boys that seem overloaded. That resulted in a small garbage bag filled with forgotten toddler toys, although the barking dalmatian toy that he no longer walks had to stay.

As a mother, I struggle with sentimental clutter every day. The volume of artwork that comes home from kindergarten and daycare is staggering. I might trial a weekly “art sale” where we pick the top 5 “keepers”. Gavin’s baby clothes are packed in giant Rubbermaid bins in the attic. I can’t bear the thought of losing them; they all carry such memories. And yet, maybe some little boy out there could really use at least some of them. Do I really need 50 onesies and T-shirts to hold my memories of babyhood?

A local author and artist, Jill Butler, wrote some columns in our shoreline paper. I liked the term she came up with: rightsizing. She wrote about how downsizing sounds so deprived, while rightsizing sounds so, well, right. This is a great way to put it. I don’t want fanaticism. I don’t want deprivation. I want sanity—a clear head and clear surroundings.

What is it about saying no that’s hard? In my case, I don’t want to be difficult. I don’t want to be a “stick in the mud”. I want to be fun and easygoing, not the “bad guy”. And yet, a few carefully placed “nos” have yielded some great results. I said no to being a manager and regained some workplace sanity. Before that, I said no to a career at a large, prestigious company and got a short commute and a much better rapport in exchange. I say no to the ringing phone when I am absorbed in something else and get far more done. I say no even to mothering when I feel the need for escape, and come back much more patient, ready for any challenge.

I like this quote by Linda Breen Pierce: If you say yes to one thing (like a job promotion), recognize that you are saying no to something else (perhaps more time with family). Live consciously and deliberately.

Mountains of Things

2007-10-29T02:51:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-Here's a piece, courtesy of Home Is Where the Dirt Is, on tackling attic clutter.

-I have always been intrigued by the idea of bartering, making your junk another's treasure (and hopefully acquiring something you actually need). Here's one site devoted to bartering.

-Even better than bartering (especially if you want to live more lightly) is Freecycle, a concept that is taking off.

-I love how Imelda Marcos ended up opening a shoe museum. I'd love to charge admission to my clutter!

Prose

This weekend, despite the recent relative heat wave up to the low 70s, we agreed it was time to retire our stand fan until next summer. I clumped clumsily up the stairs, already anticipating a challenge in finding space. I found a nearby cluster of miscellany that suited my purposes, but before I descended back to our home I shuddered at the mountain of things piled before me.

At least the clutter has a halfway house outside of our living quarters. The problem is that the halfway house too often becomes a permanent residence for what amounts to junk. Worst case: we actually have a box labeled “tacky Christmas ornaments”. I also noticed at least 4 plastic trick-or-treating pumpkins (and we only have 1 child). What else? A box of old cell phones that we meant to donate, old lace curtains that will never see a window again, kitchen tchatzkahs (Yiddish for knick-knacks), textbooks (I am approaching 2 decades out of college), etc, etc.

Why do we hang on to this stuff? A lot of reasons. Sentiment, guilt, or laziness, to start. In my case, I often hang onto things because they represent an idea. I buy books because I like the title, or I’ve heard I should read certain titles. One day I look back and there are 10 unread titles waiting for me. And then, whatever the initial reason for keeping what you keep, a sense of being overwhelmed takes over.

When I worked in psychiatry, mental illness was often defined by how some behavior impaired your ability to function. (In politically incorrect lay terms, we are all at least a little crazy. It’s just that many of us still manage to function.) The ultimate example of dysfunctional squirreling away is a feature of obsessive-compulsive disorder called hoarding. I once had a patient who crowded himself out of his own house with old newspapers. He knew intellectually that he did not need these newspapers, but emotionally they came to symbolize security to him.

Whether you have a bona fide diagnosis or not, the key to any level of overwhelm is baby steps. I want to go to my attic at least every Sunday and remove a minimum of 5 things. It’s not just that I want a clean attic: I also want to honor the simplicity I so admire as a philosophy and as a real-life approach. There aren’t many specific objects like plastic pumpkins, trivets, or lace curtains I need in plural tense. For other things, like shoes, I concede I need a small collection to cover work, exercise, or dressy occasions. Still, I have accumulated way more shoes than I need, and I am not even into shoes!

The clutter phenomenon reminds me of weight gain: you turn around one day and you are much larger than you intended. And the American habit of overabundance reminds me of the potato chip slogan You can’t eat just one. Becoming larger than you want to be, whether in girth or possession, is connected to living unconsciously, or living by skewed priorities. You keep eating the chips, glassy eyed and no longer hungry. Or you keep buying the items you think you need, although if you looked again at home, or thought about it, you would find that you didn’t need some, and had nearly identical matches for others.

Typical of me, in a spring cleaning mood in near-November. Maybe it's the global warming.

In Praise of Solitude

2007-10-21T13:24:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

What’s the difference between solitude and loneliness? Read here.

Here’s an article on how remembering solitude can help families. It's written for single parents, but married or not the principles still apply.

Contrary to my essay title in Get Satisfied, I really am not completely ignoring Walden. If you’ve got 10 minutes, see what Thoreau had to say about solitude. The guy could really write.

There’s a whole Web network on the life of solitude. Here’s a link from it on solitude poems. This may be the first Lewis Caroll I’ve read outside of from Alice in Wonderland:

I love the stillness of the wood
I love the music of the rill
I love to couch in pensive mood
Upon some silent hill.

Prose

I just had a piece called Ignoring Walden published. In reality, I don’t have a big chip on my shoulder about Walden or Henry David Thoreau. It’s more like an aversion to extremism, mixed with a jealousy for something I will likely never attain: extensive time alone in a remote cabin.

I am typing this in a foreign bed, 2:30 AM. My birthday gift from Tom and Gavin was an overnight at Mercy Center, my writing home away from home and the closest I may get to Walden. It is eerily silent here. I know that there are other overnighters elsewhere in this vast building, but I feel remarkably alone. It is so silent that I fear my laptop keys might wake somebody. (Thank God I don’t have an old Remington, complete with ringing carriage return!)

My obsession with writing sometimes drives me to a fault. Yesterday, walking alone on the grounds here, watching the waves crash Wuthering Heights-style below, I surprised myself and chose to keep my laptop under wraps for a while. I descended to the beach, sat on a rock, and thought. I turned a faded conch over in my hands and gazed out over the sea. Profound thoughts welled up from seemingly nowhere. Thoughts about God, my purpose, and the broad view of life.

Wow, I thought, the Long Island Sound really has mystical powers. And, yes, the scenery helped. But I realize now that another huge factor was my rare time truly alone. Even when I have those small windows I cherish to write or relax, it is rare that I sit and just listen for what truths might be waiting. I write surrounded by the bustle of my household or a Starbucks crowd. I relax by flipping channels or walking through my village. Even when physically alone, I am hooked on ‘mind candy’—e-mails, Internet, music, even my beloved writing. None of these things are inherently wrong, and my life would feel bleak without them.

But sometimes I need a fast from all of that mind candy, a true solitude. This means putting down pen (or keyboard) and closing my eyes. Hearing only my breathing. Resurrecting a neglected thought or prayer, one that can’t be sensed without a quieting of the mind, an attitude of intent.

There’s a reason people have ideas in the shower, or during their work commute. Though not necessarily very quiet moments, these settings are little windows of solitude, short periods when the mind can wander a bit. If the shower and the car hold such promise, just imagine how far the mind and spirit can expand when we really commit to some intentional time alone, reunited with that “still, small voice” within.

The Spectrum of Simplicity

2007-10-06T04:47:00.000-07:00

News: The House Party Discussion Guide I wrote is now posted at Get Satisfied.org. Here is the direct link.

Pragmatics

I like this one-page write-up on Voluntary Simplicity, courtesy of a San Diego group. It’s a great summary.
Here’s a Website I haven’t run across before. Sufficiently.org lists a host of links in the simplicity/satisfaction vein.
Did you know that multitasking is a moral weakness? So says the banner at Slow Down Now, a site with a good sense of humor.
Here are some tips from the BBC program’s “Ethical Man”, about a man and his family that lived much more greenly for a year. I can’t relate to living without a car, but the rest of the tips seem feasible!

Prose

One of the reasons I embraced the Simplicity Movement is that it is diverse. What’s simple for one person may be way too complicated for another. For example, I am thinking about ordering from drugstore.com and peapod.com today to get back some precious time at home. Another simplicity seeker might see this as complicating things with technology, being disconnected from my community, etc. As a mom, going into the market with a tired child can just about push me over the edge. And Gavin will be tired. We are taking my mom shopping at the megastore Ikea today, and tomorrow we have church, for which we are planning a service project. I’ve learned my limits. Too much running around = an irritable and tired family.

To me, the whole idea is to get closer to what your own true priorities are. Some of my own: family and friends, a creative life, contact with nature, living a life that makes some difference, however small. Actually, I like the term that Simple Living America has chosen for their book: Get Satisfied. It captures that the movement is about knowing what satisfies you. Part of that is knowing what is enough. That’s where the simplicity comes in.

I remember being struck, years ago, by reading in Choosing Simplicity about the different approaches people have taken to achieve that goal of feeling satisfied, of having a clear direction. I remember someone who chose the city, because they could walk everywhere. Another couple chose to restore a large, historic home in the country. Still another man lived a rather monastic life, eating as cheaply as he could manage, possessing only a few, well-chosen items. This may be the reason that some survey responders balked at the idea of a “movement”. One of the unifying aspects of this movement, ironically, is that everyone does their own thing. It’s the recognition that everyone wants the same things – satisfaction, fulfillment, being in touch with and personifying what you value –that unites.

I like that, despite the language sometimes sounding self-centered, there is room in this movement for the rest of the world. When most of us stop to think about what is important, there is room in our hearts for others. I am satisfied when I do small things that might be helpful. I know I should do more, and I am growing in that direction. At the same time, I have learned that I am more helpful when I feel replenished. A good life lesson this year has been the need to treat myself well, too. The trick, I guess, is balancing it out. I am ever aware that that Americans treat themselves a bit too well (here’s one example), using far more resources that most of our counterparts in the world.

There are people that I aspire to be more like. At the moment, I am reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, about the year she and her family dedicated to eating locally. She put her concerns about the environment, as well as what she puts into her and her family’s bodies, into action. I know that this is not a good time for me to undertake a task this extreme. But I am so not about black or white decisions. If every family ate one local meal per week, it could really make a dent in the economic, nutritional, and ecological ruin caused by massive commercial farms and food that travels thousands of miles just so we can have out of season eats. I can probably manage a local meal once a week, especially while farmer’s market season is still upon us.

I love to write, so each blog feels like a celebration to me. I’ve noticed that I’ve ended more than one with a “Here’s to” sentence, as if I am raising a toast.

Instead of another toast, here’s a quote from Ray Bradbury that hit the nail on the head for me today: We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.

I hope that this weekend you find something to celebrate.

Complicated Families

2007-09-28T01:21:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

Complicated or troubled families are a heavy subject, but unfortunately all too universal. Here are some resources that offer hope for fractured families:
· -Family gatherings can be a dreaded occasion, sometimes for even not-so-complicated family members. Here’s an article on strategies to ease the strain.
· -Here is some very direct stuff: Options for Families with Drug Abusers.
· -I like this piece on how one woman kept sane through her creative efforts.
· -Codependency is not easy to define. Here’s a quick snapshot of some of its important aspects. http://www.recovery-man.com/coda/symptoms.htm
· Here’s a comfort: No One’s Family Is Normal!

Prose

Last week I wrote from my hotel room about simple vacations. I came home to remember I have quite a complicated extended family, one that is currently rife with serious problems. One family member in particular is very troubled, with drugs and mental illness at the forefront. There is a huge, dark ripple effect going out from this man. Maybe “ripple” is too mild: his effect feels more like an undertow.

Striving for simplicity often springs up when things get most complicated. I don’t just want to live my life, I want to love it. While I can’t feel this way every moment, striving to have a clear perspective and live by my true priorities has been a helpful rebalancing tool. What is important to me? Family, home, creativity, contact with nature. Lately, more and more, my place in the world and how I can make a difference (at the risk of sounding like a pageant contestant) have been added to my list. All of these wholesome-sounding ideals feel threatened, in fact seem about to evaporate, when a severely off-balance person dominates the landscape.

I know I am not alone in this struggle. The more I talk about the issues that haunt my family, the more I meet people who have dealt with similar situations, some far worse than ours.

I found an inspiring quote for one of my recent blogs, and credited Melody Beattie. I couldn’t figure out why her name rang such a bell. Now I know. Her bestseller from 1987, Codependent No More, made its way back into my life with precision timing. She writes, Many of us have been trying to cope with outrageous circumstances, and these efforts have been both admirable and heroic….However, these self-protective devices may have outgrown their usefulness. You know codependence (aka feeling responsible for things you can’t control) is a bad thing when Melody Beattie writes a whole section called The Basics of Self Care.

It is a relief to be reminded that you can’t save everyone. In fact, you can’t save anyone from their emotional demons, other than yourself. I am relearning this self-care thing, and feel so proud. I called the troubled arm of the family and did not get overly involved. I took a walk. I saw a friend. I did not get sucked into the undertow of drug dependency and mental illness.

Undertows are strong. I Googled ocean undertows, and common wisdom says that it does no good to fight them. You free yourself by staying calm, calm even while in the vortex, swimming to shore as soon as you are free. The undertow may take you for a ride, but if you wait, watching the shore, it will release you. And how good it feels to be back on the shore at this moment.

In Praise of Simple Vacations

2007-09-21T02:56:00.000-07:00

Note to readers: This is a late post, as the week following my weekend away was super stressful. Note to self: grab those mini-vacations when you can!

