I Love Power!

Sorry, this is not a get-naked blogfesssion about being a control freak. It's more elemental than that. I'm talking about the power that's delivered by National Grid to my home: the heat, the electricity, the stuff that allows my computer to run and my toilets to flush.  Sadly, it's not in my house right now, and hasn't been for 20 hours thanks to an early-winter ice storm. Happily, we were able to get (and afford) two rooms in a brand-spanking new and really nifty hotel (The Indigo Hotel) right by the Albany Airport. And how cool is this? They allow dogs - so Mobley is now an experienced elevator rider. I'm sitting here toasty warm and loving it.

There are a number of ironies, or cosmic giggles, or call-them-what-you-mays to this story. The biggest and best being that just yesterday afternoon, the basement crew finished their work on our super-high tech system to keep our basement dry. It includes a "triple-safe" sump pump complete with battery back-up. Of course, I'd scoffed at this when the salesman suggested it. Really? How often would we flood during a power outage? Who knew that it would only be a few short hours after the set-up was powered up for two such events to coincide. Okay, I admit it, I thought it would never happen - I was wrong, wrong, wrong and I'm glad for the triple-safe sump pump and promise to never even again think that it's over-the-top. When I woke up last night to realize that we didn't have power, I had to laugh to think that (because of the battery) the sump pump was the one electrical item actually at work in the house.

But, that's really not a good cosmic giggle.  That came this morning when (now that the basement is dry), Hank informed me that the roof was leaking.

Other ironies: I'd just cleaned out the pantry and have been using up the canned goods in it, thinking it's time to start fresh. So, very few cans in what's normally a pantry too packed to find anything in. I had a brief thought yesterday, "What will we eat if the lights go out?" And blissfully figured we'd eat the frozen entrees I have. Hmm, frozen entrees eaten frozen, when one is freezing. Strike that. I've also kept gallons of water for an emergency for years. Guess where they were this week? On the front step. Guess what they are? Unusable in the frozen state they're in. I'd also spent a lot of time the past week putting my address book and recipes on the computer. The same computer that's home, where there's no power to run it.  Lately I adopted the theory that it's great to live in the northeast where the worst of our weather is a winter storm where we hunker down and enjoy a day or two at home until the roads are cleared. No hurricanes, tornadoes, or tsunamis to worry about. Very true, but as the temperature dropped (and the hours without coffee wore on), it was hard to feel cozy at home.

Which isn't to say it was horrible there this morning. Shay and I shared his earbuds and listened to a podcast of "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" and laughed our heads off. Then Harry, Shay and I played Monopoly, where Harry set the course of the game by giving Shay and me so many discounts and tips and generally throwing his money around in gleeful philanthropy, that even Shay didn't have the heart to go for the jugular, and we decided the game was a three-way win. Kit "undecorated" her room by deciding to get rid of what she no longer needs or wants. Hank did...hmm, remarkably well without coffee.

And, who cares about any of this? We're safe and warm. We made it here through a landscape as stunning as I'd ever driven through. Our town and the towns west of us as we drove to Albany looked so beautiful with all the trees encased in glittery, crystalline ice. Until we'd get to a place where one had come down, blocking and scarring the road. This happened numerous times and we had to change course more than once. 

The power will come back to my house at some point.  Until then - dispatches from Albany.

NoThing is Sacred

It's that time again: we're clearing out the house. So far, six carloads of stuff have left, the volunteers at our local thrift shop are starting to wonder where I'm getting all this stuff, and frankly, so am I.  After all, we went through this routine just six months ago when we redid the den.

We're now putting in a basement system so that Hank and I can stop being human sump pumps (using a wet-vac to suck up the water as the basement floods) every time we get a big rain.  "Short-term pain, long-term gain," as Hank says, but this work means that everything possible in the basement has to come out. Of course, this is the perfect opportunity to get rid of stuff, because, if nothing else, where will it all fit during the next four weeks while the work is under way? 

So, my family is going into the protective mode that they go into when I'm in a mood to move stuff out. Nothing is sacred. Nothing. However, there are personality issues to consider when embarking on such a job. Harry's like me when it comes to stuff, but unfortunately due to that fact, if he stripped down his stuff any more, he'd really be stripped down, with nothing left to even wear. What a shame - he's my biggest ally on the War on Clutter and he has nothing to give.I think Kit would be with the program if she had the time and interest to go through her stuff, but she doesn't. Shay and Hank (no surrprise here) are very much alike in this respect as in most others: they love their stuff.

A couple observations about stuff and the stuff that accumulates:

1. Dreidls are the rabbits of all Jewish paraphernalia, right after the Festival of Lights ends, they get busy making baby dreidls: I know this because they're all over my house.

2. If you've ever had a child who likes Legos, like dog hair these will be in and under everything in your house no matter how much work you've done to clean them out.

3. If you need a hair band, look where the Legos are, or the dreidls if you're Jewish. Ditto rubber bands.

4. If you have something that's been kept together with a rubber band that crumbles when you pick it up, you've had the item for too long. Trash it - no one else will be able to use it.

5. Even never used rubber bands will crumble if you have too many (I hope that when I die I get buried with our rubber bands, obviously at some point I thought I'd run short at some point in eternity - why else would I have so many? If I get to work quickly after death, I'll be able to make one hell of a rubber band ball.)

6. I believe it's possible for electronics to function even if the original packaging is disposed of. This may be a hypothesis in need of verification. Therefore, I'm chucking the boxes and will report back when the data is all in.

7. Headless Barbies and legless Kens should be trashed. This needs no explanation.

8. An efficient way of disposing of glass items is to drop them on a concrete floor. This is efficient for a few reasons: you do not need to go through the decision-making process of whether to keep or not, you do not need to wrap item in paper and take to thrift shop if deciding to dispose of item, and due to the scatter factor of glass hitting concrete, the floor will end up well-vacuumed. One word of caution: should item be dropped the day before your daughter's sleep-over, vacuum very, very carefully as a friend rolling over in her sleep onto a shard of glass could necessitate a mid-night trip to the emergency room, which would negate any efficiency gained in the first place.

Okay, enough fun for now. It's time for me to go back to the dungeon, um, I mean the basement.

Sarah Palin's Got Nothing On Me

I promise I'm not going political on you (I'm saving that for next week). I just want to point out that although Sarah Palin may handle five kids, the governorship of Alaska, and running for VP, I, like Joe the Plumber, can handle a certain kind of emergency.  

I've earned the right to sing, "I am woman, hear me roar." Even Hank agreed to me crooning it for much of yesterday afternoon. 

It all started approximately sixty seconds after he left to pick up Shay from Sunday School.  Of course.

I was enjoying a rare moment in the kitchen. I was cooking, or rather trying to, when I heard, "Uh-oh, Mom - problem. Uh-oh."

These are not the words a mother wants to hear.

"Uh-oh, Dad - problem. Uh-oh" would've been fine. I could have kept cooking the millet salad I'd been trying to make. Turn water on to boil. Turn water off. It was beginning to look like a really bad remake of "The Karate Kid" - "The Karate Mom" - stove on, stove off, stove on, stove off. Stuff just kept coming up (ouch, really bad and unintentional pun).

A worried looking child emerged from the bathroom (for the sake of his privacy, I won't mention his name). 

Said child informed me that the toilet was overflowing.

What poor timing - an overflowing toilet and Hank wouldn't be back for an hour. Oh, no - what's a woman to do?

Much to my shock, right after I realized that it would be a bear to get a plumber on a Sunday morning and that unspeakably gross water was flooding the floor, I also realized that I knew that the little knob near the floor would turn off the water to the toilet. How did I know this? Me, who firmly believes that feminism be damned, the man of the house should deal with plumbing disasters. I guess we do know more than we think we know.

