Tolerance and Generosity

November 23, 2012 By

Rockefeller Center, New York City, Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, 2007

Standing on what seemed like an endless line Tuesday afternoon at Wholefoods, I noticed my attitude beginning to slip and slide down a peg or two. I was impatient, judging what the person in front of me for buying foods that were really poor choices, and just wanting to go home and sit in my cave.

When I finally unloaded my groceries onto the belt, Ms. Attitude had moved further down a notch. I did smile and made happy holiday, small talk with the cashier. I’m positive I looked joyous, confident, and unbothered by what seemed like chaos surrounding me. Really! I’ve lived with my actor husband far to long now not to know how and when to put on a cheery face and be a comedian, while the world goes on its way, clinking and clanging around me, generally making me feel nasty.

But on the inside, my body wasn’t buying my “deck-the-halls” facade. The usual holiday dread was beginning to take hold and I was sure that I was going to blow it if I didn’t get home fairly soon. Even I hate me, when I get grumpy. As I sat in my car, at every single red light between Wholefoods and my house, I asked myself why I turn into such a grinchy curmudgeon every year at the end of November.

I don’t remember being that way as a kid. I was always excited by the holidays and started sneaking around in early December, to see if I could find the stash that Santa would eventually be leaving under the tree. I usually did find it, and even though I knew what I was going to unwrap on Christmas morning, I was still very excited.  The gifts I remember best were the Alice In Wonderland doll, with long blond hair that I could comb. And later, when I was getting into boys and rock ’n roll, a pink portable radio, I could take any where as I listened to The Platters, The Everly Brothers, and Johnny Mathis.

I spent the rest of my afternoon, thinking and trying to figure out my hang-up. I thought, “Maybe I’m just getting old and crotchety.”  Or, “Maybe I wasn’t an introvert back then and now I am, unable to handle the holiday wear and tear of being with all those people intent on getting the biggest turkey for the lowest price.”

Like Scrooge, I revisited Christmas past, when my kids were small and we stayed at home for the holidays, because Santa wouldn’t be able to find us if we went somewhere else.  I couldn’t remember any difficult times.  I loved watching them digging through wrapping paper to find their most wanted toys and usually felt a bit of melancholy as we took the tree down and packed up the ornaments until next year.  I do miss those times.

Then 1987 came to mind. My dad had died several years earlier. Mom and my brothers came from New England to the spend a week with us.  My kids were in their teens by then and Mom had started giving them money so that they could buy what they wanted.  They loved having dollars to spend and it usually didn’t stay in their pockets for very long. One year, Lisa, spent her’s on a boa constrictor and live white mice to feed it. Mark usually spent his money on books and recordings of music by his favorite musicians.

On that particular Christmas morning, while everyone was sitting around the tree happily opening gifts and eating Blueberry Boy Bait, my yearly holiday coffee cake, Reid, my youngest brother noticed that Mom had given his son, who was at home with his mother, less money than she’d given my kids. I believe Mom’s thinking was that she should give Jesse less money because he was quite a bit younger. When she tried to explain, Reid had a fit, tossing his own Christmas check into the fire and stomping out of the room.

I was in tears, Zed was yelling  at everyone, and the kids slipped downstairs to get out-of-the-way.  While Bill was trying to calm everyone down, Mom and I got into our own little argument. As a result, she insisted that she needed to go to the airport right that minute so that she could fly back to New Hampshire and away from this craziness. Filled with shame and anger, I was ready to leave for the Bahamas.

After discovering that there were no flights out of Charlottesville on Christmas day, she made a reservation for the next day. We spent the day quietly, trying to avoid each other and ate our usual holiday meal of roast pork and perogies, without saying much. Afterwards, someone suggested that we take in one of the newest blockbuster movies. Later, when it came time to choose which one, there didn’t seem be too much interest in going, until my brothers discovered, Danny DeVito and Billy Crystal’s, comedy, Throw Momma From The Train, was playing at the nearest cinema.

