The Best Laid Plans

“The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” ~ Robert Burns

This past weekend, at my daughter's college preparatory school in Massachusetts, was Parents Weekend. October is the most glorious time of year to visit New England, and the area between the Berkshires and the New Hampshire border is aflame with every

possible Autumn blaze hue. The drive to the school itself is akin to trekking from one picture postcard view to the next. Nothing looks quite real: the entire countryside feels painted or imaginary. The school creates a festive atmosphere, as parents attend classes with their children. The nostalgia this brings back, particularly for those of us who attended similar schools, is palpable. I found myself wanting to raise my hand in French class and duck down below my seat in Algebra II; the old strengths and weaknesses still fully apparent. There were mixers, social gatherings, a hospitality tent, parent-teacher meetings, tours, fancy meals and a whole array of exceptional events to help connect parents with the school their children attend far away. Every sports team was scheduled for home games and each one is meant to be attended by all: not just the parents of those children playing. There is a wonderful sense of anticipation, connection, and a delightful schedule with just enough activity to keep both parents and children on track for a great experience.

Yet, as Robert Burns so eloquently put it, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." One aspect of any kind of special event that can't be taken into the meticulous planning is the weather. As delightful as New England fall can be one day, the weather can turn 180 degrees the next. The rain came pouring down onto the school, onto the elegantly appointed festival tent, onto the playing fields, onto the carefully groomed paths and onto the families scurrying from one ivy covered building to another. The bookstore and student center became a makeshift life raft as parents thronged in to buy raincoat pullovers, umbrellas and dry sweatshirts, all emblazoned with the school's colors and mascot. Mothers that carefully styled their hair and wore their cashmere elegantly, found themselves holding fuzzy school blankets over their heads just to make it to the next destination. Games were postponed, cancelled or played under adverse conditions and all events were modified to accommodate the uninvited guest of an Autumn gale. But, parents, teachers, administrators soldiered on with good cheer and a sense of humor.

There were smiles and jokes about Mother Nature nasty sense of humor until the next snafu arrived: the H1N1 virus. Sadly, there were 7 student cases of the flu diagnosed at school, as well as one teacher. An emergency assembly was convened and a crisis plan of action was enacted. Since many of the students enjoy going to the nearby hotel with their parents for the evenings, strict rules were set in place about both the taking off of campus, and the returning to, of all children. All needed to screened upon arrival, and any child found to have a fever would not be allowed to return to campus. Additionally, parents were informed that, should their child come down with the flu in the coming weeks, arrangements must be made to pick that child up from school until she is better. These precautions complicated the weekend dramatically: plans for groups of parents to go out together changed, students were asked to clear out their lockers in the fitness building to make room for a quarantine area, and returning plans included waiting time at the health center before the child could return to campus. The ill members of the community were never far from any one's thoughts, nor were the concerns about everyone else's health. Parents regarded their teenagers more closely, carefully looking for signs of flu. Children looked at their parents sneezes with more concern.

Regardless of the "Nor'easter" storm, and the Flu outbreak, it was a terrific weekend. Instead of feasting under the bright canopy of golden October skies, families gathered at nearby restaurants. In the place of huge crowds at the football game, a number of kids watched in house movies at the hotel...a rare treat for the entertainment deprived prep school students. Parents had coffee in small groups in the lounge, getting to know one another. Teachers remained longer in the open house, chatting, as much as filling parents in on students' progress. The carefully planned and lovingly tweaked schedule went out the window, as the community came together, putting a brave, unified facade together against the gathering storm of downpours and flu.

Parents Weekend 2009 will probably go down in the school's annals of Murphy's Law: "what can go wrong, will go wrong". I hope, however, that there will also be a note of what went right this weekend: a community came together expecting a weekend of frivolity and instead experienced a flood and flu. Complications notwithstanding, I believe that the perseverance of the entire community, the flexibility of schedules, the generosity of spirit, and the common belief that all will be well regardless of the circumstances, should, in fact, be what is remembered....not the hardships, but the resolution.

Next year, however, I will pack my rain boots.

The Burn Pile

As is tradition for most northern New Englanders, we burn our leaf pile every fall. In the spring, we do our yard clean up of felled branches, dead trees, and anything else that hasn’t survived the long Maine snow season. Having two fires a year is not intimidating. My husband is the son of a fire chief, so I am certain we’re operating these piles with the greatest care and supervision. Because of this, we can also use the chance to throw things on the fire that are simply not nice enough to give away, and are burnable. The old wooden benches that my parents had 30 years ago were rotting and warped. We threw them on the fire. The kids’ old wooden playset was no longer safe, and considering our children are now teenagers, it was easy enough to take the useless pieces off to burn. (I should point out that the good wood from the playset was recycled into the bunny’s summer hutch). Our first living room set from “This End Up” that saw us through a couple of decades, first inside, then out….it was busted and useless. But, it made for wonderful fodder for the fire.