Pragamatics

One of the tricks in planning a getaway is making sure your travel plans stay as simple as possible. Here are some links on the importance of vacations, as well as practical strategies for keeping things simple:

-True magazine offers some thoughts on curing "vacation deficit disorder" in the healthiest way possible.

-Here's Lonely Planet's take on packing, including some useful tips for foreign travel.

-Here are a fellow blogger's thoughts on vacation, in the "take back your time" vein.

-Yet more thoughts on taking back your time--with some sobering statistics on the great American unrest.

-A vacationer fresh from Hawaii penned these helpful suggestions.

-I like this take on bringing vacation attitudes home.

Prose

I am writing from Kent, CT, which means we finally got a family weekend away. Why Kent? We had strict criteria: we needed a place less than 2 hours away, immersed in nature, and with a good village for strolling and snacking. My vote for Kent is swayed by the 3 bookstores (if you count the library’s expansive, every-weekend, outdoor book sale) and the local parks. We spent Saturday afternoon at Bull’s Bridge, climbing down enormous, water-molded rocks to the bottom of a waterfall’s cascade. We walked a short arm of the Appalachian Trail there. Second to that was the simple moment of Gavin delighting in the oversized bubble wands that the toy store leaves outside. It was clear he appreciated the bubbles more than the toy we had just bought him.

Gavin has no memory of being here, but I recall him toddling around all of these places during an earlier day trip. I marvel at how much he has grown, climbing large boulders with ease and much better at mastering bubbles, or sitting through a restaurant meal. Sunday is stretched before us. We will probably do a light hike at Kent Falls, maybe check out the local train museum, and still have plenty of time to meander home.

Our attempt to plan a simple getaway was almost comedic. We hadn’t traveled in so long and were paralyzed by the array of choices. Tom always votes for Woodstock, NY, also a delight but too far for our traveling after work purposes. He also voted for a camping cabin or a pop-up trailer rental, both great ideas when you have more time to plan and pack cooking gear, sleeping linens, food, etc. I felt a little guilty countering some of Tom’s earlier ideas, but I knew we would all benefit from a place that we could get to early, leave late, and for which only a suitcase was required. It also helps that there is not too much to do in the village of Kent. Several interesting stores, some tempting coffee and confection stops, but not the jam-packed tourist trap sort of place. This helped us avoid pounding the pavement to shop, an old habit that sometimes eats away at our time and energy (not to mention our money!).

I turned 40 last week, and hope this new decade will be one of wise decisions. My selectivity with our trip reminded me of another revelation I had recently. I realized that my passion for writing has me running in circles. I get tons of daily e-mails on freelance markets, for example, but have no time to pursue them. I am overwhelmed by possibilities. This doesn’t mean I’ll give up on my writing; it just means I’ll be more realistic in what I entertain and pursue. I’ll subscribe to less e-mail lists. Until 2008, my House Party Discussion Guide (to be part of the Get Satisfied Web site), online writing class, and 3 or 4 well-chosen essay submissions will more than fill my plate. When you consider that my plate also contains freelance medical writing and the usual regular job and family needs, that’s a large enough helping.

All the right passions can drive less than wise decisions. Our love for camping could have had us tangled in gear on this short, precious weekend, and our love for several, much farther away towns could have left us exhausted from our highway driving time. It helped to think about what we really needed: rest, ease, moving slowly. For Tom and me, lovers of adventure, it’s been hard to recognize that the spontaneous 3 or 4 hour drives of our youth, like driving from New York to Pennsylvania for a late night coffee, no longer fit into our lifestyle. But our reward for this recognition is feeling relaxed this Sunday morning. Tom is sleeping in, an almost unheard of phenomenon. Gavin is watching PBS cartoons while I type. I slept from 8:30 until 6 last night, a near miracle for my increasingly insomniac self. We’ll greet the day in a fresh place, end it in a familiar place, and savor all of that time in between.

Short-Term Sacrifice, Long-Term Peace

2007-09-08T05:56:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

-Here’s an insightful article from Jugglezine on the benefits of voluntary simplicity. One outlook on sacrifice here: happiness as the yardstick of success (and well worth some sacrifices).
-Considering making your family a one-paycheck enterprise? It may be less of a financial loss than it seems at first glance. This online calculator is designed to figure real earnings (eg, what’s left after expenses that typify double-income families: child care, meals out, etc).
-More than once I have run into usability design sites (a subject I know next to nothing about) that talk about simplicity from a more technical perspective. Following a long list of intriguing simplicity quotes, this author includes Edward de Bono’s 10 rules for simplicity. They translate beautifully from design to life design!
-Jordan Cooper, a fellow blogger, writes about needless spending with great perspective, informed by the contrast of work in a homeless shelter and life with affluent friends.
-Duane Elgin has had a lot to say on matters like this. Here, an interview where he notes a new perspective that has grown in the last decade: I'm here as more than just a consumer to be entertained; I'm here as a soulful being who wants to grow. He also recognizes that Little changes can accumulate into a tidal wave of change!

Prose

It was a week of small sacrifices: I took a pay cut, transitioned away from managing, oriented the new manager, adjusted to the technical challenges of telecommuting, squeezed in e-mails to my new freelance prospects and writing classmates, waited for the school bus with Gavin while my mind raced ahead of me.

I had to ask myself, during this stressful week, was it all worth it? The philosophy I’ve developed on day-to-day sacrifices is the same philosophy I developed about childbirth. It wasn’t the pain itself that felt unbearable, it was the prospect of enduring pain. I was blessed with a remarkably short labor – by the time I considered an epidural Gavin had already emerged partway. But I immediately understood why most women go for the medicine: if no one can tell you how long the pain will last, it’s hard to bear. Great case in point: a rare time when Tom and I managed to save some real money. There’s nothing like finding out you are pregnant to make you finally opt in for homemade meals, cancel that bedroom set you ordered, and mull over every dollar’s best use. But I doubt I could have sustained that über-frugal mentality for more than 8 months!

Many of us are better sprinters than we are long-distance runners, and there’s a very human psychology to this. Short pushes, like labor and delivery, can be managed, especially if we know there’s a good outcome on the other side (again, like labor!). The scrambled, messy week I just pushed through will lead, I hope, to a less stressful work life in the long run, a well-informed new manager, new work that fills some of the gap of a diminished salary, a fresh start with my beloved book.

The trick, of course, is knowing when the small sacrifices tip the balance and add up to one big stressful schedule. How many small yeses add up to being overcommitted and under-rested? I’ve started to set small anti-deadlines: no more freelance work until mid-month, no weekend plans until I feel more rested, no major household chores until I‘ve finally had some time alone. It’s also helped to really know my lasting priorities: I’m moonlighting now so I can afford to freelance full time later; I’m squeezing in that writing class so I can resume the nourishing journey that is my (abandoned) book; I’m returning to church and its annual “Rally Day” picnic because my family and spiritual sides feel malnourished of late. I’m turning 40 this week, and the gift I’ve asked for is a weekend day to just write. There’s no possession that would mean more to me than this gift of creative time, a space for pursuing my highest passion.

In my quest for simplicity, sometimes my short-term life becomes more complicated! Our Friday family dinner out and the long, lazy stroll afterwards felt like a celebration: I pushed through, and now I can relax a bit (or more than a bit: the Chianti went right to my head!). Yes, this time my stressful week seemed worth it. Short-term complexity, long-term simplicity? I hope so.

Coming up for Air

2007-09-01T03:25:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

Work-life balance can be more than a corporate buzzword (see Prose below). Here are some links that focus on flexibility in your work life:

-My own state’s Department of Transportation hosts an information-packed site on telecommuting.
-Here’s a quick WebMD primer on work-life balance strategies
-This Canadian site has some great FAQs on the topic.
-Here’s the Mayo clinic’s take on the subject.
-Here’s a free self assessment on work-life balance. There’s no scoring sheet, but it seems the higher the number, the more “imbalanced” you are!
-Get Satisfied, the anthology I'm to be published in this fall, includes several stories on how people reframed their perspectives on/approaches to work. Here's the table of contents.

Prose

Last week, I did something I had never done before. I demoted myself. And I took back some of my time. I’m going from manager to just plain writer, and I will work from home most of the time.

I accepted a manager position over a year ago, and I didn’t listen to my gut (when will I ever learn?). I have often managed, I’m told quite well, but never really enjoyed it (except when I got to approve a raise!). Managing takes me away from writing and research, which I do and enjoy best. I also had to admit to myself that, above and beyond the stresses of managing, my quality of life has been withering on the vine. The pace of my job often feels relentless when mixed with the other unavoidable stresses in my life.

It was time to employ some survival tactics. I looked into a host of other jobs, not really looking forward to the transition of a new place with new people, new processes. I like it where I work. The people are kind and thoughtful, and nearly everyone has a sense of humor.

I have to thank Jennifer, a mom I met on the Essex playground. It turns out she is a human resources consultant, and while Gavin and Alexander played she gave me a “free consult”: Why don’t you see what you can work out where you are? If they value you, they may be willing to talk.

I took a chance and laid my cards on the table with my boss. It turns out that I work in a place where work-life balance is more than a buzzword, and I’ve since thanked several managers (including my boss of course!) for supporting my wish to shift gears. I’m the first one to work from home to this extent.

In thinking about how much I wanted a change, I had to avoid thinking in black and white. I went from thoughts of leaving altogether, to working from home full time, to, finally, a compromise that just might work for everybody. Only time will tell, but of course I'm determined to prove that this work-from-home thing not only works,but makes me even more efficient.

What does the change mean for me? Less money, more peace. Turning away from corporate ambition and towards the things that make me happy: my writing, my family my home. No more employee evaluations. Fewer weighty decisions. A few more days in jeans and flip flops. A sigh of relief.

I think the money thing will be okay. There will be less dry cleaning, less gas guzzling, more time most mornings (and don’t they tell us that time is money?). I will recover the time I normally spend assembling a “business casual” outfit, drying my hair, applying makeup, packing lunch, etc. There are smaller things, too, that may go a long way. Maybe I will finally plan for dinner—one of those simple economical steps that always gets lost in the morning rush out the door. Maybe I'll avoid some of that not-so-smooth coming home from work transition that seems to plague the pre-dinner hour.

As Gavin starts kindergarten (the same day I start my work from home schedule!), I start my own new chapter. Here’s to the shiny new blank books of back-to-school. Our pens (and crayons) are poised for interesting and hopeful stories.

The Junk Drawer

2007-08-19T11:12:00.001-07:00

Pragmatics

I think Junk Drawers must be universal, at least to US households. Some thoughts on these potpourris of excess:

-I was amused by this site’s step-by-step guide to junk drawer sorting, complete with representative captioned photos (this is trash, this can be kept) for the severely organizationally impaired.
-If you’ve got some time to read, this is an interesting take, from a Danish perspective, on the interplay between simplicity and abundance.
-This is very techie, and for those oh-so-smart-seeming Apple users. I had no idea there were digital “junk drawers”! I can see lots of possibilities for my loose computer ends (assuming non Mac followers can also find ways to participate!).
-There are a surprising number of junk drawer themed, or even titled, blogs. Have I unearthed an American icon?

Prose

I took the plunge this morning. I pulled the overstuffed junk drawer from its sliders and lugged it over to the dining room table. It overflowed with takeout menus, thread, tape, paperclips, wires, and Happy Meal leftovers (toys, not McNuggets. I do have some standards.)

The experience was part treasure hunt, part exercise in exasperation—a microcosm of my own cluttered life and my attempts to clean it up, materially and otherwise.

I found things that proved useful (a forgotten headset for the phone, still-good coupons for today’s mega supermarket trip), things that would have been useful had I found them earlier (many expired coupons!), things destined for the dump (broken flashlights, pieces of toys), and things that defied explanation (plastic thingamajigs that must go with other thingamajigs, but hadn’t been missed for a second).

The Fly Lady recommends a psychologically clever first step in her campaign to help people take back their messy households: start by cleaning the sink. Of course, it does no good if only the sink is clean, but there is something about taking that first step, doing that one manageable thing that feels good and invites more productive activity. I felt that way about the junk drawer: I managed this 2 × 3 foot space, maybe there is hope for 4 × 6, even 6 × 9 if I really apply myself.

How good it feels to realize how much you can lose, or dispose of, and never really miss it. It means that moment of hesitation before disposing of almost any given item is unneeded. The moment of hesitation before acquiring something new, however, should be doubled, maybe tripled. I’ve known people who will only buy something if they can identify something else to give up, thus keeping the seesaw of clutter in perfect midair equilibrium (until that big kid Christmas climbs on).

Despite the exasperation clutter brings, I know that it is the flip side of abundance. How lucky, in some ways, to be able to sigh and sputter about having too much, albeit what seems like too much of the wrong things. Sarah Ban Breathnach, the author of Simple Abundance, captures this concept well in her writings. Her current site has a great quote by Melody Beattie (abbreviated here): Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.

In my finest tuned moments, everything reminds me of how much I have. This means that both deprivation (our drying up well) and abundance (a crowded closet or pantry, even a junk drawer) have me thinking about the world at large. I want to give water to those who have none, because I have a small taste of that deprivation in my need to choose shower over laundry, dishwashing over car washing until our new well is dug. I want to share what I have, all too well aware of those who can count their possessions on one or two hands.

The opposite of this weekend’s junk drawer was my hike with Gavin into our local woods yesterday. Every item--leaf, mushroom, centipede, frog, salamander, stone--seemed to have real and benevolent value, not a moment of our journey wasted. Everything recycled in the most thoughtful of manners: leaves and worms into rich soil, acorns into oaks, wet, rotting logs into mushrooms.

