Q & A with GRATITUDE

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple."  ~  Dr. Seuss


I feel truly, exceptionally and powerfully blessed. So many people have dropped me notes to wish me well and to encourage me over the past year. I have no idea what my life would be like, had my life's course not veered into unknown territory. However, one thing that I do know: I'm eternally grateful for those special folks who have reached out to me. I'm encouraged by your stories, by your thoughtfulness, by your willingness to get to know me and by the new friends I've made. In addition, you have all asked me some good questions. Rather than repeat myself, I've decided to do a Q & A segment on Preppy Yogini. I've done this on other blogs, but not here. So, I hope that I'm managing to answer most of your questions. If not? I plan on doing another one in time. Thank you again for all of your kindness and understanding.

1. How did you come up with the name "Preppy Yogini"? I did blog piece on this very story about six months ago, called The Bohemian Sloth. When I was doing my yoga teacher training, I was blessed with many fantastic instructors. Unfortunately, one was just hideous. He was a cross between Attila the Hun and the worst Kindergarten teacher ever. He made fun of people. He pushed students to the point of injury and he was simply a rotten person, let alone a terrible instructor. When I questioned his methodology, he spat out, "You're nothing but a preppy yogini". He meant it as the most derogatory slur imaginable. I wear it like a badge of honor now.
2. You talk about Maine a lot. Are you from Maine? Yes...and no. To a true, iconoclastic Mainer, I am not. I wasn't born here. Therefore, I'm from "away". But, I have spent many years here, first as a summer person growing up, and then with my husband and our children. I grew up in California and New York, and went to school in Rhode Island and Massachusetts, before moving to Europe for four years. I enjoy living in Maine, but I also love traveling to other places. I get itchy feet if I'm in one place too long.
3. What made you become a yoga instructor? How did you become one? I had been practicing yoga for years before my first cancer diagnosis in 2003. I had three surgeries in just 7 weeks. It was tough! But, yoga was instrumental in helping me recover. When I was well enough, I resigned from my job in traditional education and studied at Kripalu and Gentle Spirit Yoga for my 200 hour R.Y.T. certification. I felt tremendously encouraged by own instructors and this inspired me to pursue my own path in teaching.
4. What's your favorite yoga style of practice? What do you recommend? That's like asking a mother who her favorite child is! I have honestly enjoyed every form of yoga I've practiced. I believe that every class, regardless of yogic 'arm', has the potential to be fabulous for all levels. It really comes down to the teacher and her willingness to give of herself to her students. For beginners, I generally recommend classes that are Hatha based, or that offer Yoga Foundations. It's a great starting point.
5. You have mentioned being sick. What was wrong? How are you doing? I'm doing much better! A year ago, I was slowly starting to walk around and drive again. Unfortunately, my Sarcoma based cancer returned. This time, my surgery and procedures were even more invasive...and I'm also 8 years older, making my recovery that much more difficult. The form of cancer I have is not treatable by radiation or chemotherapy. Surgery is my only option. I had some pretty intense setbacks, but I'm on the road to recovery again. It's just a very slow road. Think Los Angeles traffic at rush hour slow.
6. Why have you stopped doing book reviews? I am still reading up a storm and look forward to writing reviews again on this blog. When I created Ellen's Thirty Day Book Challenge last Spring, I actually ended up reviewing more than 30 books, since I had an impossible time narrowing my list down. I burned out on writing book reviews for a while, as a result. 
7. I like your writing. Have you been published? Years ago, I was published in Parenting, Mothering, The Doula and several other magazines aimed at that life path. I haven't been published since then. I hope to be again. I'm working on several different pieces...but all seem to be longer than magazine articles. I look forward to continuing my writing. While it would be an honor to be published, I truly write for myself and my own spirit. Anything beyond that would be fresh butter cream icing on a very dense carrot cake.
8. What other hobbies do you enjoy? Beyond writing, reading and yoga, I love design. I think I'm actually a frustrated art director in a yogini's skin! I also love animals...I have two dogs now, but have had horses, cats and one very special bunny during my life. I love good wine, scintillating conversation, travel and long walks on the beach at sunset. Seriously though...I really do love long walks on the beach at sunset.
9. Are you still teaching yoga? Can I join your class? Unfortunately, my last surgery, the complications that ensued, made teaching yoga impossible for me. I am adjusting to a new definition of normal. If you're going to be in coastal Maine or the greater Scottsdale, Arizona areas, I'd be happy to recommend some amazing teachers. I am taking 3-4 classes a week again, and am enjoying the simplicity of being a student at this time.
10. What's next for you? I wish I knew. I really wish I knew! I have no idea. I do know that it's time to figure out who I'm going to be as a grown up. It would be nice if the universe sent out smoke signals to give me a hint. While I'm looking for said clues in the heavens, I'm doing a lot of volunteer work in my community. And drinking far too much tea. 