Gingerly reaching in to the bathroom and grateful for my Yoga practice which helps my balance and flexibility, I was able to reach the knob and to my delight, the water did in fact stop! Perhaps I've created a new Yoga asana - the Plumber's Stretch - balance on one foot, reach out toward floor with right hand, stay mindful and pray you don't fall into the muck. 

Not one to indulge in false modesty, having succeeded in stopping the flow, I gave myself credit for being a genius. A brave genius for I approached what must be a plague-inducing amount of germs with.....okay, the undeniable realization that it would be cruel and unloving to make my child deal with this himself. And the even stronger realization that should I leave the cleaning to my child, I'd never be able to use that bathroom again, and would most likely have to move out of the house. Which would cause our financial ruin because I'd feel morally obliged to tell potential home buyers why we were moving. "No, we're not relocating and we haven't gone bust like the stock market. We're moving because the toilet overflowed and my teenage son cleaned the bathroom, so you can only imagine...." Also, if I didn't handle this myself, I'd probably feel obliged to call the EPA and have the bathroom officially declared a toxic waste site (and since my kids' bathroom has already been so declared, perhaps the government would...what? send guys dressed in white hazmat suits to clean it for me? That would be nice but no, with the budget deficit and all, I knew I was on my own here. The government probably can't even afford to lend me a hazmat suit).

I suggested to said child that he get paper towels to sop up the water on the floor. Unfortunately, this is my relaxed child and a minute later I noticed that he was in rapt concentration, ripping each square perfectly before gingerly placing the paper towels on the floor. 

"No, no, no!" I cried. "Get as many kitchen towels as you can find!" That was my first mistake (or maybe my second - perhaps the first was buying a home). My kitchen towels? Why not the rag towels from the basement that I could burn after they soaked up the mess? Or toss? Or carry out of the house at the end of a very long pole. But I said "kitchen towels" and so they were used.

I got a laundry basket, lined it with a garbage bag because there were only so many household items I wanted to hate once this was all over. I sopped up the mess. Mopped the floor. Plunged the toilet. Washed the bathroom. Felt proud. Felt just like I did after running the NYC Marathon the first time (no, not totally exhausted but that if I could do this I could do anything).

When the last of the cleaning was underway, Hank came home. Of course. I was already singing Helen Reddy. 

Hank put the laundry in - you remember, my beloved kitchen towels? - on cold. On one rinse. My elation evaporated. Hey! Who was this dude to walk in in the eleventh hour and start taking over - doing things the wrong way, no less. Didn't he realize the wash water needed to be boiled? And that it would take five or six rinse cycles to prove to me I wouldn't get amoebic dysentery from touching one of those towels. Or that I had to leave for the afternoon in a half hour and needed some water to boil myself in, too?  No matter. We got it straightened out.

And then Hank walked into the kitchen. And found the garbage disposal was clogged. And needed to be plunged. Plunged? Plunged? As in with the gross plunger? The same one I'd just used - in a toilet? Now to be used on my kitchen sink?  It was too much for me. I had to leave the house. 

I've been reading about India lately. There are many open sewers there. They overflow during the monsoons. People have no choice but to walk through the overflow. They survive. 

I will survive. Excuse me, I feel a song coming on...no, not Helen Reddy, I feel a Gloria Gaynor moment coming on, "I will survive!"

 

Energy Medicine 101

Little did I know when I became interested in energy medicine (aka energy healing or energy work) that I was already doing it. You may be, too - even if you think you're very mainstream in your approach to medicine. My Yoga and meditation practices are forms of energy work. That's not surprising. So are chiropractic and massage. You're probably still not surprised. How about this though - according to the National Institutes of Health's National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine, MRIs, cardiac pacemakers, and radiation therapy all fall under the heading of energy medicine (http://nccam.nih.gov/health/backgrounds/energymed.htm)! 

The NCCAM divide energy medicine into two categories: veritable and putative. Methods that fall under the veritable category use mechanical vibrations (sounds) and electromagnetic forces (light, magnetism, and radiation such as laser beams). They use specific, measurable wavelengths and frequencies in their treatments. It is the ability to measure them using conventional instrumentation that earns them the rank of "veritable".

Putative methods, on the other hand, employ the use of techniques that are thus far unmeasurable by reproducible methods. Putative fields are often called biofields. These treatments are based on the theory that we have subtle forms of energy within and around us. You may hear this energetic life-force referred to as qi (in traditional Chinese medicine), ki (Japanese Kampo), prana or dosha (Indian Aryuvedic), or even homeopathic resonance (which is Western). There are other names as well, but I think those are the most common. Believers feel that a vital energy flows through the material body. However, as stated, this subtle energy has thus far eluded measurement using standard instrumentation. Some common putative methods are Reiki, Healing Touch, Theraputic Touch, Traditional Chinese Medicine, homeopathy, prayer, and Donna Eden's Energy Medicine (which I tried on Sunday - see previous post). Less common is Energy Mirrors which I tried a few weeks ago.

I believe that in our lifetimes many forms of energy medicine will continue to gain wider acceptance. More and more medical studies are showing the efficacy of Yoga to reduce such common issues as high blood pressure. Some health insurance plans even cover the cost of Yoga classes for subscribers. I even believe that as our understanding of physics shows more clearly that matter is just concentrated energy and that dark matter and other forms of energy move through our bodies constantly, the methods that are now putative may end up on the veritable side of the energy medicine equation.

Right Place, Right Time

Sunday started out perfectly. I slept until 9:45, which in this house, is the equivalent of sleeping until noon. Had Shay not been in Boston for the weekend I'm sure I wouldn't have done so. It's impossible for that boy to get through that much morning without either playing his electric guitar or pounding on the druns. 

I obviously needed the rest because just the day before, I'd had a venti latte after lunch (I never super-size anything just because the sales person suggests it or because it's a deal, but when the barista asked if I wanted a venti for just thirty cents more than a grande, I was shocked to hear myself say, "Sure." I knew I was tired, not just for drinking the amount of coffee I usually make fun of, but because I proceeded to go home and fall fast asleep. I never, ever nap on a Saturday!

I was happy to have a morning that had only occured rarely in the past twenty-one years since I married a confirmed early bird. In the early days of our marriage, I'd awaken at ten on Saturday mornings to the sounds of "PeeWee's  Playhouse" - by then Hank would have been up for four hours or more and would have grown bored without company - he'd claim that sleeping until ten was as good as sleeping until noon. I never got his logic, but then again he's never understood how I can love sleep so much and I've never understood how he can stand to stay so busy. But I digress.

It was (obviously) a quick morning and then time to take Kit to her Wind Orchestra rehearsal in Albany. After dropping her off, I took myself out for lunch (after sleeping in, the only civilized way to proceed with the day was to keep treating myself well). After lunch, I decided to shop at the Coop (after pampering myself thus far, cooking dinner would have been a travesty, so I wanted to pick up some of their excellent freshly prepared food). Driving there I remembered that this was the day that a practitioner of Donna Eden's Energy Medicine was conducting free half-hour sessions. I'd thought about signing up for one, but the last time I was at the Coop, I didn't know what my schedule would bring. Or really what a free session would entail. It seemed a shame to not pull it together to register, especially since I'm planning on taking a weekend class with Eden at Kripalu in January, but that's the story of my life: although I was interested, I'd let it go.

As I pushed my cart over to the meat freezer, I passed the community room and looked in. A woman looked out and smiled. I smiled back, continued on and grabbed a pound of grass-fed beef so I could make a meatloaf for Hank and Shay (one of these days when I'm actually cooking). A moment later I heard an announcement, "Anyone interested in a free half-hour Energy Medicine consultation, we have one available this afternoon in the community room, starting....now!"

I looked around. Here I was. Outside the community room. No one else was breaking down the door or even standing nearby. Along came the woman who'd smiled at me. I needed no introduction.

And even I know when I'm standing at the right place at the right time. Even I know when I'm meant to act.

"I'm interested," I said.

"Come on in," the woman replied.