And when I think about it, I realize that writing is my own way of recycling—putting it all in order, making more sense, making connections, feeling gratitude, and moving on to new settings and sensations. Here’s to manageable junk drawers and the best kind of recycling.

Creative Juices

2007-08-12T06:09:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

I write a lot about the need for peace and respite—long naps, long walks, deep breaths. But there is also the equally important need for creativity: thinking creatively, doing creative things, surrounding yourself with creative people. Creativity replenishes and refreshes, and creative inspirations are often free for the asking, via Internet, the library, or your own untapped cerebral territories. Here, some links to help with the care and feeding of your creative juices.
-Paint like Jackson Pollock via this happy, splattery link.
-Do you have a creative personality? See what Psychology Today has to say.

-This blogger writes about the 9 attitudes of highly creative people. In case you didn’t fit the description of creative in Psychology Today, this writer suggests that these skills can be acquired or enhanced.
-Blast is a BBC initiative that praises, supports, and has practical suggestions about creativity—visual, music, writing, and otherwise. It’s meant for older kids, but we could all use more of this!
- List Your Creative Self looks like a great book for sparking new ideas and insights.
-There’s a reason the classic books became classic. Read them for free here.
-Olga’s Online Art Museum is another creative well that can be dipped into for free.

Prose

I made a long-awaited trip to Niantic Book Barn, a book-lover’s paradise. You can trade in your old reads for cash or voucher, the voucher always worth a bit more towards a new collection of books. I chose the latter, and, as Frost would say, that has made all the difference.

I have before me quite a collection of creative people to admire and emulate. Of the six, I have only spent real time with Mary Oliver before, a Pulitzer Prize winner who made me want to write poetry again. Now I like her even more, because it turns out she writes brilliant essays, too. I’ve a passing acquaintance with James Michener and John Muir. Michener wrote a Writer’s Handbook, where he generously displays and dissects his own brilliant writing process. He wears his single-minded devotion to his work on his sleeve. John Muir had an amazing life, and The Wild Muir is a selection of some of his highest adventures, in his own words. Muir found meaning in every adversity. A bout of temporary blindness moved him away from industry, where he was very clever, back to the natural world. A malarial fever diverted his travel plans to South America. He landed in Yosemite instead, and went on to love the region feverishly and contagiously, creating Yosemite National Park, acquainting Teddy Roosevelt and the rest of our nation with its nearly wordless wonders (except he did find the words).

The remaining three authors/editors are new to me. Betty Flanders Thomson wrote The Changing Face of New England, a primer that I hope will acquaint me with the terrain through which I drive and walk daily. Robert Vivian wrote Cold Snap as Yearning, a book I bought for the title. Finally, The Writer on Her Work feels edited just for me: women writers exploring why and how they do what they do.

I don’t have as much creativity as I want these days. Work and family strains seem to drain it all away. Until the well refills again, I have these saints of innovation and originality to keep me company, maybe even get a trickle going.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

2007-08-05T06:58:00.000-07:00

Note to subscribers: The Get Satisfied site is up. Meet the authors and read some excerpts from the book! I am helping to author the House Party discussion guide, which will be posted in the fall.

Pragmatics

Johnny Cash writes, in Sunday Morning Coming Down, that, there's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone. It’s a mournful song about feeling lost and disconnected. On my recent trip to Weston Priory, one of the themes the Benedictine brothers emphasized was the need for a Sabbath, a day of rest. To me, this need transcends (or precedes) religion, speaking to the universal human need for renewal of mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual energy so that we can connect and do what we need to do during the week. Here are some links to thoughts on the Sabbath:

-Sabbath Keeping: Finding Freedoms in the Rhythm of Rest looks thought provoking. The author interview on the site recommends starting small—trying a half-day rest, or just trying not to multitask for a day.
-Blue Suit Mom has an article with tips on the day of rest as a chance for family time.
-Inc.com also published some thoughts on The One-Day Rest Cure. I love the idea of a mini-vacation every Sunday!
-This Utne Reader issue reprints an excerpt that includes the cultural and religious origins of the day of rest from the book Take Back Your Time.
-Speaking of Take Back Your Time, here’s a link to the site, a favorite of many simplicity “groupies”.
-Here’s directory of retreats, places where you can get an intensive bolus of much-needed rest and reflection!
-Some good trivia on Sunday Morning Coming Down, which I just learned was written by Kris Kristofferson! I also learned something from this link about his persistence!

Prose

This Sunday is the usual choppy mix for me. I want to write my blog, take my mom to check out a new church (she’s seeking a friendlier parish!), food shop, catch up with some housekeeping, and make sure Gavin doesn’t watch too much TV. Tom’s already gone off twice to the dump with brush from the trees he pruned yesterday. I’ve stopped my blog to help load the truck in my pajamas. Later Tom and Gavin will attend a kid’s dinosaur-themed birthday party. I suspect all of us will collapse, exhausted, at some point later in the day.

This may not be a Sabbath a traditionalist would approve of, but still I look forward to the novelty of a day where I don’t need to show up for work, and where the possibility of a late afternoon nap, although faint, exists.

Last Sunday was quite the opposite of today. The women of our family (my mom, my sister, and me) enjoyed a retreat at Weston Priory, a Vermont mountaintop haven for rest and reflection. I am not Catholic, but there is so much I admire about these monks. They pray, make beautiful music, live hospitality and kindness, and work for peace and justice. Last Sunday, after a Saturday of avoiding most of the masses (I also like that the monks don’t keep score!), I greeted the sunrise listening to melodic vespers, took a walk with my family, and ate wholesome food that some very talented monks had prepared (including honey that some very industrious local bees contributed).

The Priory is a once, maybe twice, a year treat, and I get an occasional boost by some quiet days spent a Mercy by the Sea, much closer to home. In fact, many of my personal Sabbaths are not Sabbaths at all. They are, instead, random days off where I choose to write and rest, and my soul feels laps up these delectable treats. Some weeks I survive by clinging to the promise of one of these mini-respites. How I savored Friday, after a Thursday of sorting fire- and soot- scarred belongings from my mom’s house (soon to be ready for occupation again). I worked on the Get Satisfied House Party draft, surfed the Web, and journaled over the course of many hours, accompanied by lattes, cheese and tomato melts, and green tea at Borders, another home away from home.

Just recalling these breathers is enough to let me launch into my busy day. At some point soon I may get more serious about keeping the Sabbath, but for now I am taking my little windows on peace where I can get them.

I have learned that rest and reflection is something that needs to be sought, especially in today’s expectation-laden world. Wishing you many restful windows of your own this week.

Letting in Symbols: A New Way to Pay Attention

2007-07-22T05:11:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

Joseph Campbell said, We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. To me, this means we must be open to new and different thoughts that push out the boxes we often draw around ourselves. This week, my inching toward simplicity has been about stopping for thought, not so much logic but musings and imaginations. Some links to stimulate this kind of creative contemplation:

-Get your Chinese name by putting in your English name, birthday, and the characteristics you want to embody

-Symbols.com is a fun online encyclopedia where you can surf for hidden meaning

-My friend keeps seeing cardinals (the bird, not the Catholic variety) in her dreams. This online Dream dictionary interprets them as a sign of vitality and happiness.

-As a kid, I found the idea of hobos (short for homeward bound) intriguing. Here, a link to their visual shorthand.

Prose

Surrounded by a thicket of pine, oak, and maple, our yard seems a haven for birds and bugs. I like to step out at dawn and see what small creatures are gracing the porch. Some sort of wren or finch has built a leafy nest in a gazebo-type birdfeeder we rested on the railing. And lately it seems grasshoppers are everywhere: clinging to the door, on our car, adding color to our interior walls.

Years ago, our screen door blew off the front porch. I had a habit of not latching it, and one day found the door violently ripped off its hinges and leaning on the walk-in basement door around the corner. At first I thought that vandals had visited us, and I felt foolish when I realized it was only the wind, taking advantage of my carelessness.

The screen door was custom made and proved difficult to fix. So, like a few things in our house, it never quite got restored to its rightful place. A small thorn in my side but I don’t complain, since I don’t feel I have the abilities (or tools!) to repair it myself.

The other day, though, I had a refreshing Pollyanna moment. With the migration of insects, primarily moths, in through our screenless portal, Gavin has become a miniature entomologist. Sure, he would discover the same bugs outside, and he does, but every morning he is immediately on the lookout for a new specimen as he descends the stairs from his room. Our winged friends often grace the walls along the staircase, and collectively they have provided him with hours of entertainment and education. The education extends to the need for kindness: to be gentle, to let them have undisturbed rest, to return them to the outdoors and appreciate their restored freedom.

I do believe in negative or irksome things sometimes evolving for the good like this. My cynical side says I take this too far, but I delight in seeing what the positives might be. I am also a sucker for icons and symbols. The visiting grasshoppers seem to be trying to tell me something: even with attempts at removal they linger on the fine hairs of my arm, seeming to cling purposefully. The Flaming Grasshopper, a blog for the Chelsea Green publishing company (specializing in sustainable living), describes the grasshopper as representing potent life energy contained in a small “insignificant” exoskeletal package, capable of covering great distances in a single leap. It is also an ancient symbol of good luck.

I am completely ready to buy into this symbolism: some family stresses of the week made me feel both insignificant and luckless, and I am considering some weighty changes that may require a leap of faith. I had to chuckle when I searched further for what my grasshopper following might mean: a bit of trivia on Wikipedia reminded me that grasshopper is sometimes used somewhat in jest, referencing “an inexperienced person who has much to learn" (thanks to the Kung Fu TV show)! Carl Jung would support me on my embrace of symbolism. He said, in Modern Man in Search of a Soul, The least of things with a meaning is worth more in life than the greatest of things without it.

The Best of Times and The Worst of Times (aka Today’s Supermarket Trip)

2007-07-15T15:01:00.000-07:00

-My supermarket trip has me philosophizing today, and I am not alone in my Sunday reflections. This blog provokes a lot of thought, including the ending statement that, in our society, the power to buy…is the power to be.

The very politically incorrect movie Borat has a funny extra scene where an American man guides Borat through the dairy section of the supermarket. What is this?, asks Borat repeatedly as they walk the length of the aisle. His guide answers, with uncanny patience, Cheese, to every question. This happens at least 20 times. I hear non-Americans are stunned when they first see an American mega-supermarket. Sixteen kinds of cream cheese? 101 instant rice or pasta dishes? A whole aisle just for pet food?

Is this hell or nirvana?

It can be hell with a 5-year-old, with the constant task of negotiating what treats should be allowed, which are too unhealthy, and how to make the remaining 6 aisles fly by before Gavin, my mom, and I descend into a frothing megastore lunacy. Even without a child present, the experience is a barrage of brands, hype, and stressed-out shoppers. My feet ache and at the end I am throwing anything within easy grasp into my cart.

At the same time, I realize the privilege that we have in buying what we like—not just what nourishes us but what strikes our fancy. We opt for something new, seek out a brand that is particularly pleasing, compare calories and fat grams and come out with some sense of accomplishment and anticipation. We deposit a few boxes of Rice-a-Roni in the community food pantry box—hardly enough to balance out our big-eyed indulgences, but a nod in the right direction and a good lesson for Gavin.

Becoming vegetarian has complicated my shopping in some ways. I am a pesca vegetarian (still eating fish), and often wonder how full-throttle vegetarians (completely meatless) or vegans (no dairy or meat) do it. I have to think twice before I fall back on the old habits of chicken—a lot of seemingly meatless items like rice and vegetable soup contain chicken flavoring.

I don’t feel deprived. Our market has an entire health food section with loads of meatless choices. Even the so-called deprivation of meat is a privilege, because it is a choice. I think of the many in the world who must eat what they can manage to beg, borrow, or steal. I think of the many who don’t have the extra resources—the time, the education, the choice-centric lifestyle–to ponder ethics and make informed, globally-oriented decisions.

Our local store is, well, local. I have avoided going there for 2 reasons: the diminished choices (perhaps only 5 varieties of cream cheese!) and the limit on free time that seems to force one-stop shopping: somewhere that has a home goods aisle, a drugstore aisle, a greeting card aisle, etc. Maybe I will experiment with a shorter trip, wean myself down to fewer choices and less hassle. Maybe the time and energy I gain will let me make those extra trips for nonfood things, and still leave time and energy to spare. It is worth a shot.

This simplicity thing is a work in progress, and sometimes my idols are the people who make more sweeping choices. Yes, yes, the people who move to remote cabins to think, or even better to remote, war-torn countries to make a tangible difference. But sometimes my envy is of the more mundane simplistics—the single guy I read about in Choosing Simplicity who approached nutrition in the most pragmatic and economical ways. He ate primarily ramen noodles, varieties of protein mixed in for nutritional benefit. He saved money, he saved time, he saved the energy that I expend every 2 weeks on food choices. Or what about the woman who purchased a modest cottage, making the tiny square footage work by sleeping in a loft, paring down to only the most essential items? Having a family, at least a democratic family, definitely prevents some of the more radical choices, as different needs and preferences must be weighed.

And so, I continue to look for little ways to simplify. It’s funny to me that grocery delivery, a given when my mother’s mother was young, has come back. I’ve used the service (called Peapod here in Connecticut) and there are some inherent advantages: undistracted price comparisons (even a sort-by-price button!), the lack of random temptation, the ability to review your list and subtract as needed (it’s all just a thought process until you press the ‘confirm’ button). Still the same problem that you have with a smaller store, though: not everything you need pops up on your computer screen. No doubt the time is coming when it will.

