Living A Balanced Life

July 5, 2016 By

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I envision my life journey as walking across a balance beam. I’m dressed in a black leotard and pink tights. My arms are outstretched, I slowly place one bare foot in front of the other as I make my way along the beam. At times I glide along without fearing that I’ll fall into the unknown. A few steps later my arms are flailing and fear clutches at my heart, as I struggle to stay in place. It’s as if a strong storm has suddenly come up with gale force winds. I need to find a way to stay where I am. But then just as suddenly it stops and once more I move easily along the beam with confidence and grace. This is my life. And it repeats over and over again.

Sometimes the storms are stronger than at other times. Sometimes the earth quakes beneath me. Sometimes I fall and since there is no net or cushion on the ground beneath me, my bruises are terribly painful. Sometimes they heal very quickly other times, not so much. Unless I pick myself up and get back on the beam I could find myself living an aimless life, afraid of my own shadow.

Life is filled with good, bad, ugly, and beautiful. I know of people who spend their lives with the bad and the ugly. I’ve been there myself. They never make an effort to walk beyond their prison gates, staying where they feel safest. They fear what is beyond their immediate perceptions, keeping themselves locked and secure against what could be a monster seeking its prey. They miss the sunshine, the sound of  water falling over a bed of rocks, the soft summer breeze that causes the ferns and flowers to dance, and the sound of bees buzzing in the garden. Of course there are gray days, but even in the darkest times when the sun can’t find a way through the clouds, I try to take heart knowing the rain will make the flowers flourish. And I can watch the way snowflakes pile up on the leafless branches of trees, blanketing my world with the stuff of snowmen and the thrill of sledding down steep hills.

Everyone has good days and bad days. And if we don’t take risks and walk out beyond the four walls that contain us, we will live forever in a darkness of our own making. When I have a bad day I try to take comfort in small things that will see me through to the next sunny one.

I cuddle and talk with my dogs.

I go for long, slow walks, allowing myself to adjust to the pulse of the neighborhood. I wave and smile hello to everyone I meet. Even those I don’t know.

I pick or buy myself a bouquet of flowers.

I listen to music. George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, will lift me up every time I hear it and before long I’m swinging from beams of sunlight.

I’ll cook something delicious. Eggplant parmesan is one of my favorite things. And ice cream, especially the creamiest available, always gives me a shot in the arm. But I don’t keep it in my house. If I need it, I go to my local Ben & Jerry’s and order one or two scoops of whatever flavor takes my fancy. And just stopping what I’m doing and getting out can wake me up to all sorts of possibilities.

A good hot soak in the tub to which I add drops of lavender essential oil and epsom salts that pull the toxins out of my body helps me relax while the storms of life rage on.

When I’m very tired I take a nap, and wake refreshed a while later, feeling ready to take on the world again.

Life happens. Besides taking care of myself, I need to sit at my desk and find words to fill the empty screen in front of me. There is the laundry to do, and a note of condolences to write to a friend who just lost her husband. I need to straighten out a billing problem, and the refrigerator needs cleaning out. There are every day survival things I must take care of. But if I take care of myself balance becomes easier.

The astounding thing is that the more I take care of what my mind and body needs in any given moment, the easier it is to keep myself on the beam.

How do you balance your life?

Filed Under: Navigating Through Life

Managing Stress In An Insane world

June 28, 2016 By
I stay sane by working in the garden and taking in the beauty of the natural world.

I stay sane by working in the garden and taking in the beauty of the natural world.

Earlier this year I decided to avoid the news as best I could. I didn’t want to hear about the presidential campaign; especially the words of one whose name shall not be mentioned here. He upset me greatly and when I started yelling  at the television it was a sure sign that I needed to turn it off. I do still tune in less than an hour every day because I want to be able to make informed choices. But I leave the room from time to time when I want to avoid talk from certain people.