Unlike the Bonfire of the Vanities, in which 15th century Italians were urged to burn any objects that would lead them to the sin of self-centeredness, or the famous Nazi book burning so lavishly depicted in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade”, our burn pile does not signify hatred. Rather, they’re a cleaning out of items that are unneeded. (And not environmentally hazardous).


If we look at the burn pile metaphorically, we can intuit what would like to rid our lives of that is weighing us down. Can we let go of toxic relationships ? What about unhealthy habits ? How about needless spending on more material “stuff” ? Let’s go further…can we rid ourselves of rage, of bigotry, of jealousy and of greed ? Can we toss ambivalence and bitterness and contempt on the fire ? Let’s think about what else we can release the flames: impatience, ingratitude and fear of change. What about just letting go of snarky responses to those we love most...and usually bear the brunt of our bad day grouchiness ?


The ancients used to believe that burning brought purification. The fires brought renewal after they burned out. One of my favorite myths is that of the Phoenix: the bird that will live, will burst into flame, and then will be born anew from the ashes. Just as areas of new, green growth can be seen after a fire has ravaged a canyon, so can the areas of our lives be cleared out of negativity. If we toss anger onto the flames, we can cultivate compassion from the ashes. If we relinquish our need to “keep up with the Joneses”, we can feel deep gratitude for all that we’ve been blessed with. And, if we can surrender ambivalence over to the bonfire, releasing it forever, we can ignite a passion within ourselves to create the reality we choose.


So, if you had a bonfire, to rid your yard of the debris of your life, what would you burn ? And, more importantly, what you cultivate in its place ?

Time of Transition

Autumn in Maine is leaf peeper season. It means warm sweaters, hot apple cider and happy kids jumping into leaf piles. It evokes smells of crisp air, the sweet smell of the last marshmallows of the season, and the scent of fresh winter winds around corner. It’s a time to hunker down and prepare for the coming cold weather. But, it’s also a time to enjoy the most beautiful season in northern New England. There are no mosquitoes the size of small birds. There are still tourists about, but the congestion and traffic is far more manageable. “Locals” greet one another again, as if we can welcome our little town back after its busy summer. Pumpkins are available at every farm stand , along with homemade pies and hand knit mittens. It’s a time of bounty in coastal Maine. It’s the one time of year people “from away” see the coast photographed in movies and in print.

And yet, there are many people who see Autumn as the end of something magical, rather than the beginning. My father used to get a wistful expression on his face on the Fourth of July. If we asked him why he seemed blue, he’d reply “Summer’s almost over”. For those who don’t love Autumn the way I do, Autumn is not a time of joyful bonfires but a time of sadness. There people who find this to be a season of loss and decay. Instead of seeing the brilliant red and yellow leaves, they see their favorite shade tree is ‘dying’. Just as the Greek myth of Demeter went into grief, striking the world with six month of barrenness for Hades’ kidnapping of her daughter, Persephone, many feel sorrow at this dormant and introspective time of year.

In Yoga, most traditional Hatha and Ashtanga based classes end with Savasana: corpse pose. The first yoga class I took, I was a invited as a guest by my friend, Tammie. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, and was extremely self-conscious the whole time. When our teacher announced we would be ending the class with Corpse Pose, I was more than a little taken aback. We were supposed to lie on our backs and pretend to be dead ? I had images of an entire studio full of chalk outlines and crime scene photographers. I imagined a Film Noir detective kneeling by my body, speaking into a Dictaphone, saying “The victim took a yoga class to keep her friend company, and that was the end of her.” Little did I know how soothing Savasana can be.

It’s now ten years later, and I can’t imagine not having this valuable tool in my arsenal to fight stress and tension. At the end of each class, I invite my students to lie prone and, with verbal cues, to relax each muscle group. I have found that by initially tensing each muscle area and then relaxing it, I’m able to bring a fuller release to each area. By slowing the breath and moving into a quiet breathing pattern, by clearing your mind of random thoughts and by focusing on nothing but allowing yourself the grace of renewal, the body is able to gain in strength. It sounds funny, doesn’t it ? Relaxing, to gain strength ? Lying prone, like a sloth, creates energy ? Studies have shown that regular practice of Savasana can help improve your immune system, can improve insomnia, can increase your overall stamina and has more of a rejuvenating effect than sleep does.

So, in Autumn, it’s a wonderful excuse to practice this Yoga pose. Make sure you have a space in your home in which you can lie undisturbed, put on quiet music and just allow yourself to recharge, like a battery. You will feel renewed and your spirit will feel restored. Your mind and body will thank you. Instead of thinking of this as the pose of death, remind yourself that it is life giving. And, I promise: no CSI photographers will traipse through your living room.