Ruth Ann Smalley conducted the session. Donna Eden's method (which she uses) employs energy testing to find what you need. Basically, this entails holding out your arm and having it gently pressed on. When your energy is strong, your arm stays pretty much in place. When your energy is weak, your arm goes down somewhat. This is often demonstrated by someone pressing your arm as you say "My name is....." with your own name - your arm stays in place. Repeat the first part of the sentence with someone else's name, your arm will go down more. 

After explaining a few basic concepts of Energy Medicine, Ruth Ann did some testing. My energy was the same walking forward or walking backwards. I thought this would be a good thing. It isn't according to Eden. Your energy should be stronger going forward (maybe that's why I get nothing done!) Also, my aura was very weak (darn - I'd always been curious about it and hoped I'd have one of those funky psychedelic auras). 

Ruth Ann gave me some exercises to do - thumping below my collar bone and rubbing the inside of my feet, above the heel bones, both to stimulate energy flow for my kidneys and a short routine which looks rather Tai Chi-ish to boost my aura.

The session was gentle, non-invasive and fun. 

Next time, I'll get to more of the principles of energy medicine according to Donna Eden.

Goodbye for now - it's Monday and I've run out of excuses for staying out of the kitchen...

Time is...

I am a few hours into a "day off". Hank and the kids went to NYC to visit Hank's parents. I have the whole day to myself. My only real responsibility (and the reason I stayed behind) is to walk the dog. So, why did I feel so stressed out this morning?

Time. Too little of it. Too much to do with it. Instead of seeing the wonderful hours to fill as I see fit (which I saw only yesterday), I saw to-do lists. Housecleaning, emails piled up, phone calls to make, shopping to be done, etc. I realized that there was no way I had the time, the discipline, or the energy to get through it all. Tomorrow would come too quickly with all its plans and responsibilities and I'd have lost my chance. 

So, I did what any self-respecting sloth would do.  Played too much Spider Solitaire, under the guise of, "It's early, it's Sunday, and I'm not quite awake." Then I went upstairs to do my morning routine and found between the pages of a pink-covered book exactly what I needed.

The book is Sarah Ban Breathnach's "Simple Abundance:A Daybook of Comfort and Joy". I think I first bought this book more than ten years ago. Back then, I couldn't get into it and after it sat on my shelf for a while, I gave it away. But the expression goes, "When the student is ready, the teacher appears" and so last month, I heard Oprah interview Breathnach (you can get it at Oprah.com's Spirit Channel) and decided to give the book another try.  If you've heard of Oprah's practice of keeping a gratitude journal, this is the book that inspired that. The daybook has a reading for each day of the year. Today's is entitled, "A Tale of Two Times."  In it she quotes poet Henry Van Dyke, "Time is/Too slow for those who Wait/Too swift for those who Fear/Too long for those who Grieve/Too short for those who Rejoice..." We all know how fickle time is - Harry and Kit found it unbearably long last year in Algebra class, vacations are always too short, their train ride today will be too long.

Breathnach goes on to explain the ancient Greek idea of time's dual nature; chronos and kairos. Chronos is the aspect of time that most of us live with most of the time - and the aspect of time I felt pressing on me this morning. It's deadlines, dropping the kids off and picking them up on time, the alarm clock ringing, the dog barking for dinner, trying to get it all done. Kairos, on the other hand, is infinite time, flow, passion, love, joy.  We live in chronos but we wish for kairos. Again, from Breathnach, "Chronos requires speed so that it won't be wasted. Kairos requires space so that it might be savored." Chronos is doing, kairos is being.

Needless to say, this was the reading I needed just then. I continued on my morning routine, folding the laundry (after the ecstasy, the laundry), doing my Yoga, meditating. And that's how I got to my moment of kairos. Interestingly, I've noticed that when I get to that still, peaceful, and joyful kairotic place when meditating, I don't need to stay there long. I think there's a good reason for this - the nature of kairos is infinite. Although it has to do with time, by its very nature, it has to do with the timelessness of time. So, a few minutes of it or many seems to be all the same. 

The end of Van Dyke's poem is, "But for those who love, time is eternity." Which is why when we are totally absorbed doing something we love, time seems to stop, we are unaware of its passage. I get there through writing, gardening, singing loudly as I drive. You, no doubt, have other ways. Whatever they are, I believe that no matter how busy we are in chronos, in order to live a full and happy live, we have got to make time to get to kairos.

Miracles

I find many things miraculous: t.v.; internet; airplanes; big trees that grow from small seeds; reproduction; the cyclical nature and delicate balance of our physical world and that it can sustain so many injuries still persist; that someone came up with a recipe for candied bacon ice-cream (www.davidliebovitz.com); that my dog is still loved even though he's such a rascal.  The list goes on and on.

I know that many would argue that none of the above are miracles: indeed, there are explanations for how each work (except perhaps the bacon Ice-cream).  Maybe, but I'm not convinced. I've read descriptions of how television works: it's still a mystery, and therefore a miracle, to me. All these pixels being sent through cable lines or the airwaves and then rearranging themselves in just the right places on our screens. If you get it, my hat's off to you - I'm sticking with the theory that it's a miracle.

There are big miracles and small miracles. That I get dinner on the table most nights regardless of my dog's attempts to snatch it as I'm cooking: small miracle. That I gave birth to Harry after years of infertility and knowing all that could and did go "wrong" to keep me from conceiving, and then suddenly did, big miracle. Seeing Harry's heartbeat when he was an embryo, just a few days old - very big miracle. That he's now 6'2" and driving, ah, you get the idea. 

I don't mean to be flip: I really do think of all these as miracles. Albert Einstein said, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." When I first told Harry this, he was confused: "Which way was right?" he wondered. Upon reflection, I understood his confusion, especially living in this culture, with its emphasis on science. But I am firmly, and more than ever, living as though everything is a miracle. Even with scientific explanations, I think (as did Einstein), that if you keep digging deeper, you get to some very unanswerable questions. Furthermore, I never really "got" science until I realized that all it really does is report observations of "what is" - the ultimate "why" and "how" never really gets answered.  

BTW, Einstein, when asked to describe radio said this, "You see, wire telegraph is a kind of a very, very long cat. You pull his tail in New York and his head is meowing in Los Angeles. Do you understand this? And radio operates exactly the same way: you send signals here, they receive them there. The only difference is there is no cat."

So, this is yet another long and circuitous way for me to get to my point: Kit and I both had Energy Mirrors sessions this week (it's a form of energy healing). So, this begs the question, why would I consider this as a medical option? It's based on a healer, essentially in an altered state of consciousness, reading your energy field and mirroring it back at you to reorganize your energy field and create healing. Yup, I'd say it's way out there (and I no longer care about that). Why this technique, with this healer?  I dunno. I met Michele last week and after months of reading and thinking about energy healing, but never in that time hearing about Energy Mirrors, I just had a feeling that this was the technique I wanted to try. And that Michele was a good person to try it with. Kit was game.

I had my session on Monday. I told Michele my maladies: sore neck, sore foot, kidneys, cough. I lay back on her reclining chair, covered myself with a blanket, and closed my eyes. At times I felt like a swirl of energy was around my face, or I had heightened sensation in my foot or neck. About an hour later, she cleared her throat. I opened my eyes. "I'm getting that you should come back in five weeks," she said. "And your kidneys are functioning fine. Don't worry about them." That's all she said (well, there was more - we chatted for almost another hour, but none of it related to the session). Michele doesn't like to say too much about it - it's in the realm of energy, not thought.  I'm fine with that. And darned if my neck pain (which I've had for over a year and a half isn't mostly gone - 90% I'd say. My foot's probably 80% or more better (after a month of pain). The cough? Hmm, I think I'm coughing less - I'm certainly noticing it less.  Interestingly, I told Michele about my kidney diagnosis (nephrocalcinosis/hypercalciurea), but not that my kidney function has always been fine.