Managing my stress is an important part of my self-care. I do not want to live with constant anxiety which turns my gut into a churning cement mixer filled with rocks. I get jumpy, depressed and feel hopeless. At the ripe old age of seventy-three I want a life of ease. I can’t afford the damage that stress causes to my mind, spirit and body.

I’ve been a news junky for as long as I can remember. I absolutely had to watch all of the heart breaking reports when JFK was assassinated. I tuned in constantly when Martin Luther King, Jr., and Bobby Kennedy were taken out. On the morning of 9/11, I wept and felt like it was the end of the world. On all of those occasions my gut churned away. I had no appetite for food. And for at least a week if not longer, I sat in front of the television reliving the cataclysm of 9/11.  Every news channel replayed the fall of the twin towers, over and over again. I was depressed. I had trouble sleeping. Like everyone else, I was sick at heart. At the end of that week I realized I was harming myself, not helping myself.

I needed to find my center. I needed to smile and laugh. I couldn’t go to NYC and help with the cleanup but thought perhaps if I lightened up and started believing in goodness, my depression would go away. I gave blood. I went back to working in the garden. I helped to prepare the downstairs apartment in my home for my mother, whose health was failing. She would be moving in with us in late October and would spend the next six years being in residence with us before she broke multiple bones and died in May of 2007. I knew it was going to be difficult and wanted to ground myself before she moved in.

I felt much better until Mom’s health started going down hill rapidly. I began watching hours of news again, and woke to NPR every morning. While I peeled potatoes, prepared meat loaf, or kneaded bread the TV was on. I listened to how the world was falling apart. It was easier to watch the world in turmoil and spout off on how to fix it, than it was to give my attention to what was happening in my own household as Mom moved toward the end of her life.

Later I was told I suffered from PTSD. It was suggested that the horrific news about climate change and the continuing saga of war in the Middle East were making me more stressed out than I was to begin with. But it was hard to turn it all off. I was too invested in the news and what was happening around the world.

I started meditating, said no to events or movies that I knew would upset me and set some boundaries For myself. But it was still difficult to stay news free. How would I know how to live if I didn’t know what was happening in the world? I was especially anxious about the mass shootings occurring so frequently around the country in schools, movie theaters, military bases and shopping centers. But even through those events I did fairly well at turning the boob tube off at the first sign of my being upset. I worked at staying positive. I reminded myself that beyond the negative is a beautiful world filled with good people who are kind and doing good deeds.

Then “you know who” decided to run for the presidency. My stress and anxiety levels began growing by leaps and bounds. I was sure the end of the world was nearing. I was afraid for my country. I feared what would happen to my kids and grandkids in the future if that man got into office. I yelled at the TV during debates and the nightly news. I cried some nights as I tried to fall asleep. Finally I said, “Enough. I can’t do this anymore.”

When I woke to the tragic news of the shooting in Orlando, a few weekends ago ago I was surprised by my reaction. I had no need to see the grim photos or know the numbers of innocent people killed and wounded. It was so unlike me. I asked, What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you reacting the way you usually do?

But I knew there was nothing I could do. Would sitting in front of the television all day taking in this heinous act of violence help to keep this kind of event from happening again? I knew that all it would do is make me feel angry, hopeless, and extremely heart sick. I decided to turn the news off and go about my day. I worked in the garden, cooked a delicious meal, and finished reading a book that I was completely immersed in. During the following days I signed petitions and made a donation to one of the sites involved in bringing an end gun violence. And after a bout of angry posts on Facebook, I decided to stop that too.

I still tune into the news most nights just to get the headlines. But it isn’t causing my stress levels to rise. I’m living in a better world, taking care of myself, trying to be as kind as I can, and being grateful for all that I have.

How do you handle the gruesome events that seem to happen every day all around us?
How do you stay positive in the face of negativity?