The title says it all. Mom naturally decided to stay at home and pack for her escape the following morning. Tired and feeling as though we were about to go even more crazy than we already were, Bill and I decided to go to the movie as well, just to get out of the house.

It was, of course, the makings of a disaster. It was mean, cruel and I spent the rest of the evening feeling down and miserable that Christmas had turned into a Holiday Horror Show.  But no amount of apologizing made it better. Still angry at all of us, Mom left the next morning and called us when she got home, as if nothing had happened.  My brothers drove her car back to New Hampshire a day later and life went on as it usually does in dysfunctional families.  You have a fight over something silly, blame the whole thing on everyone else, and then act like it never happened, until the next time.

As I ran it all through my head, I realized that I was diving into victimhood. My stomach gurgled and hurt. I was anxious. Exhausted. And living in a story that was over, gone, and so very unimportant. But I was the one choosing to replay part of the nightmare, I felt my life had often been.

So instead of allowing myself to get depressed about the holidays being here again, or railing at myself for being a complete idiot, I decided to quit creating another version of Mr. Dickens’, Christmas Carol, and stay put in Christmas present.

It matters not what causes me to go all weird at Christmas. I choose to celebrate myself and those around me for all of the growing we have done over the years.  I want the spirit of holidays to fill me with generosity and tolerance for all of those around me, including myself. I needn’t fuss and fume because somebody else chooses to shop at eight o’clock in the evening on Turkey Day, or how they spend their pennies. I need only to look after myself, and live by my own values, which includes something about not judging others.  Oh, well.

How do you feel about Christmas and the holidays?  Do you love it or do you have demons like mine that come to visit every year at this time?  How do you handle them and send them on their way?

Filed Under: Childhood, Christmas, family, Healthy Living, Memoir, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, Thanksgiving Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

All You Can Do

October 12, 2012 By

“All you can do is all you can do, and all you can do is enough.”
A. L. Williams

I got this fabulous quote from my brother, Zed.  It’s perfect for someone like me, who is a perfectionist and an overachiever, especially when it comes to wanting to fix the world and all of the people in it. Fortunately, I’m not one of those who goes around telling everyone that it’s my way or the highway, though sometimes it’s easy to think that way. I’m the kind that tries to keep everyone happy, as though it’s my job to make sure that every person in the room never gets depressed, gets their feelings hurt, or feels anger.

I learned to do that job well when I was a just a little kid. I felt I had to do everything perfectly and exactly as I was told to do it.  If I didn’t do things the prescribed way the first time, I usually had to do them over and over until I got the results my parents were looking for.

I remember spending a long evening when I was about eight years old, learning about fractions. Dad made me stand on a chair at the kitchen sink, filling measuring cups until I learned that four quarts equaled a gallon, four cups equaled a quart, and two cups made a pint, and so on.  I remember how annoyed he was that I didn’t get it quickly enough for him.  I recall that it was snowing outside and all I could think about was getting outside in the morning to build a snowman. Cups, quarts and gallons were not of interest to me.

During one of my “How to Clean a House,” lessons, Mom, wore a white glove to show me that I hadn’t dusted in every little nook and cranny.  Because it felt like I failed to do things exactly right, I began to compensate by trying to do more than I needed to. I felt that I could never do enough, which led to the belief that I, myself, was not enough.  It’s taken me more years than I’d like to admit to figure out that doing more and more and more to satisfy everybody else’s expectations doesn’t make me happy.

It’s been a lesson well learned. I’ve been on a long and delicious journey this past week, learning more about myself and that letting certain things go is well worth the effort it takes to put them to rest.  I’ll be back in a week, but in the meantime, take a whiff of the lovely roses I’ve sent your way. (-:

These roses are especially for my granddaughter, Casey, who at twenty-four has breast cancer and is an inspiration as she travels down an uncertain road with courage. 

Filed Under: Addiction, Childhood, family, Healthy Living, Matters of the Spirit, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, Perfectionism, The Garden Tagged With: , , ,

Letting Go

September 29, 2012 By

Perogies while being prepared.