One more thing, and I don't know if it's related (although many say there are no coincidences, and if that's so, it is). As I was waiting for my appointment, I was looking through the notebook that I keep my medical information in. I came upon the name of a doctor whom I had heard speak on NPR a few years ago. He's a nephrologist in Massachusetts and I was impressed. I'd asked the nephrologist I see in Rochester if he knew of him, thinking if he gave him the thumbs up, I'd switch and save myself the long drive to Rochester each year. He hadn't and I kept trucking out west each fall. This year, my appointment is on a day that I hate to miss (Rensselaer County Cross Country meet, my nephew is coming to visit, the day before Shay goes to Boston for a Bar Mitzvah so he'll need help packing). I really, really don't want to go to Rochester and although I've called a number of times to see if I can change it, there are no appointments until January (and there's only one thing worse than driving from Albany to Rochester and that's doing it in January, when the days are shortest and the weather the worst). In any event, hmm, the name of this doctor written in my notebook rang a bell this time, and the bell it rang was the Kripalu Yoga Center. Turns out he's the medical director there. And will be happy to see me. Why do I think this fits so nicely with this energy healing session? First of all, I think time is squishier and less linear than we believe. I'd have to go through more quantum physics (and my friend Einstein's theories) than I'm prepared to right now to make that case, so I won't. Gentle reader, I don't expect you to take my word for it - but, like the rest of this blog, it's what I believe at this squishy moment of time. So, now I'll have a new doctor - a holistic nephrologist which is outrageously cool as I'm no longer interested in pursuing healthcare based on illness. Now I'm interested in healthcare based on wellness. Doctors don't really know why one person heals and another doesn't and I can write reams on this, but I've kept you here long enough. Suffice to say, that I think there's more we don't know than what we do and I refuse to limit my healthcare to only the commonly known variables.

Kit's work was more to see if she's back on the right track, energy-wise, after her health challenges of the last few months. Michele believes she is. Interestingly, before starting, to show us how the technique works, Michele did some work aloud so we'd be familiar with the process. She came up with, "Kit needs space." "Hah!" I thought, "I could've told her that!" as that's been the theme of Kit's life for months now: "Mom, can I ride my bike alone?" "Mom, can I take Mobley on a really long walk?" Not to mention the very nasty looks I get from my incredibly sweet daughter whenever I stick my nose where it doesn't belong (in her business). "Resonable guess? She's fourteen," you think. I don't think so. I wouldn't pick that phrase for either Harry or Shay at this point although they're also in those teen years.

One last thought (I think). The way I look at life these days is this: my perception is limited. I can only see what I see based on where I am and where I'm looking. I have to change my perception to see more or differently. If I carry a solely scientific perception, I can only see what science has to offer. And century by century (or decade by decade  or even year by year now), as science changes, what we believe changes. So, I am open to energy healing because I just don't believe that we know all we'll ever know about this. 

It's all a miracle. I don't know how it works. I don't even care. I can turn my head without pain for the first time in months, I can walk the dog without hobbling and this is good. Very good. I'll send you off with a question though, one Shay used to ask when he was a toddler. If you know the answer, please let me know - as after all these years, it still has me stumped:

"Where do boo-boos go when they go away? Do they go to Grandpa's car? Do they go into the woods?"

It's a mystery to me.

Iodine

A quick note today, curtesy of Kit and Dr. Perry's high school chemistry class:

Iodine readily sublimes.

I love it.  If you seem me and I greet you with that it's because it's the greatest line I've ever heard.

And, apologize for this, but...

I think it's sublime.

(Why was Chem. never this much fun when I was in high school?)

Smacked Upside the Head

First of all - I'm warning you. This may seem to some, like a post where I go way out there, you know, into La-La Land. So, if you're not interested or will think I've gone off the deep end if you read this one, I direct to my Sept. 29 post, "Mobley's Ticker Tape Parade" - it's fun, light, and totally of the material world.  

But, if you're up to join me in my wanderings through other places where the land between your feet may seem to shift ever so slightly, come on along!

This story starts two days ago at Kit's endocrinologist's office. To recap: she'd lost weight, too much weight over the spring and summer. Why? Good question. Possibly for no other reason than she's a fourteen year old girl living in a culture where food and weight are complicated issues. But still, when her body crashed in August, we needed to find out more. This resulted in an amazing amount of medical tests, almost all of which came back normal.

Fortunately, Kit quickly regained her strength, health, and is back in the normal range for weight. However, her thyroid and pituitary tests were low, and although these can be accounted for by the weight loss, of course, we followed up. Which was why we were back at the doctor's office.

I was sure Shimon, the physician assistant, would be happy to see the transformation in Kit since he'd last examined her exactly a month before. At that time she looked her absolute worst (sorry, Kit): she was rail thin then and had come directly from a sleepover, where, predictably, little sleeping had been done. The girls had been making a horror film (available on Youtube) in the middle of the night. Kit's character was supposed to fall through a doorway. Kit, doing more realism than acting, actually fell - onto a concrete floor. We learned that when you look like you can barely stand on your own and can barely keep your eyes open, that doctors are going to be very concerned about a gash on your chin - both Shimon and the doctor assumed she'd collapsed. Just a month later, Kit is ten pounds heavier, her color is back, and aside from a small scar, her chin is healed. Her blood test results are also pretty good and Shimon proclaimed that she doesn't have an endocrine problem. 

Of course, this was good news and I was ready to leave. It was too late for our usual after-doctor's appointment trip to Starbucks to get Kit a frappachino so she could return to school caffeine-crazed to the great entertainment of her friends (and annoyance of her teachers?), but still, we'd have time for some mother-daughter bonding before the boys got home. I was looking forward to it. Then Shimon went through a list of follow-ups that he and the doctor were suggesting, that could have made my hair curl (had it not already been so): GI series, uterine ultrasound, eating disorder evaluation.  

"Wait a second!" my brain screamed. I'm sitting here with a kid who's the picture of health! Yes, she was sick this summer - but she recovered quickly and hasn't been sick since. Aside from a few months, she's always been a wonderful eater - enjoying a wide variety of mostly healthy foods. She could have Crohn's Disease or an eating disorder that's in remission, warned Shimon. She could. She could also have.....well, I don't know or want to think about what else, but surely, my mind screamed, I'm not having her tested for all possibilities. And that's all these diseases were: possibilities.

I'm careful when it comes to my kids' health. Their pediatrician is careful and conservative, too, and I love her for that. But this time, my mind balked at further testing. I'd been in a great mood for days, feeling peaceful, blissful - my meditation practice was going well, I was back to doing Yoga postures, my writing was going well, I'd even mopped the floor. By the middle of the appointment, I felt myself being sucked down into a vortex of gloom. And there I stayed for the rest of the day, unable to tap into the joy I'd felt such a short time before. I was so jubilant earlier in the day, that I'd contemplated the wastefulness of dark moods - everything seemed so perfect that I was sure that this time, I could keep the feeling going.  Hah! 

On to yesterday (I apologize, this is a longer story than I'd realized). Yesterday was Rosh Hashanah and I'd agreed to take the kids to the synagogue for services. At this point in my life, I didn't really feel the need to be there for myself. Having a daily meditation and contemplation practice, I feel I tap into the idea of trying to be my best self on a daily basis now, and doing so once a year feels artificial. I'd rushed the kids and myself in the morning to be at the synagogue on time - last year we'd arrived late and sat downstairs where we watched the service over a television projection. I'd felt very cut-off from the actual service that was going on in the sanctuary upstairs. I felt like it was worth the rush to be upstairs in the beautiful, high ceilinged, airy worship space rather than downstairs watching a blurry screen in a dank, dark room.