I think a lot about how, with planning, a lot of things could be done differently. But today’s fast pace allows only a limited time for planning, and this forces choices that are less than ideal. Still, I relish the choices that might benefit my own use of time, the way our family spends its days, and maybe even in some cases the world at large. The food crowding our cabinets tonight is also food for thought. Maybe the trip was worth the aching feet.

Coming into Focus

2007-07-08T05:57:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

I chose today’s links because being aware of the need to step back and focus and actually focusing are two different things, and most of us need all the help we can get:

-This Green Living Web page offers 8 tips to focus your mind in a brief, digestible, and doable format.

-Bella Online has an article on keeping track of your focus over the longer term.

-Here’s a very pragmatic look at dealing with distractions, written for unfocused writers but probably helpful for anyone whose mind insists on straying from the project at hand.

-Duane Elgin’s article Garden of Simplicity in Yes magazine talks about avoiding distractions through a variety of simplified approaches. It gives me hope: so many ways to try simplicity—even reading about them has a calming and hopeful effect!

Prose

It’s been a thought-provoking week. I’ve been privileged to read the draft of Simple Living America's Get Satisfied: How Twenty People Like You Found the Satisfaction of Enough, which is coming out in October.

I am one of the twenty. Like the other authors in the book, I am not purporting to have all of the answers. My essay, like many others, is about the search for what is really important, the attempt to eliminate whatever is superfluous, whatever distracts or detracts from a thoughtful or meaningful life. I have managed to make some good decisions in this direction, but just as often I get caught up in the whirlpool that many describe: working too hard, overindulging when I do get a break, sacrificing rest to get things done, neglecting my health, not seeing a way out of the cycle.

Today, for example, I filled my day with errands. I ate too much for lunch. I made some reckless purchases. I did too much and wore myself out. Certainly not the end of the world (I consider myself lucky if this is my biggest complaint), and often this seems to me to be the American way. But when I stop to focus I know that this kind of mindless march through the weekend isn’t the best I can do. I can take a breath and make better decisions with my time. I can “neglect” tasks that add to my already heavy load, knowing that in truth most of them can wait. I can create the space to write my blog, and pause for a few moments to more thoughtfully schedule the rest of my weekend and the coming work week.

I think about the small conversations that spring up in the lounge at work, and so often the refrain about the weekend is, I have so much I have to get done (before the weekend), or I did a lot of running around (after the weekend). I ran into this quote by Florence King on a Google search on distractibility and stress:

The American way of stress is comparable to Freud's 'beloved symptom', his name for the cherished neurosis that a patient cultivates like the rarest of orchids and does not want to be cured of. Stress makes Americans feel busy, important, and in demand, and simultaneously deprived, ignored, and victimized. Stress makes them feel interesting and complex instead of boring and simple, and carries an assumption of sensitivity not unlike the Old World assumption that aristocrats were high-strung. In short, stress has become a status symbol." (from "The Misanthrope's Corner", May 2001)

Do you ever get the feeling that people would look at you oddly if you reported that your weekend entailed “just relaxing” or “doing some thinking”? Or if, around the holidays, you offered not one complaint because your holiday was deliberately understated, low key, and smartly planned to avoid any last-minute hassles? It is hard for me to picture, while living in the real world, to ever get to the point where I had no stress to report. But I am going to try to avoid the peer pressure, so embedded in our media and even our daily small talk to be busy, stay busy, and continue complaining about it! Busy is not a bad word, but the only way to stop the potentially endless, mindless race through mountains of tasks is to apply some mindfulness to the whole mess.

Here’s to the pause that refreshes—originally a 1929 slogan for Coca Cola, but also a great approach on a much deeper level.

Paper Trail

2007-06-30T12:25:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics: Pulp Nonfiction

I suspect I’m not the only in love with paper (see Prose below), while at the same time frustrated with paper clutter and waste. Here are some thoughts on the best and worst of paper:

-This site has 10 tips on reducing paper clutter.

-Here’s another set of brief (but different from above) tips on paper clutter, courtesy of Family Circle.

-The American Forest & Paper Association reports that over 50% of paper is recovered for recycling. Its goal is 55% by 2012. This site contains some good ecologically-oriented links, too.

-Don’t follow my lead on eating paper. Here’s a site warning of the dangers! Maybe this explains my nervous tic.

Here’s a woman after my own heart. This paper designer wants to revive the handwritten letter.

-Another paper lover weighs in on the subject.

Prose on Paper

Yesterday I tossed stacks and stacks of paper into the dumpster at work. I am moving to a new office, and my company does not recycle. I am a bag lady when it comes to my research, hanging onto every scrap in case I need it later. I rarely dig back into the piles once they have formed.

I have a love-hate relationship with paper. It is the continent of books, and its many blank varieties are vast, unexplored territories. I liked it so much that I ate it in grade school —small wads of loose leaf, the blue ink of lines coming wavy in my mouth.

My father, an attorney, brought me to work when I was 4 and 5, and the highlight of the visit was the raiding of his supply closet. Legal pads still call to me, as do the sticker seals that lawyers apply to certain official documents. I am also drawn to accordion folders that come in that particular reddish brown, with generous black elastic that snaps around them.

This paper passion carried into the late August weeks before school, when the LH Martin store filled their downstairs sales floor with high towers of shrink-wrapped paper, spiral-bound notebooks, denim binders, and those little life-preserver sheets of white reinforcements (which tasted quite good, I might add). This rivaled—no, surpassed— the toy department for me.

I never believed conventional “wisdom” that claimed all our books would someday be e-books. Books need to be held. Something is lost if they reside solely behind a screen, ungraspable.

I experienced visceral disturbance at a symposium I traveled to for work. The room where we met with the faculty was one big, misguided minimalist statement. Black lacquered tables, black and white art on the walls, a wall of book shelves, all filled. Here comes the agony: every book was covered in white paper, so the books were nothing more than anonymous shapes, silhouettes of books, no hint of character or history. I peeked beneath the sterile covers: these were shelves of countless authors’ non-bestsellers, spines uncracked, seconds purchased in bulk from some low bidding book outlet. Books that never had a chance and ended their lives as minimalist sculpture. NOW I understand when they say how emotionally affecting décor can be. This made me want to run screaming into the windowless hallway, down the 36 floors and out to the nearest bookstore. There should be a law.

The hate part of my mostly love relationship with paper is the tangled clutter that it can create. I’ve signed the anti-junk mail lists but credit card offers, various and sundry advertisements, pennysavers still crowd our kitchen counter until we get a moment to sort through the mail and feed the recyclables bag our leftovers. I feel the need to print articles at work, and have a system of ordering them and tabbing relevant pages. I am not sure I can ever make this an electronic process, but given the reams that threaten to overtake me maybe I should try. Even my creative writing suffers from paper overload. I have just started saving potential markets online, instead of my usual process: print, forget, lose, find, and finally dispose.

My conflict about paper goes back to one of the simplicity tenets to which I keep circling back: I do not want to acquire, and certainly do not want to keep, anything that serves no real purpose, contributes to chaos, or generates waste. I’ll try again to further staunch the flow of junk paper into my house. I’ll think twice before I hit the print button. But I’ll also relish the crackle and crisp of my favorite medium, be it warehouse stacked, freshly printed, or marked up with marginalia.

Taking Pleasure in the Ache

2007-06-10T15:08:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

Pursuing your passion, especially trying to make it your living, is both simple (duh, just do what you love) and complicated (what if you don't get paid for it? what if you run out of clever ideas?). Here are some sites that offer hope and portray passionate missions of several varieties:

-Here's a delightful visual artist's blog

-Here's a couple who are passionate about photography, nature, travel, and each other. The result? Camera on the Road

-Some intriguing ideas in Tensoriana's blog on 100 ideas to enhance creativity

Prose

I started this blog out of pure pleasure. I am feeling maverick, and wanted to call it “My A#s Hurts and I Couldn’t Be Happier”.

Why is my seat sore? Well, besides sitting and writing for my day job, I have spent additional time seated, one night at Starbuck’s, another at Borders Bookstore, writing my heart out doing freelance work. I am not sure when the sea change occurred, but the assignments I have taken on are imbuing me with hope for my freelance writing future. One, like my day job, is medically oriented. But I am writing it on my own time, enjoying the freedom to just write (not attend meetings, not sign off on administrative stuff), and paying off my new computer with the proceeds. The other assignment is refreshingly nonmedical. I am way undercharging but I am loving the less income-friendly payoffs: communicating with my customer on a shared passion, searching for markets, drafting the perfect query letter. This extra, longing-to-stand-up-and-stretch work is giving me the best of natural buzzes. I am doing what feels fulfilling, doing what moves me, doing it to the point of aching, and wishing for more.

This is the honeymoon phase. Full-time freelance writers, those without a regular job and, thus, a regular paycheck, tell me that with freedom comes uncertainty, lack of direction, and this gets to be a strain. But, oh, how wonderful and simple and joyful to just do what you do best, what you enjoy best, and get paid for it. Like the honeymoon Tom and I enjoyed 17 years ago today, the phase of bliss is a necessary foundation for the phase where you have to stick it out. And, just like Tom and I said about our early love, surely there’s got to be a way to make this concept work for the long haul!

A toast, with my brother John's anniversary gift of white wine, to the joy of new ventures and the pleasure of looking back happily on them.

Organic Psychology

2007-05-26T03:49:00.000-07:00

I have a new person to envy: the author Sue Hubbell. Particularly the Sue Hubbell who documents her beekeeping in A Book of Bees: And How to Keep Them. Part of her routine is to fill a thermos with coffee and go down to watch the bees. I picture her leaning against the warm bark of a tree trunk in the sun, watching carefully and then taking thoughtful notes.

It’s not the bees that I envy, although I do treasure an occasional glimpse into their productive world (note: Hubbell writes that an entomologist who tagged bees [I picture him applying microscopic security bracelets to their hair-thin legs] found that they spent a lot of time idle. A lesson here?). It is the regular contact with nature that I envy.

Yesterday I walked the three miles to work. I’ve had walks with more sights to report, more deer and herons and swans. But yesterday I simply cherished the smell of the day and the marsh warming up and the sun on my face. I smiled at the squirrels, who rattled about the trees bordering the water. In my pocket I carried two elegant and perfect leaves, species unknown. A three-year-old girl waiting for the bus with her sisters chased me to bestow this gift, squeaking “Happy Birthday” as she bestowed them. They were my talisman, my memento of the peaceful start to my day. That walk was the ideal mix of exercise, contact with nature, and contact with people at their best. Older children alone and younger children with their parents waited outside for the school bus, and they, too, seemed to be relishing the quiet and sunny morning. If only I could start every day this way.

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a like-minded soul this week. Michael J. Cohen, a Director of the Institute of Global Education, heads up Project NatureConnect, an initiative that recognizes a link between many of our problems and the extreme disconnection with nature that is epidemic in the modern world, aka Natural System Dysfunction. The remedy? Organic Psychology, an approach that helps reconnect psyches with natural systems. I am intrigued by this mindset, which sounds simple and radical all at once. I am learning more about it. Cohen has been identified as a maverick genius, and there are many layers to his work. My own initial take, looking back on my week, is that children may be good guides for this approach, little organic psychologists or facilitators in their own right. Twice this week Gavin and I let furry caterpillars traverse our arms, and on Wednesday we followed a warty toad as it leapt across our lawn. These moments were graced by a quiet pleasure, a sense of connection, and temporary amnesia from time and tasks at hand.

I love to catch myself at typos and read into their Freudian slips. I often type right instead of write, a very revealing slip for me as writing is what rights me. I chuckled reading back this entry, for at first I typed warty today instead of toad. It is a task-laden day before me, a long list of postponed chores and responsibilities. But later I will relish a walk in the woods, maybe another caterpillar or toad moment. It’s something to look forward to.

New Hope for the Weary Traveler

2007-05-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics: Knowing Your Priorities

It is the mark of great people to treat trifles as trifles and important matters as important.
--Doris Lessing

In this world of what seem to be ever-increasing demands and distractions, it is hard at times to know which end is up, let alone what your priorities are.

-I found this Web site for students a pretty insightful summary of how to determine priorities and manage time accordingly.
-For the vast majority of us who have to work at day jobs that are less than ideal, work-life balance is the next best thing. Here's a WebMD article on how to achieve this balance, as well as a quick quiz to see where you stand.
-This worksheet is a download from a graphic design conference, but I was intrigued enough to print it and look forward to spending some time with it. It is a fairly in-depth exploration of what you want from work and life and where your priorities lie.

Prose: New Hope for the Weary Traveler

It is so easy to get away from what is important to you. My blog is not the full-time writing career I dream about, nor the paid column I long for, but it is, at the very least, my touchstone for the week, my getting back in touch with what’s important.

What is important? Living my life so that I am true to my priorities. These include appreciating my family and friends, remembering and respecting the natural world, making time to reflect and rest, and writing. My effort to simplify is an act of clearing space for these priorities. I know that I am my best self, best wife, best mother, best friend when I‘ve attended to what I know is important.

Sometimes it feels like the world is conspiring against this effort. Friday was eaten up by a dentist visit and errands too numerous to count, laundry and packing, straightening the house, writing notes to the dog sitter, all in preparation for a visit to an old friend. Now that we are back, the house calls to me, desperate for a vigorous vacuum and mop. But I have set my timer and glued my seat to my chair, determined to reflect and write. I know I need this soul medicine. I am glad I know that the chores can wait.