Filed Under: Change, Meditation, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, Self-Care, The Garden

51 Years And Counting

June 21, 2016 By

IMG_0386 (1) This past Sunday Bill and I celebrated our 51st year of marriage … “for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health.” It’s the bit about “till death do us part,” that makes each year we have together more precious than the last. In November I will turn seventy-four and three days later, Bill will turn seventy-seven. We’re still young, but these days we give much thought to aging as we discover we can’t do all of things we used to. Getting up off the floor after yoga class isn’t graceful anymore. Bill’s knee replacement in January was successful but it still doesn’t work the way the old one did before it gave out. And now a shoulder is giving him trouble.

Over the past few years we’ve noticed that friends have become incapacitated with body parts that no longer work. Terminal illnesses take others. So far we have been blessed, marching on together on our own chosen paths, yet watching each other carefully for any missteps. We do our best to live and celebrate each other and every moment we have together.

I used to complain and wish time away. It was either too hot, too cold, too rainy, or too sunny. I wasn’t happy with what the way things were going. My most used phrases were, “If only ______,” and  “When ______ , then I’ll _____.” Now I want it to stop time from moving so quickly.

We have entered the autumn years of our lives and it’s time to slow down, rather than rush around, like thirty-year-olds with under-the-gun missions to accomplish. We still have many thing we want to do and lots goals to reach for, but it’s a relief to live without that kind of pressure. Being of “a certain age” is wonderful in that we can use the difficult lessons we learned as youngsters, and see more clearly with our inner eyes and hearts. We appreciate the abundance of love and peace that we immerse ourselves in, and do our best to live one moment at a time.

Happy Anniversary to us and all of you who are still in our lives
and continue to join us on this huge, mysterious adventure!

Filed Under: Anniversaries, love, marriage, Mindfulness Tagged With:

Tasa’s Song by Linda Kass, A Review

June 14, 2016 By
We can grow anywhere if we never give up.

We can grow anywhere if we never give up.

Last month at Book Expo America in Chicago, I met a number of fellow She Writes Press authors. We took turns greeting passersby and promoting our books in the SWP booth. During my first session there I was accompanied by Linda Kass, author of Tasa’s Song, a novel set in Eastern Poland, about a young Jewish girl, caught in the cross-hairs between Communist Russia and Nazi Germany, during WWII. This book was awarded the 2016 Bronze Medal in Historical Fiction by the Independent Publisher Book awards.

Having spent two years living in Germany just after the war as a young child, and seeing the destruction of that country, I have always been interested in the Holocaust; searching for answers as to why it happened and how the survivors who were targeted by Hitler’s horrific regime came through such an unspeakable time. As the daughter of an American soldier who fought and liberated a number of concentration camps, the focus of my interest has always been on Germany itself. But I have been mostly unaware of how the people of Poland lived through the upheaval and mass destruction of innocent lives as a result of the war. And being of Polish descent myself, I have felt remiss in my ignorance.

Kass’ beautifully written story, inspired by her mother’s life and how she came to America, has filled in many of the blanks for me. I now understand the intensity of the sudden invasion of Poland by Russia, making everyday life a challenge because of the many changes that the Russians forced upon the Poles. When the Nazis drove the Russian occupation back, and started rounding up the Jews to be taken away, Tasa’s family hid underneath a friend’s barn, away from the light of day for an extended period of time. This is a story filled with loss, love, and the grace it takes to keep going in a shattered world.

For me, what is most engaging about this story is how Kass, weaves in the music that Tasa, an aspiring violinist, always carries with her in her head. Through her constant moves and the unending months when she cannot play her violin for fear that any sound she makes could give away her family’s hiding place, it sings in her heart. Using exquisite, lyrical narrative, Kass explores the way a life filled with music can bring us through life extreme adversity, helping the human spirit to shine and endure. Filled with detailed descriptions of daily life in war-torn Poland, this book should not be missed.

 

As often as I can, I plan to read and review books by authors already published or is in the process of being published by She Writes Press. I feel extremely fortunate to be included in such a group of talented women writers. Brooke Warner and all of the women at She Writes Press have given me unending attention during the sometimes difficult process of getting my book off the ground. From the editors to the publicists they recommend, I feel well supported and grateful that they are there to answer the simplest questions and help as my book moves toward publication.  To learn more about She Writes Press go here.