As we sat through services, I struggled. First of all, I felt like I was being bombarded by germs. The rabbi had a cold, the friend I sat next to had a cold, and I felt like there were sick people all around me. (Harry later told me that the man sitting behind him coughed on his neck a few times.) I've been trying to follow Dr. Wayne W. Dyer's advise to not pay any heed to germs so as not to manifest illness and found I was struggling to do so. I struggled with the service: the music, which I usually love, sounded so low-vibrational. Again, following Wayne Dyer, I've been trying to up my vibrations to tap into higher frequencies, which are believed to be more creative and to help manifest what you want into your life. I have to admit, I have no idea what I'm doing and if I'm practicing this correctly. For all I know, those minor-key Jewish melodies may actually have very high frequencies, but they didn't feel that way to me. Being in the service, I felt like I was surrounded with exactly the opposite of what I need. And I struggled over whether or not to follow-up with any of the things that Shimon suggested. And whether I was a bad mother or not if I didn't. And whether people would think me irresponsible if I didn't. And whether I should be concerned with other's opinions of me. And knowing that to walk this path, I can't be.  I also struggled with the idea that I seemed unable to take anything from this morning, other than being a good chauffeur for the kids. Although there were some peaceful moments where I was able to relax into my thoughts and mantra, mostly I struggled. On and on and on it went, for two hours, until finally, it was time for Shay and me to help set up lunch. Thank God.

I felt more relaxed as soon as I left the service and went downstairs to the kitchen. I got busy putting bagels in baskets, seltzers on the table, and a bunch of other small tasks. We were done in a half hour, at which point I went to the dreaded downstairs temporary sanctuary to watch the service on the television screen - and found it was very pleasant! The sun had come out, and I had a good view into the courtyard where we'd set up the luncheon. The courtyard looked welcoming and peaceful. A cool breeze blew across me. There were not too many worshippers down here - we had elbow room - no one seemed to be oozing germs, and it felt relaxed and relaxing. I stayed to listen to the shofar, watched some small children leave with their parents, and decided I'd had enough. I also realized I was parched.

So back to the kitchen I went, grabbing some juice along the way. I was so thirsty, I kept filling and refilling my cup with water and drinking it down. I was shocked at how thirsty I was - I felt like I was trying to wash my insides clean with this need for water. Presently, another woman, a bit older than myself I'd guess, who'd helped set up the lunch came in. We started talking. She told me about her plans to renovate her kitchen and the other renovations she'd done on her house since moving in five years ago.  We chatted about this for quite a while. Then she mentioned that she's a physical therapist and works from home, and since she does she can work nights and weekends. I mentioned how nice that must be for her clients. And then she said that it is, but she finds it too tiring to do p.t. at night, so that's when she does her distance healing.

BAM!

Say what?

Distance healing?

Huh.

It was like I was smacked upside the head.

To keep a long story shorter than it could be, we talked about that. And the variety of healing work she does: cranial sacral therapy, energy mirrors and such. I'd been playing around with the idea of trying Reiki for a long time but had yet to act on it.  I now had a feeling that I'd now found a good person to try energy healing with and other types of healing to try.

So, why all the fuss about Kit at the beginning of this post?  Because she's going to go to Michelle, too, so that Michelle can balance her energies, too. As soon as Michelle suggested she could work on Kit, the dark mass that had been clouding my brain vanished. I knew then how I felt about all these medical procedures: that at this point all they could do was stress us out. I know Kit's healthy now: that's evident by the glow being back in her skin, her renewed energy, and yes, her appetite. Might she need some of those tests at some point in her life? Of course, she might. Anything is possible. Anything is always possible. But for now, I have a healthy kid here and I'm not going to pull her out of school and out of her life for unnecessary tests.

After talking to Michelle, I knew what I was doing at the synagogue yesterday. Meeting her. Opening up to another new experience. Finding an alternative for Kit.

Last take: we decided to skip the luncheon. I walked out of the synagogue and saw, walking down the sidewalk, Rachelle, a member of the congregation whom I had last seen at the Albany airport the day we flew to Vancouver. Waiting for our plane, I'd shown Rachelle photos of Kit's shoes. I'd since forgotten. She saw me and said, "You're just who I was looking for?" "I am?" I replied. "I want Kit to decorate my shoes," she said, "They're in my car." Just the day before I'd realized that for the first time in months, Kit had no shoe commissions to work on. She does now. So, I guess I was really at the synagogue for two purposes: to meet Michelle and to help Kit get a commission from Rachelle!

Mobley's Ticker-Tape Parade

I'm mostly done raising my three children. I know we still have a long road ahead of us - even as adults, they'll still be our children and we'll be there for them come what may. But, gone are the days when if I turned my back for a minute I turned back to find children covered head to toe (between the toes, actually) in marker or someone with a new haircut (Shay curtesy of a very pleased Kit), or wearing a newly decorated shirt (Kit again, wielding her scissors).  I shan't again find baby Shay covered in paper towels (deposited by his siblings) while sleeping in his crib, or a naked Harry covered by the dozen books he tore to shreds (before undressing himself) as a prelude to his afternoon nap. And I must say I'm happy that I'll never again take my own time-out to calm down only to find that my dear darlings found every towel and wash cloth they could, soaked them and threw them around with wild abandon (apparently) while I sat downstairs, trying to breathe so I could make it through the day with three small children.

I love that they're teenagers now (okay, almost a teenager in Shay's case). I love talking about politics, current events, and our philosophies of life with them. I love to see them reaching for more independence and working to make sense of the world and themselves in it - and, finally realizing, that adults are just people, no different than them. 

So, why oh why oh why, have I saddled myself with another toddler? A four legged one at that, who has no hopes of ever growing up and becoming mature or independent. 

I love Mobley. I truly do. I love his beautiful furry brown body. I love looking at his regal jowls (they're my favorite part of his body). I delight in seeing his front paws when he stands and places them just so, like a ballerina in first position. He's got a great smile. He's a gentle soul. And up until two weeks ago, he was great company.

Now (I think it's the cool fall weather), he's a demon with the terrible twos. He took a flying leap on Saturday and snatched a fig newton right out of Harry's hand. He's been picking my papers off the table and tearing them to pieces. He barked for almost a solid five hours when Kit's friends were over the other night (we realized later that he might have missed Andrew, Kit's one friend who will play with him). But today, was the worst yet. 

Perhaps it was that Mobley sensed a holiday of sorts. I was mopping the floor. My bi-annual mopping. A cause to celebrate (certainly for him as he loves a good sponge). I thought Hank might have himself a silent celebration that I'd finally gotten to it (he who likes a clean house). I was feeling alternately happy that I had the energy to mop and was taking care of my family by doing so, and chagrined I was so darn proud of doing this at all, when I know that to have a clean(ish) floor, with five people and a dog living here I should be mopping it weekly (fat chance). I was also pondering whether living in a place with a floor this dirty qualifies as camping out.

The celebration started predictably enough. Mobley was In the house, out of the house, back in the house tracking muddy footprints on the newly mopped floor, back out of the house. You get the picture.

Then I went downstairs to clean the floor cloth we keep under Mobley's bowls.  Big mistake. I could hear the sound of paper being ripped. I couldn't quite get it - I'd put all my papers away (not an easy chore, that). I came back upstairs to....

The whole downstairs filled with shredded paper! A ticker tape parade of paper! Paper covering the floor in the great room, living room and den. Wet paper shreds stuck to wet floor. And a gloriously happy pooch shaking the remains of a ripped paper grocery bag. And laughing (yes, Mobley laughs - especially when I catch him doing something he shouldn't and he knows he's faster than me and not nearly as dumb as I've made him out to be, so he knows there's no way I'll be able to stop him until he's good and ready to stop. Which in this case...ah, I think you know what it was in this case.)

I finally remembered seeing a bag of shredded paper next to Hank's desk.  The good news is that no one is going to steal our identity. Nuh-uh. Mobley to the rescue. Just another dog protecting his master. And throwing himself one heck of a ticker-tape parade.

Worrying

Seneca said, "There are more things...that frighten us than injure us, and we suffer more in imagination than in reality."

Here's a dirty little secret: I worry. 