I’m getting smarter in admitting what I can and cannot manage. I took Friday off to prepare, Monday off to recover from our trip. I can’t do that every time I travel, but how much more sane I felt this morning, knowing I could ease Gavin into his day, take some time to myself, take a deep breath and, in effect, press my reset button.

We took a detour on the way home from Pennsylvania to a favorite haunt we don’t get to haunt much anymore, New Hope. New Hope is artsy, quirky, crowded and touristy, a lively blend of culture and ice cream and, this weekend, gay pride. Lots to see, lots to eat, lots to do. And for us, lots of history. Tom first took me here nearly 2 decades ago, when we were dating. We kept coming back for long walks and talks. Later, we used a weekend drive to New Hope, when I was 5 months pregnant and had just learned we were having a boy, to choose Gavin’s name. Gavin sat in his infant carrier seat next to a cafe table here, and toddled on the steps of a grand old church in the center of town, and he remembers neither visit. Yesterday he fed the ducks and reveled in Farley’s Bookshop, a rich old place with piles of delectable reads, pet cats, and secret nooks. He named it his favorite place in New Hope. He is truly his mother’s son.

I always struggle a bit with squeezing things in like this. We got in after midnight, and although Gavin slept in the car I worried about the quality of his rest. But I am glad we pushed the window and made the detour. New Hope is special to all of us, now that Gavin is old enough to process the place. He knows that we chose his name there. He reveled in the waterfall and the ducks and the canal. He wants to go back to Farley’s. I often write about simplifying as doing less, but in this case attending to a priority (reconnecting with a town so good for our family’s soul) meant doing more, maybe sacrificing some rest, but for lots of emotional reward in exchange. It simplified things in that it brought me, really all of us, back to a mindset of joy and interest and appreciation. I am so glad we went, so happily tired.

The lesson here for me is an important one, because there were other things this weekend that tired me too. Things too personal for this blog, but the lesson is one I want to share: if you are going to exert your energy, if you are going to wear yourself out, make sure what you are doing is really worth the exertion and the potential aftermath! If you are going to get tired, try to get happily tired as often as possible.

Ants, The Tao, and, always, Simplicity

2007-05-06T03:15:00.000-07:00

Note: I am pleased that I will be published in Simple Living America’s anthology Get Satisfied: How Twenty People Like You Found the Satisfaction of Enough. Watch this space for more information.

The ants finally came this week. We’d purchased a National Geographic Ant Farm for Gavin at Christmas time and mailed away for its inhabitants.

The package said to refrigerate them, to “calm them down” before the big move from vial to farm (does hypothermia calm anyone down?). Then, I tapped and they fell, great heaps of them, upon the gooey green gel that will be their home, their food, and, finally, their resting place.

I can’t help but draw parallels to humans. What if my neighborhood, most of us outside for long-postponed lawn maintenance in the May sun, had been scooped up into a tube, dumped out into a house of meat? I don’t think we’d consider the free food some sort of paradise. Still, we’d eat to survive, try to replicate the homes we’d been torn from (as closely as we could with meat). We’d chat just like we had on the asphalt of our old street, only now on meat paving, while Gavin played with toys made of meat. (I don’t think his scooter would roll very well.)

I peered in, overlooking the stereotypical industrious ants and focusing instead on the corpses (or pieces of corpses) that didn’t survive the journey. The anniversary of the Hindenburg has just passed, and (always one to take a metaphor too far), all I heard in my head was Oh, the humanity. Okay, maybe not humanity. But, oh, the unfairness and sadness of being uprooted, of stepping over corpses that had tumbled out with you. Also, they have lost their leader. Federal law prevents shipping of queen harvester ants.

I’m coping now, just as the ants are. I mean, the deed is done. We can’t return them. Tom pointed out that in a big colony those ants were probably used to stepping over corpses to begin with, inevitable with the large community containing infant to elderly. Small, strange comfort there.

It’s 5 something AM on Sunday, my best writing time, and I have to work through the restlessness caused by the ants upstairs. What does any of this have to do with inching toward simplicity, my beloved theme? The only metaphor I can draw is compassion.

Many proponents of the simpler life talk about how releasing burdensome, nonmeaningful things, be they habits, possessions, or attitudes, goes beyond simple, egocentric de-stressing and works to free up compassion. There is less to get in the way of connecting. A Simplicity as Compassion course designed for churches builds on this premise as a way of connecting with the earth and to people affected by environmental degradation.

It turns out there is an old tradition of connecting simplicity with compassion. Lao-Tzu listed them as two of the greatest treasures, with a third important element in between: patience. I love that I learned this at Tao Logic, which seems to be an unusually evolved Web site design/consulting group. They talk about patience in the context of page loads and site specifications, and for the first time I can relate to “techies”. Also, a nice insight into how you can bring your belief system into whatever you do.

I got more information on the Three Jewels of the Tao from Wikipedia: Simple in actions and in thoughts, you return to the source of being. Patient with both friends and enemies, you accord with the way things are. Compassionate toward yourself, you reconcile all beings in the world. I am not sure who wrote the entry, but like how they explained Lao-Tzu further: Simplicity is extremely important in Taoist philosophy in that complex actions generally are destructive and can upset the natural balance of the universe by imparting too much intellectual yang structure into a person's actions. Acting in simplicity allows for one to lead a more harmonious life without having to deal with complex social constructs that can arise from living in that complexity. The more simplistic an action, the truer that action can be from that individual. Patience is also key in Taoism in that the lack of patience is caused by wants.

Reading this, I am reminded of patience as a great connector. For me, more need to sit quietly and think. To sometimes observe rather than act. To stop for a rest. To lower my "to do list" standards.

This morning, Taoism. Later, a return to our Congregational church after 2 weeks off for Vegas. All thought provoking, all good moves on a Sunday morning overrun with ants.

Leaving Las Vegas: Thoughts on the Power of Place

2007-04-29T07:09:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

Wendell Berry said, If you don't know where you are, you don't know where you are going. Some links that look at sense of place and how it connects with both the personal and the ecological:

-Writers and artists love to philosophize on the meaning of place, how we connect to place, how place affects us (see my own philosophizing in prose below!). One great example: the travel anthology A Sense of Place.
-This Web site has some great quotes on the sense of place we derive from home and garden.
-More and more school curriculums are realizing the need for children to understand their local ecology, and how it connects to the world at large. Here’s one of many curriculum links on the topic.
-Richard Louv coins a new term, Nature Deficit Disorder, in Last Child in the Woods. He doesn’t define the term medically – his book is a look at the increasing disconnection of children from their natural surroundings, and the importance of reconnection. Ditto for adults, I say.

Prose

I’ve spent a week in Las Vegas, the anti-simplicity capitol of the world. I was surrounded by noise, flashing lights, and larger-than-life artifice. The hotels are in a one-upmanship race for the biggest attraction. We saw lions pacing in glass tunnels at MGM, an almost-authentic joust at Excalibur, and the Eiffel Tower at (where else?) Paris, Vegas. I got a good feel for how the rich get bored. Every possibility for indulgence and amazement, and still even Gavin’s eyes began to glaze over. Man made thrills have no real staying power. They are sugar highs.

It may not be my favorite destination, but work got me to Vegas and I was glad to stay on and vacation with Tom and Gavin. We loved the deep bathtub in our hotel. We savored our lunch in Paris. Faux as they were, the cobblestones and patisserie storefronts conveyed a warm European ambiance. We won money in the slots after many failed attempts. Enough to cover all that we had gambled away, and perhaps a few of our meals.

After a couple of days of glitz overdose, I craved fresh air and quiet moments. A stroll through the indoor conservatory at The Bellagio helped. Sunlight streamed in through the high paned ceiling, and I marveled at the floral displays and exotic butterflies. Our trip to Hoover Dam provided some desert scenery and a walk in the high, dry air. I took in brown, black, and orange mountain ranges and tons of sagebrush, so foreign to my East Coast eye.

Tom and I have already started to plan a Vegas antidote – a camping trip somewhere local when we return to Connecticut. He surfed around on the Internet, looking at tent deals (our last one, the one we spent our engagement trip in, went to mildew and rot). We crave a wooded campsite by some water (some real water free of pennies, dimes, fountains, light shows, and chlorine) and long nights contemplating the stars.

Vegas does not seem compatible with writing – not the kind I do, anyway. Living here for a week (and I am still here, in the airport) has made me think a lot about place and how it affects us. I watched strangers relax in the sunlight of the conservatory, and I swear I watched their faces take on a hard look in the casino. Not immediately, and not when they were winning, but most of the time.

Can you be anywhere and still manage to achieve inner peace? Can you be surrounded by slot machines and billboards and push them aside mentally, focus on deeper thoughts, on true priorities that reside far from money and celebrity? Thinking about my own experience of leaving crowded suburbia behind, I think it requires more effort in some environments. It can be done, but you might have to crank up your mental energy to stay with what’s real.

Postscript: I am glad to be back in the place I call home. Looking forward to a long walk later.

Stealing Time, or Stealing Beauty

2007-04-22T03:01:00.000-07:00

I’ve let the blog slip, a bit. I’ve let life crowd it out.

Listen to those friends who remind you to persist in whatever you love, to take time for it. Steal time, if you must. Stealing time to write, for me, is stealing beauty. Even when I don’t make it to the computer, I turn over a title, a story in my head. Yesterday, as I washed thick soot off of fire-damaged fine china, I thought about the wealthy great grandmother I never met, described by my mother as rich in possessions but poor in warmth and generosity. I thought about the legacy of families, how our tendencies trickle down through generations, how we are blessed by our heritage but also must fight its bad habits, its demons. All this, a baby plot for a novel (never mind that I don’t write fiction) while I stood at the sink.

I have a day of tasks before me. A big trip tomorrow. Lists to make, suitcases to pack, work papers to sort, a house to clean, a husband with an injured foot whose best hope for navigating the airport is to rest today.

When I set up this blog, I planned to start each entry with some pragmatic tips, only then letting open the floodgates to philosophizing. But sometimes I want to avoid pragmatism. The most effective start for my day, a day all about productivity and completion, is to sit and think, to re-sort priorities. Push aside the tips and tricks, the efficiencies for a moment. Let my day be driven, or at least started, by what I desire.

I got a kick out my mom yesterday, for I saw myself in her. She lacks a computer since the house fire, so I printed the blogs she has missed. She pored over them with keen interest, eager to phone me with commentary and encouragement. It reminded me of how I examine Gavin’s drawings from school, wonder at his imagination, display them for all the family to see. I encourage him, as my mom encourages me. As my sister, husband, and friends encourage me. So I had to get back here, if only for a quick dip in the oasis of creativity that teases from the horizon. If only to acknowledge this part of myself that has to wait today while I hustle and bustle. I’ve made a list of small writing projects to bring along. I hope for, savor the possibility of more stolen beauty, early mornings at the hotel room writing desk in Las Vegas.

PS: The movie Stealing Beauty has great footage from Tuscany, a real treat for the eyes (as is Liv Tyler, its star). More than that, I remember its soundtrack, my first introduction to Nina Simone, and her classic My Baby Just Cares for Me. Great music to pack to, if I can find the tape.

Bringing Simplicity Home

2007-04-09T03:31:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

This week, I found myself stunned to find décor magazines recommending at least 2 sinks per kitchen. Apparently appliance garages are essential (can I get a remote door opener with that?), and one article that implied a “simple” cottage lifestyle gushed, The more “stuff” you have in your cottage style rooms, the more it will feel like you have been collecting for years. Below, some thoughts that buck the madness too much stuff, too much to do, and the exhaustion that can result:

-Care2’s got it right in this Simplicity Overhaul piece on making time for what really matters. I like the idea of listing priorities (for me, family time, writing time, and nature) and then identifying some of the day-to-day obstacles.
-I didn’t realize it was all Walt Disney’s fault. If you have 5 minutes read National Geographic’s The Theme-Parking, Megachurching, Franchising, Exurbing, McMansioning of America. This is a reflection on the collective mess that can occur with skewed priorities and poor planning.
-“Less is more” seems to be making its way even into high-tech machines and systems. But it seems America is conflicted on this point. I love this quote from the Fast Company article The Beauty of Simplicity: The market for simplicity is complex. If I offer you a VCR with only one button, it's not all that exciting, even if when you use it, it's likely to be easier.

Prose

I wrote above about the exhaustion that comes with too much. The links I provided are focused mostly on too much stuff, or the pollution of clutter (be it household, community, or even visual aesthetics). But it goes beyond the physical realm, of course.

The clutter for me, of late, has been the clutter of responsibility. When so much is expected of you, how do you clear the decks, how do you make way for a life that feels more livable? This is what I have been struggling with over recent weeks, so much so that I wrote nothing last week.

Maybe the first lesson is to surround yourself with the right kind of support. I wither when I don’t write, so I finally got back to the computer today. But I might have delayed it even further had Linda (my godsend of a sister) not encouraged me to write, if only for 10 minutes.

I took a small step at work and begged off of a business trip so that my workload stays manageable. There’s still a long list of projects waiting for me, but now I’ve gained an extra day to address them. I need to do more of that.

The responsibility of relationships can be a struggle. I have learned to keep an eye on my family role, often self appointed, of helper and coordinator. I am learning, quite painfully sometimes, when to pull back, when to let others make mistakes, how to focus on my own needs.

Lowering unrealistic standards really helps, and I brought that into play this weekend. I tend not to invite people over unless I’ve just cleaned. These days, this habit translates to not much company! I realized that my friend Pam will remain a friend even if I have dirty dishes in the sink and an unvacuumed floor. This letting go meant that Gavin had precious play hours with Sara, the 6-year-old love of his life, and Pam and I got to have a long-postponed, honest-to-goodness conversation.