Things Change.  One minute the sun is shining, the next it’s raining cats and dogs. I might be really sad at noon, and then find myself happy and laughing hysterically by four o’clock. When I have a day that makes me want to shoot myself in the head, the next day I may be filled with uncontrollable excitement to get on with my life. None of us ever knows from one minute to the next what is before us.  The past is done, never to return.  The future hasn’t happened yet, so how can we truly plan what we will be doing next? Changes are constant. They can be large or small, altering our lives in many ways. Some are good. Others bring on excruciating pain and suffering.  The one thing that never changes, is the need to let go of whatever we are clinging to, so that we can ride the waves toward new beginnings.  It can be hard. So very hard.  Especially when we are dealing with major loss.

Right now, there are lots of changes happening in my life, and lots of things I need to let go of.  Though there is nothing terribly earth shattering, they’re bothersome and sometimes sad.  For one thing, I’m aging.  Nothing works quite the way it used to.  I can no longer wiggle my ears or do fifty jumping jacks all in a row. It’s to be expected, of course, but I’m loving my later years for my ability to be more honest and to say what I need to say without embarrassing myself.

Just a little over three weeks ago, I decided to go gluten-free.  I’m feeling absolutely terrific.  All of my aches and pains are gone, food cravings are a thing of the past, my energy levels have risen to new heights, and I’m slowly losing weight … about a pound a week.  It’s miraculous and I love every minute of discovering the new me.  What’s to complain about?

I think of Christmas and the traditional foods we’ve always enjoyed in the past.  Like the perogies, forever my favorite holiday food, since the beginning of time.  Little packages of pasta, filled with a variety of fillings, like sauerkraut, mushrooms, or potato and cheese, are to die for.  We smother them with caramelized onions and sour cream, and spend our time eating them in food heaven.  But no more.  I do take solace in their sweet memory and know I’ll probably come up with something that tastes similar but doesn’t use pasta.

Seven weeks ago we adopted an adorable little terrier.  As of three days ago, he is no longer with us. We had to return him to the shelter because he began beating up our old guy, Sam.  He also turned out to be destructive, shredding a new chair cover, chewing on the woodwork, and then a table.  Sam was not hurt too badly the last time Terry started a fight, but everyone, including the trainer, the vet and Terry’s former foster mom, agreed that things could take a very bad turn if we didn’t do something. The amount of training he would need was something we couldn’t commit to. And my first concern was for Sam, who was already coming to us for protection, whenever Terry would get too rowdy.

We’re feeling pretty glum at this point and despite his problems, all of us, including Sam, miss the dickens out of him.  He was a very sweet little guy most of the time.  I’d recently discovered his love for water, when visiting with a neighbor. He’d stepped down onto the first step in her pool and spent the next ten minutes just sitting in the shallow water with a huge grin on his face. I promised myself I’d get him a small toddler’s pool for next summer, but then the last and most injurious fight took place.  I spent the last day he was with us in tears, hugging him and wishing for a fairytale ending, in which he suddenly sees the error of his ways and straightens himself out.  But the true fairytale will happen when he finds a new forever home, where he is the one and only kingpin, preferably with a few kids, whom he adores, and a large space to run in.  There has already been some interest in him from others looking for a small dog and I’m feeling it could happen very soon.

My Mom

My biggest letting go for now, will happen in a week or so when I take my mother’s ashes up to Long Island, to scatter them in the places where she was truly happy.  Some of her ashes are already buried next to my Dad in New Hampshire and some are under the Smoke Tree, we planted in her honor, here in Virginia.  She was not all that happy in New England, and after we, as a family, moved to Vermont, she went back to the Island often, spending her time staying in a small cottage, and visiting friends and relatives.  When she died in 2007, I was not able to plan a funeral or a memorial for her.  I was spent from years of being her caretaker.  I was also very angry with her, unable to find a middle ground where I would be ready and able to let her go with forgiveness and love.  Though it’s taken a while, I’m ready now.  I do miss her terribly and often find myself wanting to call her, to let her in on any exciting news I have to share.  It’s funny, but I do think she knows it all anyway and is up there, sitting on the edge of a cloud, still trying to run the show.