Okay, okay, those of you that know me can now pick yourselves off the floor and stop laughing.

I have news for you: it is a secret from the many people I know who think I'm calm.

Alright already, I said,  "Quit laughing!"

There are people out there - friends even, lots of them, who have told me over the years how calm I seem.

Really, I'm glad for all the rest of you who know me better than that, that I can provide you with so much fun right now.  I bet you never knew that I'm such a good actress.

But I have an even dirtier little secret: I really am worrying much less these days. I can - and do - turn off the worrying most of the time.

Gone are the sleepless nights where I stared at the ceiling, willing to see the future, with whatever concern I had resolved. When Harry was little and having all his medical and developmental issues, both Hank and I spent night after night, lying stock still next to each other with out worries for him wrapped around us like blankets.  I can still feel the tears trickling down the sides of my face as I cried silently for my son, who was constantly ill and weaker even than the preemie triplet I knew who had numerous heart surgeries as an infant. Gone are the fall nights when I wondered how the bills would be paid for the next few months, because for some reason, that was the time of year when we were always running dry. Gone are even the days when I worried over the playground politics, both for the kids and myself.

How do I know I worry less? The financial news for one: with Lehman Brothers filing for bankruptcy and the cautionary emails from our financial advisor coming every couple of days, I realized this morning that I reacted to the news with aplomb. No one really knows where the economy is headed. As long as we have a roof over our head and food on the table, we'll be okay. I finally understand that my worrying will not change Wall Street and what happens on it one bit. 

Likewise, Kit's MRI will show a problem with her pituitary gland or it won't (actually, I totally believe it won't), the pain in my heel will go away or it won't, my father-in-law will have to go back to the hospital or he won't, etc., etc. etc. 

That I'm not worrying about these things doesn't mean I don't care about the outcomes. Of course I do. But worrying will do nothing to insure that what I want will come to be. I want what I want. What will be, will be. Do-be-do-be-do. As an unknown author said, "For peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe." I resign.

There may be things I can do to try to influence the universe to align for what I want. This is manifesting, which I mentioned very briefly a couple of posts ago. I'm not ready to write about that yet. This jury is still out on that. And this jury isn't worried about coming to a verdict either.

One last thing: I'd be lying through my teeth (or my phalanges) if I didn't own up to the fact that there is one thing I worry about. A lot. Meditation doesn't help. Logic doesn't help. Maybe a good stiff drink would help, but that might be illegal under the circumstances and it would certainly make me a really, really, really bad role model. I worry about being in a car driven by my sixteen year old son. And Harry, if you're out there, I swear it has nothing whatsoever to do with your driving....

A Dialogue

God: I read yesterday's post, Madelyn. You're absolutely right. I've been having a good laugh, it's one of my favorite things to do.

M: I'm happy to do something for you!

G: But you know, I have a little secret for you...

M: Wow! A secret for me! What did I do to deserve it?

G: You are. That's all you ever need to deserve it all. Anyway, ready for the secret?

M: You bet!

G: Quit planning. Start doing.

M: That's it?

G: That's it. Quit planning, start doing. It leaves me less space to work my mischief. 

M: Huh. That's it?

G: That's it. Trust in me. Trust everything around you. Trust yourself. This is all one and the same. When you really know your purpose, I don't have to throw down roadblocks to get your attention or if I do, you forge ahead anyway as if they weren't there. That's what I do, that's what I want you to do. Remember, your job is to learn to find your way to me - which means you have to be more like me. Would I let anything stop me?

M: No you wouldn't! And I'm doing it now- I'm writing, not thinking about writing, not writing in my head, not finding what else I can do besides writing.

G: Good girl!  One more thing - 

M: Anything for you, G!

G: Quit referring to me as "he". I don't like that. As a matter of fact, if I weren't universally and unconditionally loving, I'd even say I hate that.

M: I'm sorry. How should I refer to you?

G: First of all, don't be sorry. You can't insult me - I'm God, I know I'm perfect, I'm not dependent on your opinion of me and I love you no matter what you do. To answer your question, I'm fine being called God, Allah, Krishna, and a gazillion other words and sounds. But "he" or "she" just add to your thinking of me as that old guy with a beard. Remember, you were created in my image, you are part of me. But I did not create your body or your male or femaleness or any part of your form in my image. Referring to me thus confuses you. And that's a problem for you. 

M: Yes, it is confusing. I struggle to find a name for you that feels right.

G: Maybe you can google my rapper name...

M: It's worth a try.  Thanks, God. I'm eternally grateful.

G: You're welcome. And I'm eternally here. 

God's Big Belly Laugh

There's a quote, "Men plan, God laughs". If this is so, God's having a good laugh on me. 

I had many plans for this year: a pile of books to read as research for a few stories I wanted to write, writing those stories, blogging more often, art book making, felting, etc., etc.  Who knows? Maybe even cleaning the house and cooking dinner.

God had other ideas. I'd laugh, too, except his idea is that I learn Trigonometry.

This of course, is only part of the story. So, to give you the full historical perspective, let's go back a mere three weeks.  That was August 21, the day after we returned from our blissful vacation to the Eden of the north: Canada, aka "Heaven on Earth". I was joyful. I saw a joyous year spread ahead of me. I didn't even care that the basement had flooded while we were gone. A tiny blip on the screen. Nothing to be bothered by.

The next day, Kit got sick. That was harder. She had lots of tests, mostly blood tests. We're still waiting for an MRI and a diagnosis (but she is much better). One car needed repair and now needs another. Bar Mitzvah lessons for Shay are starting almost two months earlier than expected. Hank had knee surgery. I had issues with Shay's school schedule. Harry had issues with his school schedule. There were issues and details and distractions too numerous to write about.

What was happening to my plans? I wasn't getting to any of them.

And, then....

Harry's math was changed. From Intermediate Algebra to Trig. Gulp. It's a stretch. We're looking for a tutor. So far, the ones I've contacted want to work with him right after school. Fortunately, God, or the universe, or whatever you call it is understanding and realizes that straddling a 16 year old with Trig., Chemistry, and a Spanish class taught all in Spanish AND taking away sports is just too mean. So, neither the almighty nor Hank or I will make him give up the team.

So I decided I'd better learn Trig. as a backup plan so I can tutor Harry.

Which is really funny as I didn't even realize that Trig. is the study of triangles (actually, now that I'm studying it, I know it is technically the study of the measurement of triangles) until decades after I finished high school. I kid you not. Hank's fond of saying, "Trig, get it, like a tricycle? or like a triangle?" To which I like to reply, "It's not a trigcycle or a trigangle, so how was I supposed to know?" 

In any event, it is enough for you to know that I had two standard answers in high school. When my French teacher asked every Monday what I did over the weekend, I responded, "Rein" (nothing.) At least, that was my standard answer for about a year and a half until she informed me that I had to do better than that.  So, from then until the end of my high school French experience (another year and a half), I responded, "Je vais au cinema." (I went to the movies.) If she asked what I'd seen, I responded, "Rein", or simply shrugged. (It's a good thing I'm not one of my kids, I'd be really ticked off at myself for being such a slacker!). My other standard answer was, you guessed it, in math. Any trig. question (which I now know, since I'm educated in such things, were questions about the measurement of triangles) was answered by me as "Sohcahtoa." It's amazing I ever graduated.

Clearly, God has long range plans. And since I didn't bother learning Trig. in high school, it seems I've only postponed the inevitable. I sure hope God is not quite so focused on having me learn a foreign language (although my attempts at Japanese are always good for giving Kit a laugh).

Wish me luck.  And maybe after I complete my research I can write a story about a reincarnated psychic who comes to earth to save a family through trigonometry.  I'm pretty sure it hasn't yet been written.

By the way, at least one website credits the above quote to a rewriting of the Biblical verse Psalm 33:10 which is, "The Lord brings the counsel of the nations to nothing. He frustrates the plans of the people."  Hmm.  I do believe there's much truth in many ancient text, the Bible among them, but I'm not going to get all serious on you today.