Here’s to a new week with clear decks and new possibilities.

Sense Meditation

2007-03-26T01:57:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

Making Sense of it All

So much of simplicity is recognizing what is immediately available, savoring one’s surroundings rather than constantly seeking more. Some thoughts on the texture and connectedness that our senses contribute:

-Here’s an article on using your five senses to live in the moment.

-DIY planner has a thought-provoking article on using the senses to create.

-I love this writer’s approach: a tour of Philadelphia by the senses.

Prose

Sense Meditation

It was a crowded weekend: helping my mom and brother move into their rental, a night out with friends, church, errands, and finally, some acutely-craved time at home.

The moments that stand out when I reflect surprise me. This weekend, among other things, it was the softness of the well worn, slip covered sofa on my family’s new porch. I wished both my mom and brother good long naps out there, and also imagined one for myself as the spring sunlight filtered in through the screen. I thought of how Poppy, my mom’s father, loved to sleep on the screened porch’s settee when the weather cooperated. Good genes, this enthusiasm for sleep, fresh air, and their synergistic combination.

In church the story of Martha anointing Jesus’ feet caught my attention most. Not the theological considerations, but the perfume. I imagined its headiness, its incense-like, oily weight and how the scent must have lingered in Martha’s hair. The pastor filled in the scene, complete with the empty tomb of the recently risen Lazarus just out in the yard, and I swear I pictured a silver screen door looking out to a picnic table and a Biblical-era tomb. Smelled the perfume, saw through the screen door, and relished the sensual pathway that my mind carved toward the deeper story.

With Gavin, the sensation I noticed most was the tangible unknotting of my stomach when he finally yielded to my motherly ministrations. He had hurt his foot the day before, but insisted on limping along for most of the day, stubbornly refusing to sit and rest his legs. Our physical relief was in complete unison when he finally let me lift him into our shopping cart, when he leaned back and appreciated the rest.

What I’m thinking about today is how important physicality and sensuality is, and how it connects us to truths that go beyond the senses. I jotted down some favorite lyrics from a Chris Smither song, Small Revelations. The words reminded me that with all of this deep thought on what’s important, what practices create stress, how to achieve simplicity, one comforting thought is that our senses, so often ignored or taken for granted, are the immediately available link to some really meaningful stuff: passion is feeling in motion; compassion is standing still…hearing is letting it happen; to listen’s a work of will. I have to acknowledge my feelings and my passion before I contemplate compassion; I have to just plain hear before I can step up to really listen. Being here, just being here and taking it all in with my five senses, is often enough, but it has the added benefit of also getting me “there”, to the deeper places I want to go.

Spring Thaw

2007-03-18T06:35:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

What is there to say about spring that is pragmatic? I guess I could find some spring cleaning tips, or precautionary strategies regarding mud season for the Vermonters. But my only gesture toward simplicity today is just plain appreciation.

Prose

I am an armchair river rat. My books this week: Edward Abbey (Down the River) and Robert James Waller (Just Beyond the Firelight). Abbey waxes more profound and Waller more pragmatic, but they both wear their river affection on their sleeves (and I don’t enjoy it as nearly much when they write on other themes). Despite Waller and Abbey’s credentials, I still prize above theirs a more obscure book on a river journey that I read years ago, Yukon Wild by Beth Johnson. Johnson speaks in a more familiar female voice as she chronicles her journey with three women into Alaska. They have better fireside chats. So I can more easily ease myself into that canoe and take off.

To top off Abbey, Waller, and Johnson, I have been dipping into Mary Oliver’s poetry. Mary, although not in a canoe, finds herself near the water quite a lot. Oceans, rivers, swamps, waterfalls, you name it. She seems obsessed with lilies, water birds, and the like. I like her thoughts, her enthused appreciation. She would be a prize walking companion (although she might be too busy mentally crafting poems to interact).

Thinking back on what I thought were random book choices, it finally dawned on me that what I am craving is spring. Yes, I’d also like someday to undertake a long canoe journey, but what I am seeking in these books is soft air and an early thaw. Our driveway outside is a sheet of ice, but only days before this coating descended I walked the three miles to work on a balmy, spring-like morning. The morning was quiet, and mostly I listened to my own breath as I determinedly ascended (and gratefully descended) Deep River’s and Chester’s gentle hills. Not quite halfway through, the rain came, first in gentle fingers and then thick and steady. I was unprepared, but at least spared a full force torrent. I knew I’d look ragged at work, but I treasured what felt like sole ownership of the morning, and the rain seemed to heighten this sense of possession. I looked out through my water-spotted glasses at the boggy marsh and sighed. Things were thawing and I could smell peat and new growth. Despite yesterday’s frozen aftermath, that walk was my personal proof that spring is undeterred. By the calendar it is only four days away.

Last week I wrote about the hardship of a house fire in our family, and the awful chill that this loss created is also starting to thaw. The coworkers who showered (and continue to shower) my family with gifts can have no idea of the impact, of the hope that this gesture presented. And finally there is a rental house on the near horizon, a house near the burnt house, two blocks’ walk from beach. A perch from which to regroup, renew, to decide what to do. I am hoping that my mom can resume her walks to the water, that spring will call into the windows and awaken more hope.

Corned beef and cabbage in the crock pot and spring nearly sprung. A great Sunday combination.

Enforced Simplicity

2007-03-11T08:50:00.000-07:00

Pragmatics

For pragmatic reasons (see Prose below), my pragmatics section is short and to the point this week.

Peter Menzel’s Material World: A Global Family Portrait is a book worth viewing. Photographs from around the globe capture statistically “average” families and their possessions, a thought-provoking visual reflection on the material disparities in the world. Viewing these photos also led me to think of all those who fall below the statistical average in their already impoverished countries.

Prose

I skipped my blog last week, and need to summon extra energy for this week’s entry. But I feel compelled to write, to capture the swirl of emotion and disjointed thoughts that have arisen from an unexpected turn, voluntary simplicity thrown onto its ear.

The top floor of my mom and brother’s house, just 15 minutes away, is irrevocably charred from a sudden and voracious house fire. Both Mom and John escaped without harm, and even their little dachshund Lilly got out unscathed. But the house is unlivable at least for several months.

Here, suddenly, we have an ugly, involuntary simplicity. It is ugly because of the exhaustion that comes from restocking even the most basic of supplies, soap to prescription medication to stamps. It is ugly because of the mental strain of rethinking permanent living arrangements, wondering where to live in the interim, finding a place for Lilly (no pets at hotels or rentals), etc, etc. When will the shock of being even temporarily homeless wear off, when will the strain of reconfiguring every aspect of day-to-day life lift?

Before my family recomposed itself, started the long lists for the first trips to Walmart and the like, I gathered what I could to help my family have some basic comforts. Some basic “starter” outfits, toiletries, pens, pads, utensils, snacks and beverages. It felt important to add simple pleasures: books and magazines to leaf through, my mom’s perfume, family photos. We pulled mom’s rosary and a sentimentally valuable bracelet out of the ash and rubble. There was nothing retrievable from my brother’s room: he must start entirely from scratch.

Despite feeling overwhelmed, my Mom was quick to point out that she had an expanded sympathy for the Katrina survivors, who had little or no resources to fall back on. An insurance check should help cover some, but not all, of my family’s losses. But, even knowing this, the emotional aftermath feels unrelenting.

There are lessons here. The first for me: I have so much to give away. My mom and I are roughly the same size, so I gathered clothes and shoes, jacket, pocketbook, sleepwear that I will not miss. John is much larger than my husband, but still we managed socks and jacket, tons of toiletries leftover from business trips.

Another important lesson, one my family has missed during past tragedies like the loss of my father and the disabling mental illness of one member: ask for and accept help. A mention of the fire at a church consignment store where my mom replaced some of her wardrobe brought out immediate generosity in the form of a big discount. My embarrassing tears at work one day had my coworkers gathering around me, quick to offer solace, quick to go further and take up a collection for my family, complete strangers to them. Despite the loss we remain blessed in so many ways.

All of this leads to thoughts of those in the world who seem permanently devastated: the impoverished, the flood survivors, orphans of war and genocide—the people who, in addition to having have no economic resources, have no one to turn to. How little they live on, how much small sacrifices from each of us might make a difference for them. In Voluntary Simplicity, Duane Elgin writes that those who gravitate toward this practice tend to feel a compassionate concern for the world’s poor; a simpler life fosters a sense of kinship with people around the world and thus a concern for social justice and equity in the use of the world’s resources…Tend to involve themselves with compassionate causes…

My attitude toward intentional simplicity is deepening, extending beyond the desire to have less clutter, toward living with less so that others may have more. I know it is not that simple: it is important not to assume that cutting back on a handful of luxuries will change the world. There are politics to be aware of, injustices that must be corrected. But certainly the impulse is one in a good direction, one heightened by my own small personal taste of deprivation over the last two weeks.

Carpe Diem

2007-02-25T04:02:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

The pursuit of a simplified existence is rarely defined in black and white (and, ironically, sometimes feels complicated!). After calling time a construct (see Prose below), it seems a bit contradictory to talk about time management. But, while realizing the illusions, the false gods we can create with time, we also need to manage our very real, time-driven work and home schedules more efficiently. We also need to take a hard look at how our society values (or devalues) time.

Some timely tips:

-I love that this about.com time management column starts with realize that time management is a myth. The column, intended for the frenzied, points out the obvious: there are only 24 hours in a day, no matter how organized you may become! After that it supplies some very pragmatic tips and links to help harness those 24 hours (well, at least the waking ones).

-This article is appealing because it promises to help save 1 hour/day, and gives a menu of easy suggestions that can add up to that hour pretty painlessly.

-Here’s an interesting fact sheet on Time Poverty. It is tied into the Take Back Your Time movement, which calls for societal changes in attitudes towards work time.

Prose

I grew up hearing carpe diem and loved the enthusiasm in its translation: seize the day. The image that comes for me with the phrase is that of passionate hands, my hands, grabbing the day by its shoulders and looking into its eyes steadily, appreciatively.

The Latin phrase comes from Horace’s Odes Book I, and the whole original verse is translated as:

While we're talking, envious time is fleeing: seize the day, put no trust in the future

I contemplated time quite a bit this week. I had President’s Day off and added two vacation days to make a five-day weekend. Just the thought of this stretch made me giddy, but I agonized over how to spend my long-awaited window of time. Catch up with family, friends? Tackle those household tasks that never get done? Schedule time alone?

After spending a rare long weekend with family, I still craved time alone to write. I called my favorite writing home away from home, Mercy Center, aka Mercy by the Sea. For a small donation, I could spend the day at Mercy, overlooking the seascape, writing like a fiend, and undisturbed by anyone. I gave more than the expected amount. Had I the means I would have thrown bags of money at these quiet people, grateful for the space of this day.

It took me only a half hour to get into my writing groove, and I wrote for at least five hours, taking a break for the day’s lunch special, seafood gumbo. My contentedness seasoned my food deliciously. I covered a specific theme (simplicity, what else!) for a specific contest. I was on fire with motivation.

Even as I savored my writing nirvana, it was not enough. When it comes to writing time, my favorite phrase is if only. I drool over fellowships and grants in Poets and Writers. I think, if only I had the time, I could write that masterpiece.

Thought-provoking commentaries on time fell like rain onto my path this week. The March/April issue of Poets and Writers had a piece on The Writer’s Triangle, described by Caitlin O’Neil as the metaphorical vortex writers get pulled into while trying to balance making a living, …[their] literary lives, and staying connected to the world around them. The article led me to realize that even writers who do have the luxury of time still struggle to make good use of that time, to stay balanced, ironically perhaps even more so than writers who squeeze writing between their day jobs and family obligations.

I finally dug deeper into Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life, by Gregg Levoy. He talked about spending nearly a decade thinking if only I had a nice fat chunk of time to write what I really wanted…I’d do it in something more than the fits and starts that…characterized my pursuit. When finally granted the time, Levoy realized that lack of time wasn’t the real obstacle to pursuing his dream. There were fears and misperceptions that stood in the way, that required real contemplation before any real progress could be made.

Apparently the universe really wants to drive this time message home. This morning my e-mail box contained a message from Amazon.com at the top, heralding the book Take Your Time: How to Find Patience, Peace, and Meaning. Time has turned around and grabbed me by the shoulders, particularly with the phrase put no trust in the future from Horace’s carpe diem verse. This doesn’t mean I won’t plan for the future; this doesn’t mean I won’t someday write creatively on a full-time basis. But I hear my grandfather Poppy’s voice along with Horace: Don’t wish your life away. This means write now, right now.

My sister Linda, fresh with inspiration from a children’s writer/illustrator conference, recounted one successful author’s story of writing 10 minutes a day. As a mother of four, 10 minutes was all she had. But she used that tiny slice of every day until she had a book. How could I, the mother of one, not be motivated by this kind of determination?

Time, like money, is a man made construct, and often an illusion. Like an oasis in the desert, free time can evaporate or morph when you finally reach what you thought was its location. Any parent can tell you this is true, because time suddenly changes shape when you have a child. At Gavin’s 5th birthday party yesterday the speed of time was more apparent than ever. I can still recall the stretched feeling of pregnancy, the impatient wait for labor with clarity. I never thought he’d be rid of diapers, or able to listen to reason. I am positively misty eyed at the rush in which Gavin is growing up, and now I want time to slow down. Of course, time waits for no man (nor boy, nor wistful mother).

Today, at the library, I will look for Take Your Time: How to Find Patience, Peace, and Meaning, and see where this particular message leads me. In the meantime, I’ve had my writing and reflection time, my daily dose of carpe diem.