I don’t know how I’ll feel once I finally commit Mom to the earth and sea. Lately, I’ve felt a few second thoughts creep in, suggesting that maybe it would be better if she stayed in the closet where I’ve kept her all this time. But the thing is, I know I need to set her free, so that I can move on with my own life.  Mom’s hold on me began to die this past June, when we had to put her cat, Cleo, to sleep. That calico kitty was my last living connection to Mom. With her, I learned to forgive Mom and myself for the pain we caused each other.  Now it’s time to set myself free as well. I wish to go on living a glorious, rich life, and to enjoy every moment as they arise, without regret of any kind.

 What kinds of changes are going on in your life?  What do you need to let go of?

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Gratefulness, Healthy Living, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Kickin’ Granny Out Of Her Chair

September 7, 2012 By

My Cross Trainer, Zelda. I bought her second hand five years ago and she’s saved me a fortune in fitness membership fees. I spend time with her when the weather is too hot, too cold, raining heavily or snowing. I have no excuses if I can’t get to the gym.

I’ve been noticing an increase in my aches and pains as summer has progressed.  One reason might be that I move less in the summertime.  I can’t stand the heat and humidity and have much less energy during July and August, when I typically spend more time sitting around and complaining about the weather, than I do moving.  My favorite place to be is outdoors, but the hottest months find me inside my air-conditioned home.  And though I’m grateful to have it, I feel guilty using it because it uses too many natural resources. I always feel much better physically and emotionally in the great outdoors, than I do when I spend my time in an artificially cooled environment, but when it’s really hot, I need it.

Another reason for my sore shoulders, creaky back and stiff hips might be that I’m getting older.  I’ll be seventy in November.  I hear from other aging people, including a few health care providers, that aches and pains are just a sign of  old age.  “Get used to it,” they  tell me. “It’s the way it’s going to be from now on.”  Others, who are older and more active than I am, tell me, “The more you move, the better you feel.”

I personally believe in the “the more, the better” theory, as in, “Use it or lose it.”  I  know that I can work through many of my aches and pains by walking, swimming or using my cross trainer on a regular basis.  And I know that if I spend too much time sitting around, I feel stiffer and in more pain.

I’ve also been told by my massage therapist and my Pilates teacher that my pain could be connected to old trauma that I’m working through as I write my memoir. They both know I’ve been struggling through some aspects of the writing and if I tell them I’m in pain, they’ll ask me what I’m writing about. Nine times out of ten, it is usually something terribly dark. When I’m working through those difficult passages my back and hip pain does seem to get worse.  I push through it, however, hoping that once I’ve finished the writing, I’ll be feeling much better.  In the meantime, I’m taking breaks from writing every hour or so to stretch the tension out of my body. It really helps.

I very much dislike the image that often appears in my head when I put the words, grandmother and aging together.  In the picture, I see an old white-haired lady, sitting in a rocking chair, on her front porch, watching the rest of the world go by.  That is not what I want for myself so I’m going to do my very best to make my last days anything but that.

I’m kickin’ myself out of my chair.  There will be no rocker for me.  There will be more stretching, which I’ve let go a bit over the summer because I wasn’t losing my “winter belly” fast enough.  I spent way too much time worried about my image in the mirror, rather than paying attention to what my body was trying to tell me.  All those times she yelling, “Stretch,” I wasn’t listening.

To make sure that all is well, I’ve recently had my yearly physical, a mammogram, a bone scan and had my teeth cleaned.  No cavities!  I met with my Oncologist last week and she once again declared that I am cancer free. I had my eyes checked as well and they are fine.  My glasses need only a tiny tweak, so I’ll  keep using the old ones till I can’t see anymore.  I’m happy and feeling great emotionally. Getting my story down on paper has been healing for me and sometimes I wish I’d been ready to do it a long time ago.