Letting Go, Living with Joy, and Other Lessons from the Pacific Northwest

Kit never thought I'd do it. She was proud and vowed to brag about it to her friends. Shay never thought I'd do it and shook his head in wonder.  "Did you really?" he asked.  "See for yourself," I said and showed him.  I never thought Hank would, but he did and I was a witness. Neither of us would ever do it again, but I, for one, am not sorry. It was a moment of sheer abandon, of breaking away from old habits, fears, and definitions of who we were and what we'd do, and those moments are exhilarating.

At approximately 4:00 p.m., PST on August 17th, amidst a crowd of the coolest-looking mountain bikers you could imagine, with the P.A. system blaring the start of the Kokanee Crank Works award ceremony, Hank and I each drank a bottle of Monster energy drink. It's not for the faint-of-heart. It's not for my generation. And, frankly, it tastes like crap. But, in some weird, overly caffeinated, overly sugary, and much-to-my-chagrin not-even-vegetarian way, it was fun. Another barrier overcome.

I admit it, had I not just free-styled on the zip-line (which means I zipped upside-down, Dude - oh, sorry, my inner mountain biker is coming out), had I not Frankenstein-walked down a glacier, had I not been watching the bikers who all look like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles come to life in their body armor and too hip for mere mortals clothing all weekend, I'd have passed up the Monster in favor of a more grown up drink (say, bottled water).

The backstory: I'd been reading Dr. Wayne Dyer's, "Manifest Your Destiny: Nine Spiritual Practices for Getting Everything You Want" all week. I do have a problem with manifesting: do I really even want to? I'm not sure. And maybe that's because for the past few months I've been working on.....letting go. Accepting. Trusting (or trying to) that everything happens as it should, or, at least, realizing that most things are really out of my control anyway so it's high time I give up any illusions to the contrary.  Whether I'd use it to manifest or not, I was finding the book meaningful and inspiring.

Further backstory: I was conflicted about this vacation. The kids are getting older so I thought we shouldn't waste the chance to do something cool with them. I like (or used to like, or think I should like) traveling. However, I don't like planning our trips. I picked Vancouver partly because it looked like there'd be lots of fun outdoor activities (which there were), it would keep the city-slickers in our group happy (it did), and I figured I'd make a hotel and plane reservations and the planning would be done (what was I thinking?). There was way more planning and pre-trip decision-making than I'd expected. I got more than a little cranky and stressed over this. After too many bad moods, I planned whatever I did and left the rest to chance. 

You could say at some point of the planning, I let go. And, everything, I mean everything, worked out perfectly. We took a stretch limousine to our hotel (and back to the airport) which was both unplanned and less expensive than taking cabs or the bus, we stayed in a two-floor penthouse suite (which we hadn't booked and didn't pay extra for), Harry and I zip-lined (we hadn't planned to do so - he because of his fear of heights, me to keep him company when the others did), we white-water rafted on a 95 degree day (unplanned), when the rains finally came, we didn't sea kayak - because, although I'd wanted to, I hadn't made the reservation and therefore, we weren't committed to going! The list goes on, but I won't bore you will all the details. Basically, for eight blissful days, we lived charmed lives (okay, maybe not Harry, who might have spent the week wondering why he was on a family vacation instead of working toward his driver's license). I can't remember ever feeling so peaceful or that I was in a safe bubble where good stuff just kept coming our way. 

Which doesn't mean we didn't have cranky too-much-togetherness moments. We did. Life is life, after all. As Zen teaches, "Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.  After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water." But still, I don't need anything to ever be better than they were that week. It was a gift. And I am grateful for it.

So, aside from the Monster and how things just kept working out for the best over and over again, one of the highlights for me was the glacier hike. I didn't realize we would actually be walking up a steep glacier (which just goes to show that even when we have hard evidence in front of us - in this case, a very good description of the trip on the website (which I'd read), we can believe what we want to and not what is real (I'd assume we'd walk across a flat glacier as Hank an I had done before. I thought the crampons, climbing tool, and ropes mentioned on the website would be for show and to give the tourists a thrill). But, we needed all this gear and at least a few of us actually used our climbing tool to keep from sliding down the glacier when first my crampon fell off and then, like ducks in a line, Hank, Harry, and Kit went down (when you're roped together, it really is all for one and one for all). I'd never said my mantra so much or with so much feeling as on the hour and a half climb. When we got to the top, I thanked our guide Alex for getting us to the top and stopping us from sliding all the way down (btw, Alex may be calmest person I've ever met, which is really interesting considering his passion for extreme back-country sports - this winter he plans on doing a 12-day back-country ski trip in 24 hours). And I thanked Leonard for teaching me my mantra.  

Of course, what goes up, must come down, and that meant us.  Without our crampons, which I tried not to think too much about, having just developed great love and affection for my crampons. "Going down is counterintuitive but trust me," said Alex. "Lean your body out, take a big Frankenstein step and....let go." That last part took me a while to get, but I did, and to my immense shock and relief, walking down a snowy mountain is actually fun. And, as Alex promised, and what I think makes this a great metaphor for life, you take a big step trusting that it'll be okay, you slide....but then you stop.

Zip-lining, by comparison, is easy. You wear a harness and the harness is attached to the cables. We did five lines, zigzagging fifteen stories over Fitzsimmons Creek (the name of which doesn't do it justice - it's more of a raging river - albeit a thin one - than a mere creek) in the rain forest between Whister and Blackcomb mountains. For the last zip, our guides informed us that we were to "freestyle", which means zip upside down. Scott, one of our guides, helped us get in position and just as he was about to push me off, he said, "It's all about letting go." It was pure fun. The only problem with zipping is it's over too fast.

I let go in the city, too. The one thing I really disliked about Vancouver is that there is a large homeless population (a recent count estimated 1,500 in the city proper, which is not a particularly large area). I feel compassion for these people, but was still disconcerted by seeing so many, especially downtown where we were staying. One day Shay lamented that he had no change to give these people as he walked by them. The next morning, I emptied the change I had into his hands and told him to give it as he pleased. We spent the day walking around the city. Shay gave my change to as many people as he could. I replenished his supply whenever I got more. Harry and Kit had their own change which they gave out. The kids felt badly that no matter how much change we had, there were still more people to help. They did feel good though, when I heard one man say to another after Harry gave them money, "Come on, we've got enough to get breakfast." Toward the end of our walk, we went into the 7-11 across from our hotel. We'd noticed that there was usually one homeless person or another hanging out there, opening the door for customers in hopes of a tip. As we came out of the store, a man opened the door. I had no change, and without thinking, I looked him in the eye and said, "Thank you but I'm afraid I don't have anything for you." With the nicest smile, he looked back at me and said, "You're welcome. And it's no problem." I suddenly realized, that through witnessing my children's generosity all day and how they opened their hearts to these people, I'd come to accept the homeless of Vancouver as Vancouverites like the rest of the city's people. I'd been afraid of these people and it was a relief to let go of that fear.

Lastly, one thing I love about Canadiens is their, "No worries" attitude. Here in Averill Park, when you thank someone, the response is often "Yup." (what does that even mean?)  In Canada, the response is usually, "No worries" or, "No problem." I love that. And I'll keep work on remembering that it's all about letting go.

Back to the Real World?

I'd planned to write about our vacation. It was awe-inspiring. 

Then we came home. And got what felt like being literally thrown against a wall back into "the real world".  

Flooded basement (we had expected it and planned for it as well as we could).  Cross-country practice.  Bar Mitzvah preparation.  School schedule that may not be quite right (or right at all). Illness.  As Zorba says (see blog from....)  "the full catastrophe".

But, is this the real world?  And does it have to be?  While I was on vacation, I read Wayne Dyer's "Manifest Your Life".  He, and others, believe that we human beings can affect way more in our lives than most of us believe we can do, believe we deserve to do, and know how to do.