The Reign of Clutter

2007-02-18T03:42:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

If you type in “clutter” in Google or on Amazon, the list of hits is mind-boggling, and, of course, quite cluttered. I am as annoyed with the sources that suggest acquiring multiple “organizing tools” as a solution to clutter as with those who recommend buying a plethora of items to simplify your life. These sources have been screened for the commercial “solution”, and include some thoughts about attitude and community:

-No one can accuse the FlyLady of not being task oriented. But she also recommends time for breaks, and actually encourages slow progress!
-Here’s a great list of suggestions on where to donate all that stuff you clear.
-A piece I wrote on the clutter of technology.
-Here’s a blog on an author who decided to root for clutter in A Perfect Mess. I might not go that far, but he does make the argument that obsessing over organization can diminish creativity. (This has been true for me at times).

Prose

It’s been a cluttered week. Tom’s work schedule had him traveling and typing at all hours, and I felt worn thin from the pace of my own job. A Nor’easter left a coating of ice on everything. Inside, the sink has filled, the laundry has gone unfolded, and stacks of papers (Gavin’s art work, notices from school, paperwork to complete) obscure the kitchen counter.

The too frequent presence of clutter in our lives makes me stop and think about what is wrong. This is what feels wrong: being stingy with time for Gavin so I can catch up with the house, wondering if I will ever get time to write, rushing most of the time so I can fit a long list of tasks into a short period of time. It’s a common American malady, this race to the finish line that keeps moving, the “treadmill” lifestyle. Tom and I have talked about solutions to the physical clutter: a better routine, even a biweekly housekeeper (neither has happened: the crunch of time and money has precluded any tangible fix). This week I realized that, while the piles on the counter are very real, a lot of the problem is in how I frame it.

I appreciated Chris Bohjalian’s attitude toward his house (not to mention his fine writing) in Idyll Banter: Weekly Excursions to a Very Small Town, a collection of his Vermont-based essays. Many house-related tasks he mentions are delayed, done at a minimum level, or not done at all. The guy sounds far from lazy, but he in effect shrugs and grins about his unchecked lists. I could use some of that.

I mopped some floors yesterday, and hand-washed a mountain of pots and pans too big for the dishwasher. It helps to be part of a team: Gavin took great pleasure in mopping (even the walls at one point) and vacuuming. We enjoyed the lemony smell of our clean floors and decided, despite the many unfinished tasks that beckoned, to get out and have some fun. We headed for Borders, for a café “date” and some stories in the kid’s section.

We stopped for a factory outlet White Sale first, for desperately needed new towels. We were both exhausted from our housekeeping. Gavin dozed in his booster seat, and I sat in the sunny parking lot, sighed, and stretched. The store could wait. Too wound up for a nap myself, I took great pleasure in the extra time Gavin’s nap allowed. I soaked up the satisfying warmth beaming through our car window. I started to sort out the yes, clutter, in my purse, and found unfinished Christmas thank you notes. In the warm, silent car, I thanked all who were generous with their gifts and with their thoughts, especially toward Gavin. These were the best thank yous I ever penned, because I wanted to write them. The sense of obligation was replaced with one of connection and awareness. This is a substitution that really satisfies: less I musts, more reflection and appreciation.

Right now I am reflecting and appreciating that I am on Day Two of a five-day weekend. I’ve got some closet cleaning slated for my time off. But there’s also family time today and tomorrow, and a day to myself on Tuesday. And the pleasure of fluffy new towels, many years overdue.

2007-02-11T11:55:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

The Promise of a Good Book

For those pursuing a simplified lifestyle, books and libraries are immediate friends. A list below of good books on simplicity, books that changed the world, the treasure that is the library, subversive literature placement, and pro-library propaganda:

-Living simply now is a low key Web site, refreshing in its sparseness, its very basic common sense tips on immediate strategies that stave off unnecessary chaos. Its book list is a good start for voluntary simplicity reads.

-Books, while they may not all change the world, are transformative. Here is one opinion on the 16 books that changed the world. This second list hones in on books that changed the world for women.

-How to “release your books into the wild”.

-It turns out that February is Library Lovers Month. Consider supporting your local library. It is the sort of egalitarian resource that most of us take for granted.

-This history of librarians includes a list of famous ones: Mao Tse Tung, J. Edgar Hoover, and…Casanova?!

Prose

Raised at the Library

Mom and I both love a bargain, so Saturdays often find us at a consignment store or factory outlet, sometimes armed with a list but more often discovering, when we get there, items that we “need”. In the summer, tag sales are added to the mix. I will always enjoy a bargain, but lately have become more aware of how often the need to spend is created versus actual. Gavin, a seasoned shopper at 5, is usually with Mom and me on these consumer quests, but he has his limits. His presence precludes reaching a fever pitch in our mini shopping frenzies. Still, something felt a bit amiss on some Saturdays of late. Shopping is far less important to me than it once was, and yet it has remained the most likely activity for many weekends.

Only recently did I think back on my own childhood Saturdays. What did Saturdays with Mom mean when I was a kid? The library, most often. We were raised strictly but the library meant freedom. We were set loose inside; no book was off limits. This was a safe place, a hallowed place, a place full of possibility. My sense memories of the library are immediate: the crackling sound of plastic book jackets, the distinctive smells of new (inky) and older (musty) books, the soft, carpeted footfalls that came and went past my chosen aisle.

The books I read there and the books I took home were too numerous to count. I remember the satisfaction with which we emerged, arms piled high with our choices. Our tastes were eclectic, and this was encouraged. I remember the usual kid’s reading fare, but I also remember books on medical anomalies, making money, and beauty secrets. We devoured our books in time for the due date, and returned the old pile eager to devour more.

Driving by our local library has felt like driving by an estranged friend’s house. With full-time work and our entrenched Saturday shopping habit, I’d framed the place as unattainable. The library’s hours are limited, and the few evenings it stays open late never seem to mix well with work and Day Care fatigue. It’s hard to go home and then venture back out, so on our rare evening visits we arrive hungry and keep the visit short.

Given the sacred place of the library in my own childhood, I’m surprised it took this long for Mom, Gavin, and me to plan a Saturday afternoon at the library. Gavin ran right for the kids’ wing, and Mom and I plopped down on the cushioned bench nearby. He chose book after book, a stereotypical boy in his creepy and crawly selections. My mom read several stories in an animated voice of professional stage caliber. Gavin took short literature recesses to dive into the playhouse jammed with stuffed animals.

I wandered off and came back with three selections: essays on country life, a book on the writing life, and another book on finding your calling. Even that short browse recaptured the feeling of freedom and possibility. I felt like a child again as I displayed my selections and Mom murmured enthusiasm and approval. I found two favorite books for Gavin: Diary of a Worm, and Shel Silverstein’s classic Where the Sidewalk Ends. He added The House that Drac Built , a delightfully scary picture book that taught me what a manticore was (half lion, half scorpion with a human head), to our growing pile.

This past Saturday felt like a full circle, and I am hoping there will be many more of these happy outings. I was raised at the library, and I am grateful that my mom saw the importance of this place. I am even more grateful that we found our way back.

2007-02-03T03:08:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

Waste Not, Want Not

This week had me thinking about food quite a bit. (See Prose below for some thoughts on Jane Goodall’s thought-provoking book). How it is mass produced, how it is wasted, how it is a series of whims for some and a desperate need for others. Here are some links in the spirit of making mindful food choices:

-I missed the news flash and did a double take when I read that Wal-Mart went organic last year. This certainly doesn’t mean all organic, not by a mile, and there are plenty of critics. Still, it’s a hopeful sign that shows the market supports more thoughtful consumerism. If all of those organic Wal-Mart shoppers could start influencing what the giant carries in the “crunchy” aisle, we might begin some real progress.
-It seems a lot of evolving vegetarians drop fish last (or keep the fish and call themselves pesco-vegetarians). One revelation is that even more “healthful” choices, including fish and veggies, can be rife with contamination (pesticides, antibiotics, hormones, genetic modification). Here’s a link to a pocket-sized guide to fish choices categorized as best, good, and “to avoid” by the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s Seafood Watch.
-Jane Goodall’s book is featured on a Web site by the same name. One appeal for me is the pragmatic (vs fanatic) approach by Dr. Goodall. The book does not scream you must be vegetarian, but initially suggests perhaps you want to consider eating less meat (the vegetarian chapter comes later, and doesn’t feel preachy). It doesn’t moan about the end of civilization, but actually suggests things you can do that might help diminish animal abuses and environmental waste. Her home page includes a list of What You Can Do.
-It’s encouraging to see some thoughtful discussion of food waste by our government. Here’s the EPA’s Waste Not, Want Not page on food recovery (aka avoiding disposal of viable foods).
- Many of us stock up on nonperishable items that gather dust even as we make new shopping lists. A simple tip I read in a women’s magazine: when money is tight, see how long you can be innovative with your pantry. Pull out that can of beans, that rice, that pasta, those stewed tomatoes, etc, and see what you can create. Simple choices like this, made regularly, have the potential to go beyond your pocketbook, to engender more mindful habits and lessen your personal contributions to wastefulness and its environmental effects.

Prose

Tomatoes, Psychosocial Theory, and a Second Chance

I found myself looking up Erik Erikson, a theorist I learned about in psychology class years ago. The way he set up his stages of life, from trust vs mistrust (infancy) through ego integrity vs despair (old age) captured for me how each stage of life carries a crisis, a conflict, a riddle to be solved.

I chuckled in recognition when I looked up my middle age stage: generativity vs stagnation. This means I am supposed to be productive and raising children, as well as thinking about my impact on future generations and the world at large. According to Wikipedia, my central task for this stage is creativity. That’s a relief, as I feel I am always struggling to express my creativity. I was reminded that every day, every work assignment, every parenting decision, every big thought about the environment or political injustices is creative, too. No wonder my writing pen sometimes runs dry.

I had a lot of big thoughts this week, beyond psychosocial theory to God and the afterlife. I rode out two medical tests, which turned out negative. I got to experience, almost literally, the swell of a joyous soundtrack playing just over my head when I found out I was in the clear. Before that moment of relief, all the while observing how melodramatic my life had become, I rethought what was important, and how I would live my life differently if given the chance.

All of that deep contemplation is a piece much larger than this blog will allow, but the book that kept me company as I scheduled my test, waited for it, and finally received results, was Harvest for Hope: A Guide to Mindful Eating by Jane Goodall. It lent new perspective on how essential it is to be thoughtful about not only what you put into your body but also how your habits of consumption mark the world. It was also a rather sickening confirmation of the waste, thoughtlessness, and greed that drives much of the food economy. In my effort to inch toward simplicity I may also be inching toward vegetarianism. I was reassured to learn that for many, including Dr. Goodall herself, this is a gradual process, as I am challenged by the thought of radically restructuring my diet.

Jane used a great quote that lightened things up for me: It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a home-grown tomato (Lewis Grizzard). The wise guy in me couldn’t resist piping in: Tomatoes, the new Prozac. But this simple remark carries, at first, the memory of succulent fresh tomato sandwiches from my first tomato garden. Then it makes me think about the joy derived from small moments and the satisfaction of small but wise decisions (the decision to stop and make that tomato sandwich, the decision to grow your own or shop organic at the local Farmer’s Market). Another great decision for me this week was the decision to play. I made sure Gavin and I had extra time before school yesterday, and helped him struggle into his snow pants and Power Ranger boots. We scooped up what little snow had accumulated off of his slide, the cars in the driveway and had a long-awaited snowball fight. Great as this moment was, I was far from disappointed to hear that the Groundhog finally predicted an early spring. Punxsutawny Phil (aka the Groundhog) had me thinking about Lyme Farmer’s Market (although more of a summer endeavor) and the absolutely requisite cup of Ashlawn Farm coffee (also organic) that every trip there entails. Perhaps this is the place where my budding vegetarianism will finally blossom.

Generativity vs stagnation: I can think of worse tasks to undertake. This is a good stage to stay in for a while.

2007-01-27T06:20:00.000-08:00

Pragmatics

It seems all of America -- okay, the world -- is a bit conflicted about television. Here are some links related to the ongoing battle:

-The successful PBS shows, Affluenza and Escape from Affluenza, ironically recommended selling your TV to free up your valuable time. Here's an Affluenza crash course on living a simpler life.
-The Media Awareness Network points out some potential benefits of television and includes thought-provoking questions to help parents choose wisely.
-Reading this American Psychological Association report on TV advertising and its effects on children may make you want to throw the baby (TV) out with the bathwater (advertising).
-Here are some blogger thoughts and ideas on giving up TV (well, for the most part).
-MediaRights focuses on media as an engine for social change. For a more in-depth discussion, read Do Environmental Films Help the Environment?

Prose

Death of a Television

We've had the same Magnavox television for nearly 18 years, and it went on strike the other night. Jagged horizontal lines quivered on the screen, and Gavin began to bawl. He wanted to watch Power Puff Girls, his latest superhero fixation, and all seemed lost to him.

This level of despair, although it quickly dissipated with distraction, got me thinking. I've always been conflicted about the role of television in our lives. I am grateful that we have only the most basic of cable plans -- when we stay in one of those hotels with a mind-boggling array of channels, I see quickly how the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon can lull you into letting them baby sit on a frequent basis. Weekday mornings at our house, only PBS has kids' shows. I comfort myself, perhaps falsely: at least Gavin is getting some education. Tom and I rush around packing lunches, ironing pants, loading the dishwasher, while he learns about animals we have never heard of, courtesy of ZoBooMaFoo.