To stay as healthy as I can, my plan is to continue my exercise routine, but ramp it up a bit.  Gentle Yoga twice a week. Pilates once a week.  In between I walk what I call the “Big Hill” as often as I can and use my cross trainer, when the weather is too hot or nasty. I’ve just gotten myself a membership at one of the city’s pools and hope to add a swim session at least twice a week.  I’ll try one of their water aerobics classes to start.

I think I’ve lost most of my winter belly, now that fall is on it’s way, but intend to be more mindful about the amount food I’m ingesting.  And it’s time to think about foods that don’t make me feel so good. I very much enjoy a mostly plant-based diet, have recently cut out most of the dairy I was consuming and have now decided to go gluten-free.

I just finished reading, Wheat Belly, by William Davis, MD, and found it mind-blowing. We need to get used to the idea that over time, through hybridizing, we’ve come up with a new kind of wheat that is not good for us.  It may be more drought resistant and produce more grain per acre, but our bodies are telling many of us that they don’t like it.  Several people I know who have stopped consuming wheat have told me that their aches and pains are gone. Many also claim an almost instant loss in weight, which sounds great.  Two days ago I jumped off the cliff. I haven’t had gluten in three days and I’m feeling terrific.  My energy levels have been good and my back pain is  gone … at least for the moment.  I’m convinced I need to leave wheat behind.

Sugar has always been my worst enemy, but I seem to have it under control at the moment.  If I need to sweeten something I’ll use a natural product like raw honey or maple syrup. They’re still sugar, but at least they aren’t highly processed. I do not like stevia, which for some does the trick. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give sugar up entirely, but at this moment I seem to be handling using less well.

I do not consider that I am on a diet.  I simply know that leaving some foods off the table and out of my belly, makes me feel a lot better.  I am overweight and losing some of that fat stored around my belly would be a good thing.

My biggest inspiration is my daughter, Lisa, who through diet change and exercise, has lost a huge amount of weight and recently finished her first Triathlon. She’s now an assistant running coach at her daughter’s (Zoe) school. And she will be leading The Wild Woman’s Wellness Tribe, next spring. Click here for more information.

My other inspiration is a woman I heard about while visiting Yellowstone National Park one winter. In her mid-eighties, she went snowshoeing every winter morning, as she had most of her life.  One morning she didn’t return.  Her family found her out on the trail, laying in the snow, with a smile on her face.  She died moving and engaged in something that she’d enjoyed doing all of her life.  That sounds like a pretty good way to go if you ask me!

I’ll likely slip and slide along the way, cheating from time to time. I’m in no way perfect and when I walk by Ben and Jerry’s, I may just have to stop by occasionally for one of my favorite treats:  Peanut Butter-Banana Frozen Greek Yogurt.  It can’t hurt once in a while, as long as I keep moderation in mind.

Filed Under: Healthy Living, Life, Memoir Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Taking A Time Out

March 12, 2012 By

Weeping Cherry

I love the quote that Tiferet Journal posted on Facebook today:

“Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest & let the spirits fly in & out. “

I’m taking this to heart.  I’ve hit a wall in my writing and it’s time for me to take a little break from being so OCD about it.  This week and maybe even next week, I’m taking a break.  The weather here is supposed to be spectacular with temps in the mid-seventies. Sounds like gardening weather to me.  Everything that usually blooms much later in the spring is blooming here now, including magnolia, forsythia, daffodils, crocus, snow drops, cherry trees and pears.  I’m going to clean up what the winter rendered dead, prune and reshape straggling shrubs, get my hands dirty and play with my plants.

I also plan on making art.  The encaustics have been calling my name for several weeks now and I’ve been ignoring them, believing that writing was all I could handle. Not true!  Without some balance in my life, everything comes to a screeching halt.

And finally, being the introvert that I am, I realize I shut myself off in my studio way too much.  Tomorrow I’m having lunch with a friend.  Not only are the windows in my house open letting the promise of spring spirits fly through.  I’m opening the big window in my heart and coming alive.

Filed Under: Encaustics, Healthy Living, Life, Matters of the Spirit, The Garden, Writing Tagged With:
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