On vacation, I started applying his meditation techniques to learn to do so.  I do believe that we are capable of more than we give ourselves credit for and more than we try to do.  We give ourselves and each other some very limiting messages such as, "We're only human".

Dyer, like others who follow Eastern and ancient ways of thought believe that God, or spirit, or whatever you wish to call it that creates life, is omnipresent - and that means within each of us. As Dyer explains it, if you think of God as the ocean, humans are a glass that contains ocean water - how much is up to us.  But if we fill our glass up, we can be more "Godlike" and affect a bit more - never as much as the whole ocean because we're only a small bit.  If we keep only a drop of water in our cup, we may not affect anything at all.  But, just as all water returns to the ocean in the form of rain or runoff, so do we keep returning to the ocean of God.

I love this explanation and I love the idea of living my life without putting limits on myself. Because once I limit myself, I cut my self off from all sorts of possibilities.  Might I be wrong?  Of course.  But, who cares?  I'd rather be wrong trying to do the most with this lifetime than be wrong assuming I can only do a little.

Check This Out

Visit The Intention Experiment

Lynn McTaggart has been running intention experiments online for a while now.  She's had meditators sign on at a specific site at a specific time and send a prescribed intention.  You can read about the experiments at her site (click above).  She (as well as others) has shown that this can, in fact, have measurable effects.  The targets have been philanthropic: helping kids with ADD, helping people with Alzheimer's disease, countering pollution.  She's worked with leading scientists from Princeton University and Cambridge University, among others.

On September 14, 2008, a very exciting experiment of this type will take place.  It's being hyped as the "Live Aid" of intention experiments.  What might be hundreds of thousands of people will gather online to send intentions of peace to a specific area of the earth.  The location will probably be somewhere in the Middle East.  The reason for the secrecy, is along with positively affecting the targeted area, the purpose is to study the effect.  Therefore, if the meditators involved knew the location involved any change in status for the region might be due to an unmeasurable effect of people getting a jump start on sending the intention.

So, I know where I will be on September 14 at the designated time: sitting in front of my computer, meditating for peace.  If you're a meditator, I invite you to join us.  If not, I invite you to follow the experiment.

BTW, I heard the best explanation of why intention doesn't work for all of us who've asked to win the lottery, get a new car, etc.  It's a simple explanation and I think it makes perfect sense.  The universe doesn't care about you winning the lottery, etc.  The universe does care with the evolution of your soul. You get what you need (whether you like it or want it or not).  And if you happen to ask for something that you can use to advance your evolution, or make the world a better place - then you'll have the full attention and support of the universe.  

But, remember: be careful what you ask for because you just may get it.  Richard from Texas (from Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love") asked God to open his heart and ended up with open heart surgery. This evening I heard Ragani (a spiritual singer) tell a story about asking Swami Rama, after he was already dead to send her a sign on whether or not she should record a c.d.  It was winter in Minnesota.  She asked him to send a snake as a sign if she should do so (let me go on record here as saying I'd never, ever ask for a snake as a sign for anything).  Wouldn't you know it, a snake was what she found later that evening in the middle of the kitchen floor! That said, I don't think you can ever go wrong asking for peace. Asking for peace with thousands of other people: always a good thing.  Quantifiable or not.

Lastly, the TM people have been doing similar work for years.  Check it out.  It's called the Maharishi Effect.

A History of Me

Part of this will post will be my spiritual history. The rest will be musings about where I am now. This will be my "whoo-hoo" out-there post, so if you're faint-of-heart, or will think I'm crazy should you read this, I'd appreciate your clicking out now.

Years ago, I made a very deliberate and conscious decision to "not go there" where issues of spirituality or anything beyond the material world beckoned. And, they had beckoned. Last year, I decided to let those doors open. As the year unfolded, I more and more decided to push at the doors. At times it's a scary business. Because I frankly have no idea what I'm going to find.

I remember thinking about the "big issues" when I was very young. How young, I really don't remember. Six? Seven? I remember believing in reincarnation at an age when I don't even know how I would have been known about it (although I realize that someone obviously had told me about it). I remember my father flying into a rage (and he's a very calm guy) when as an elementary age kid I told him I didn't believe in God (interestingly, he's the one who doesn't believe now and I'm the one who does - although I don't believe in the God I was taught about through my religion). I remember middle-of-the-night spiritual conversations with my cousin Jani when we had sleep-overs.

Then I stopped for a while. Perhaps my boring and dogmatic religious education beat it out of me. We had lots of history, some prayer, but I don't remember anything that actually encouraged us to feel God's presence - indeed, I suspect that in the time and structure of my religion then, had any of us felt God, we'd have been judged crazy.

As a late teen, I got curious about the unseen world. I read Carlos Castenda's Don Juan books, Robert Pirsig's "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", some stuff about Edgar Cayce, and other books about what may lie beyond the little world I spent my days in which were filled with shopping, hanging out with my friends, and arguing with my mother. These books obviously had a big influence on me as I decided to become a philosophy major in college to continue to explore the bigger issues. Unfortunately, my studies for my degree proved disappointing: it was just more history, and only of Western thought. It left me cold, just like Sunday School had. I left college and joined the working world.

But, I still searched a bit in my early twenties. I remember taking classes in T'ai Chi, dream analysis, and astrology. I once went to a psychic. I met a man (where? how?) who told me to get married as soon as possible. I seem to remember he was an astrologist. His prediction freaked me out. Shortly after this time, I took a rafting trip down the Grand Canyon. It was an amazing trip - I was in my early twenties and went to Arizona alone. I met up with a group there, but everything was a new experience for me. A few nights after I returned home, I awoke to see that a beach at the Canyon, with our camping and rafting gear had been superimposed into the space of my bedroom. I'd been transported. The few people I've told this to (except for one person who had a similar experience and knew what I was talking about) have told me I must have been sleeping - I just thought I was awake. I've never thought so. I've been in half-sleep often enough to recognize it - this was something different. A year of so later, I lived for a while at the Grand Canyon. There I had a friend who said he was psychic. We'd sit in my dorm room and he'd tell me about the spirits that were all around us. I liked this man very much and believed him (except for some tiny questioning bit), but it freaked me out to think of these spirits and that they could be watching or listening to us. I didn't want an audience I couldn't see. Sometime later, I dated a guy who had studied Silva Mind Control. He taught me a relaxation technique through which, even nervous me, was able to achieve a very deep state of relaxation. One day, when I was with him, I grabbed an iron I thought had been turned off, by the plate. The iron was still on and was very hot. The whole palm of my hand burned intensely. He took my hand in his and within a couple of minutes, the pain was gone, there was no redness, my hand never blistered (I knew from previous experience that I blistered from iron burns). I wanted to learn to do what he could, but more than that I wanted to be normal. I wanted my life to be normal.

And that's when I decided that it was hard enough to get through life paying attention only to what is of the material world, that it was just too hard, too scary, and too weird to let in all these other things. I made a pact with life: I would be a material girl. No delving into any esoteric studies, no hanging out with the psychic, etc. Those experiences remained in the back of my mind, but when they bubbled up, I pushed them back down with an emphatic, "I have enough to do and deal with, with just this world, I don't need more."

Little by little, the push-back began. First with my pregnancies because the creation of life is miraculous and from the time that I saw my first child's heartbeat when he was just a two week old embryo, there was no denying the miracle for me (especially after the fertility nurse had, in detail, outlined all the many, many things that had to happen for a pregnancy to occur!) This child was pretty sickly as a toddler - we finally resorted to alternative medicine, which put him on the road to health. Little by little the doors became ajar.

If you've read the blog, you know the rest: reading "Eat, Pray, Love", studying Yoga philosophy, my reading, my meditation practice, etc.

Hmm, I haven't gotten to the "whoo-hoo" part, but it's time to meditate. So, to be continued.....