Filed Under: Book Publishing, Book Reviews, She Writes Press, War

Getting Over Hysteria

June 7, 2016 By
Mom and the big pan of Pierogis we just finished making!

Mom and the big pan of Pierogis we just finished making!

We all have triggers. They can be aromas that remind us of days gone by. Like the smell of onions and garlic cooking that sends me to the times when Bill, my mother, and anyone else who wanted to take part, came into my kitchen and helped me prepare our best-loved food, pierogis. This traditional Polish dish of pockets of dough stuffed with delicious fillings has always been a part of our holiday celebrations. My favorites are the sauerkraut ones, with caraway seeds, and lightly caramelized onions. There were also those stuffed with mushrooms sautéed in butter with loads of garlic.

The smell of watermelon can also set off visual memories of the days in my youth when I lived on the shore of Long Island Sound. My free time was taken up with swimming, waterskiing, digging clams for supper, and the gritty feel of sand in my shoes.

Calendars can be triggers as well. The dates when loved ones passed away can set off another round of grieving for our loss, disconnecting us from holiday cheer or a season like spring, when everything is supposed to come back to life again.

Mom in 1997 before she became very ill.

Mom in 1997 before she became very ill.

I am sometimes triggered by seeing people who look like my mother, father, or the brother I lost six years ago. There is an advertisement for a senior community on a local tv station, in which a lovely gray haired woman is looking happy and reading a book as she sits in a rocking chair. She looks just like my mother before her health started to fail. Every time I see it I feel sad wishing I could go back in time and change the way things turned out for her. But alas, none of us has the power to do that.

Words can also set me off — like hysterical. The Cambridge Dictionaries Online says hysterical is the inability “to control your emotional behavior because you are very frightened, excited, etc.” It can be uncontrollable laughter or the shock and grief you feel when when you learn of someone’s death.

In the old days the word was defined as a neurotic condition, especially of women, caused by a dysfunction of the uterus. Whenever a woman became upset and cried, she was said to be suffering from hysteria. Many a woman found herself admitted to hospital and stayed there because she was too emotional.

Hysterical is what my mother called me whenever I cried as a child. And I don’t mean sobbing or bawling. Whenever she saw a tear on my cheek she said I was being hysterical. The day she called me to say that my father had been diagnosed with stage four bladder cancer and I began tearing up and sounding unhappy, she handed the phone to my dad and said, “Here, you talk to her. She’s hysterical. I can’t talk to her when she’s like that.”

Wouldn’t most people cry when they’re told that a loved one has a terminal illness? My reaction to those comments of hers always made me angry. I felt shushed — as though my feelings were stupid and didn’t matter.

I may be an emotional woman, but I do not suffer from hysteria. My mother was also an emotional woman. She had been abused as a child and lived with my father’s PTSD for over the forty plus years of their marriage. But she never cried in public or admitted a hurt. She hid her sorrow, grief, and pain from herself as well as onlookers. She self-medicated with alcohol which released her emotions in the form of anger. Using booze, she was able to let go of her pain for a while. But it always came back and the cycle of drinking began again.

Though I use the word hysteria and can laugh hysterically, almost wetting my pants at times, I still occasionally have trouble with both words. They can come out of the blue in innocent conversations and hit me hard. Just like the way the smell of onions and garlic sautéing can get my stomach rumbling, those simple words can make me feel stupid and unimportant. Awareness of those triggers helps me overcome emotional reactions. When a word sets me off I pause, remembering it is just a word and has nothing to do with the present and its context that I carried with me over the years. I can let it go and move on.

Do you have words or other things that can trigger reactions? How do you handle them?

Read about my relationship with my mother in my memoir, Scattering Ashes, A Memoir of Letting Go, due out in September.  It is available for pre-order on both Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Filed Under: Mental Health, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: , , ,
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