Today was a good morning for moderation. Gavin was up around 5:30, and our first couple of hours were filled primarily with breakfast and Play-Doh. Finally, at 7:30, it was me who piped up with "let's see what's on kid TV!". He is happy with the novelty of a Saturday morning network show (Daffy Duck), and I appreciate the time to write uninterrupted.

Are computers any better? For Gavin, nearly 5, they seem to be. The games we have are educational, and I am hoping all that mouse action fosters hand-eye coordination (like his mother, fine motor skills are not a natural strength). The computer poses questions that make him think, and I've even had Al Gore or Elijah Wood read him a story on occasion, courtesy of BookPALS online from the Screen Actors Guild. I am vigilant for the slippery slope that leads to mindless gaming, though. I know plenty of teens get into games with shooting and what seems an all-around depraved world view. For now, though, it's Clifford (aka the Big Red Dog) phonics, ZoBooMaFoo karaoke, and celebrities reading stories.

Maybe I'm not quite ready to euthanize our TV, and I guess for now I view TV as I view my diet. It's not food itself that is inherently bad, it is my bad habits that have to go. I have to be more mindful of mindless consumption. In small doses, it can be relaxing and relatively benign. More than that and it starts to feel like lousy nutrition. One parenting policy I'd like to work on: never suggest TV (often Gavin thinks of better ideas, when given the opportunity).

I have dreamed, on occasion, of a life with no TV, and how much more I would get done, how many more classics I would read. When our Magnavox took a long nap, I was actually excited. Here was an opportunity to get back to basics. Gavin and I read and played games, and I found that my energy level rose with the interaction.

The Magnavox is dying in stepwise fashion, for now just having mini-strokes and slowly losing its grasp on color and volume. I don't have the heart to kill it, so I guess I am rooting for a natural death. I dream of at least a limited social experiment: a week or more with no TV (while we eschew our credit cards and try to come up with the cash for a new one). Until then, it's Saturday morning blogs to the soundtrack of Looney Tunes.

2007-01-20T04:09:00.000-08:00

This Little Light of Mine

There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.
—Leonard Cohen

Pragmatics

Pre-electricity, people rose and rested in tune with the cycle of light. Since then, things have gotten both easier and more complicated. Light and heat at the flick of a switch can mean both warmth and waste, both comfort and amnesia about how it feels to be uncomfortable. Some thoughts on the light in our lives:

-In an effort to save energy, Daylight Savings Time will be extended this year. The mid-March start and extension into November is anticipated to save about 300,000 barrels
of oil.
-Here’s an easy step to light and energy conservation at home. Each compact fluorescent bulb that replaces a standard bulb should save you about $45, not too mention doing your part to cut down on atmospheric carbon dioxide. See Eartheasy for more details.
-If you’re like me (see Prose below), you are counting every extra minute of daylight as a hopeful sign. The Navy has a great online tool for generating a sunrise/sunset chart specific to your area, and watching those days (very gradually) lengthen.
-Andrew Weil suggests use of natural light (or mimicking natural light cycles when needed) as one way to promote restful sleep. Here’s his article on natural approaches to better sleep.

Prose
Waiting for the Light

Tom installed compact fluorescent light bulbs to save energy (and, of course, lower our electric bill). With the new lights there is a split second of waiting for full illumination. For the first few weeks I found myself flicking the switch on and off and on again until I remembered I simply had to wait, the light would come a bit more gradually.

We had our first real snow of the season yesterday, and I have to brace myself for months of the stuff here in Connecticut. But each day when I leave work, it’s just a little lighter. Each morning that light starts just a minute earlier. I take the almost imperceptible lengthening of days and run with it. Yesterday I recalled long summer days with enough light for walks at sunrise and sunset, like bookends. If I wait, those days will come again.

Maybe someone who was truly living in the moment would embrace the winter, instead of trying to hurry it along. But as I sat chilled, despite the blasting portable heater, in my uninsulated basement office yesterday, I could not feel that noble or enlightened. My son Gavin brought me back, as he often does, to the joy of the day at hand. There wasn’t much snow on the lawn, and he was wholly disappointed that a snowman would have to wait. But we took the time to tilt our heads, extend our tongues for snowflakes and caught several, delicacies of singularity, small doses of cold that made me feel warm and reminiscent. I still crave longer, warmer days, but in the meantime I know this season will bring more of those frost-tinged joys. It doesn’t come naturally to me, this venturing into the cold with a willing heart. I’ll still spend my idle moments calculating how long until longer light and warmer days. But in the meantime I am glad to have Gavin as my pretend-Eskimo guide.

2007-01-06T06:16:00.000-08:00

Digging Out

Pragmatics

The phrases letting go and living in the moment have become cliches, and while I like the concepts they represent, I crave a brisk new substitute. I like digging out: it conjures emerging from a windblown drift, a dense mound of accumulated expectations.

Here are some links in the spirit of digging out, from both small and enormous drifts:

-Dan Ho's Rescue from Domestic Perfection contains a refreshing approach that pulls back from the prevalent "more is more" philosophy that drives the home and garden industry. Ho offers common-sense suggestions like using a spare quilt as a bed skirt, or building a dinner party on ethnic takeout (eliminating the need to chop, sweat, or accumulate sushi mats and other rarely used exotic accoutrements).
-Sarah Ban Breathnach’s Simple Abundance Gratitude Journal is an online tool for a pause that can refresh your perspective. This simple blank cyber-slate that prompts you to list 5 daily gratitudes is an efficient yet meaningful way to get back to true priorities.
-Here's an excuse to simultaneously satisfy your inner multitasker (check off walking/outdoor time and meditation) and let go: online instructions for walking meditation, courtesy of Plum Village. Plum Village is Thich Nhat Hanh’s sangha (community of practice) in France, and a relaxing place to visit online if a trip to France is not in your budget.
-Need a serious pilgrimage? The Web site for Santiago de Compostela (also known as El Camino) provides practical information for the committed pilgrim (see Prose below for a link to a great Camino read).
-For a Pilgrimage of another sort (sans blisters, but also an opportunity to refocus on the meaningful), visit the magazine. I have been published here, under the former publisher, and always look forward to the read.
-(Not a tip, just a credit) To use the wintry photo above, I must credit http://www.bigfoto.com/ for the free image. The photo is a nice visual contemplation, and the site simplifies the life of this budget- and graphic- challenged writer!

Prose

It's been a week of humility, of readjusting. I started out with determination: a new plan for paying down debt, inroads into my book idea, grand thoughts about how all of my hustling will lead to a time and place of greater peace and contentment. Alongside these ambitions, which have within them some good ideas, were waves of the "I want" bug. When I walk down a particular tree-lined, impossibly handsome street in Essex, I find myself ruminating about things I'll never have, obstacles that seem unfair.

Life has a way of shaking you awake. Gavin developed a fever and stomach pain on Thursday, and within hours we were at the Emergency Room, having him checked for appendicitis. I found myself cured of any "I wants", with a singular desire in their place: a comfortable, healthy boy who smiled again. No appendicitis, but Gavin's temperature is still on a roller coaster, and my carefully designed (lists and more lists) plans for the weekend have been pushed aside.

I got Walk in a Relaxed Manner: Life Lessons from the Camino, by Joyce Rupp, for Christmas. I sat next to Gavin as he dozed yesterday and related to Rupp's struggles to let go of expectations, desires: "I expected to push my body into doing what I wanted but it refused to walk too fast or too far without pain. I expected my memory to serve me well but it left me in the lurch...I expected not to get sick if I took good care of myself but I got sick anyhow." Only when Rupp let go of her agenda, when she simply lived in the moment, could she take in the lessons of her Camino journey.

It's a balancing act, this careful planning that must become flexible, this checklist that must be revised or discarded. Knowing when to regroup, when to shift direction is an art. Trusting that any direction has something to offer is an act of faith.

2006-12-30T02:49:00.000-08:00

Beginnings Again

No straight lines make up my life;
And all my roads have bends;
There's no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.
—Harry Chapin, Circle

Pragmatics
Thoughts for Your Resolutions

Small steps count: Take finances: many Americans are in a quagmire of debt. According to EcoFuture, the typical American household carries $8,570 of personal debt (this does not include the mortgage). The good news: small steps can add up. David Bach has acquired fame in part by naming The Latte Factor™ (how small daily expenses eat away at your chance to save or pay down debt more quickly). The Latte Factor calculator is a great tool for quantifying the rewards that can come from (both literal and figurative) small change.
False starts are not dead ends: Many modern thought leaders reflect on the meaning of false starts. In Choosing Simplicity, Linda Breen Pierce comments that we can view false starts as mistakes, or as side trips of value for a limited time period, but not the long term. In her New Year’s issue, Oprah writes about a false start of her own: trying a humanitarian effort that failed before starting her leadership school in South Africa. The impulse was good all along, but the details of how to help needed to gel.
Think circular — endings are also beginnings: Harry Chapin (see lyrics above) said it well. If you face endings this year—losses of a relationship, a loved one, a job—try this exercise once you have caught your breath. Write about what changes this ending might inspire, what chances it might provide. Write about how you have grown (or can grow).
Creativity is a collection of beginnings: Include a creativity clause as an essential element of your resolutions. A lot of people, weighed down with misplaced work ethic, see creative endeavors as an indulgence, but they are a great way to stretch mentally and emotionally. Visit The Top 10 Benefits to Creativity to learn more.

Prose
Great Expectations

I await the New Year eagerly. I am waiting for the intense action and emotion that surrounds Christmas to subside, for life to settle back down. I am waiting to feel cleansed of excess, for a pause that allows real reflection again.

The expectations that come with Christmas can be both joyous and suffocating. As we anticipate meaningful connection with those we love and relish the magic of stars and bright lights, we sometimes suffocate the possibility for joy with the desire to make things even better, to make things perfect. Our intuitive selves know that what we have is enough (if we stop to recognize it), and that perfection is a false goal.

The possibility that the New Year presents, like Christmas, is double edged. As I ask, What will it be?, I make an effort to avoid the wrong kind of expectations. It will be an adventure, a revelation. It will contain both disappointment and fulfillment. It will not be perfect. It will not be predictable. But even the disappointments are likely to carry a hidden gem of wisdom. The fading holiday wreath is a reminder of life’s circular (versus linear) qualities. Endings can double as beginnings, and the most valuable lessons are likely to come around again.

2006-12-06T04:12:00.000-08:00

Holiday Simplicity: Not an Oxymoron

To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying Amen to what the
world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive.
–Robert Louis Stevenson

Pragmatics

-Earmark one day as sacred this holiday season. Example: a day of no traveling, no shopping, no obligatory phone calls or household tasks. Just rest, reflection, attention to dreams. If you feel you can’t afford a whole day, consider a sacred morning or afternoon.
-Going postal over holiday card post office deadlines? Consider taking a break from sending cards this year. If this thought seems too radical, try a compromise. Make your postholiday thank you cards double as belated holiday/New Year’s greetings. Use the extra, less frenetic time to pen a more personal note.
-Adopt Boxing Day (Dec 26), New Year’s Day, or Three Kings Day (Jan 6) as a more interesting (and more forgiving!) delivery goal.
-Feeling pressured to buy yet another scarf, candle, or gift card? Conspire with a friend to pool your gift money for charity instead. Make donating more personal and fun through charities like World Vision or Heifer International, where you can contribute funds for vaccinations, school books, clean water, or even a share of a dairy cow!
-Opt out of the New Year’s Eve party and choose a family night at home. Share a living room picnic (takeout can make this even more of a cinch!). Give everyone a turn at playing their favorite music. Spread out the year’s shoebox contents and reminisce as you update your photo albums/scrapbooks. Too tired for even these scaled-down plans? Rent an epic movie and fall asleep way before the ball drops!

Prose

In Lieu of

Americans talk a good talk, especially at the holidays. How many times have you heard yourself, your friends say: ‘I just want this year’s holiday to be more simple, more laid back’? Yet every year the spending, the feeling more frenzied than planned seems to happen inevitably, as if we were haunted by the Ghost of Christmas Trashed.

Each year I inch closer to the holiday I really want. My sister and I and our husbands have favored charity in lieu of gifts 3 years running now, and I await the World Vision catalogue more eagerly than all of the LL Beans, Eddie Bauers, Brookstones, and Plow and Hearths combined. I decided that Christmas at my house did not need one more ham, so I am layering (baste-free!) lasagna and eggplant parmesan ahead of time, all ready to warm up on Christmas Day.

One of the keys for me in simplifying Christmas, and life in general, is the in lieu of approach. Taking gifts or traditions away, especially with so much abundance on every side, can feel like deprivation. I take great pleasure in substituting a more fulfilling tradition or event for one that's purely habit. I think often of how I see the expression in lieu of only in obituaries: In lieu of flowers, please donate to the Red Cross. I want my own in lieu of efforts to be gestures that belong to a thoughtful life, not just an endnote to my demise.

I grew up with abundant Christmases. I remember building “forts” out of my gifts; surrounded on all sides by material blessings. But I have my mom to thank for both the gifts and a nice sense of balance. New Year’s Eve was a welcome simplicity: finger food picnic, an equal opportunity music party where Mom and all three kids got to play their favorite (yes, still vinyl) albums.

My purest holiday memory is a New Year’s Day walk alone to the church across the street. The modest Garden Club plot was coated with snow, but one mahogany rose had bloomed, just like in the Christmas song, Lo, how a rose ‘ere blooming. Snow and quiet fell over me, just around the corner from busy, suburban Merrick Avenue. I sighed, full of satisfaction and reflection, and walked home to share my miracle with family.

The best holiday for me has always been one of balance: my own time to reflect, then coming together with those I love. I wish you both of these gifts this holiday season.