Thank you again. Best wishes. Enjoy. Namaste!

La Belle Époque

The past is always judged by the present. ~ Neith Boyce


When I was a young girl, I was completely enamored of the past. I wanted nothing more than to move back to a simple time of simple pleasures. This interest was mainly kindled into a fire when I read the "Little House" books by Laura Ingalls Wilder in second grade. Using couch pillows and a sheet, I created a covered wagon and tried to enlist our German Shepherd and Border Collie into being my pretend team of horses to pull it. I daydreamed about log cabins, spinning wheels and calico dresses. As I continued to read, I fell in love with Colonial Virginia, when reading a biography of Martha Washington, Ancient Egypt from"The Cat in the Mirror" by Mary Stoltz and Victorian England following my lust for Jane Austen novels. I daydreamed about Ancient Greece and Rome, through books of mythology. I imagined life in Scandinavia as I mentally sailed along with Viking raiders around the North sea. I went on a spirit journey, reading about southwestern Native American rites of passage...envisioning my life amongst the Anasazi. The current age of my childhood seemed ugly, bitter, filled with anger and too fast a pace. I longed for a more quiet life, an uncomplicated life. I imagined restraint, gentility and honor in all the times past. 


My new favorite film is "Midnight in Paris", which was written and directed  by Woody Allen. "Annie Hall" this is not. It's one man's daydreaming past into 1920's Paris...the time of Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Pablo Picasso. It was the era of the great Left Bank artists, poets, writers, musicians, designers...the time of post World War I ex-patriot "Lost Generation" great thinkers and creators. The film is brilliantly created. Each night, at precisely the same spot on a side side in Paris, at Midnight, Owen Wilson's character is picked up in a vintage car and driven into the past, where he meets all of his idols. He experiences the era with which he identifies so closely. He is desperate to be a part of this time in history, when, in his mind, life was ever so much sweeter and so much more imaginative. "Gil", Wilson's protagonist, falls in love with the beautiful Adriana...a muse to the 1920's artists. As they stroll through the Paris streets each night, Gil finds the evenings to be both sublime and transcendent. He's actually living in his dream time and can't fathom anyone else not being outrageously happy.  The pace of life, for Gil, is slower, more meaningful and far more beautiful. Adriana, on the other hand, ruminates on her own 'castle in the sky' period of history, La Belle Époque, the late 19th century until World War I. It's no wonder..."The Great War"  devastated the globe. As Gil and Adriana travel back in time to the 1880's, they come upon the famous artists of the day who dream about the Renaissance. Gil and Adriana have to decide; should each one remain in his, or her, own daydream, or return to their own present times?


The lesson of the film is quite simple: it's one thing to fantasize about the romance of the past. It is wonderful to appreciate those superlative individuals who help define an era, and help to create something completely new and original. It's quite another to run away from one's problems, one's dissatisfaction and one's melancholy by vanishing into a previous time...even if that disappearing is completely metaphorical. Each generation looks to the previous ones for inspiration and with longing. Every period in history has magically beautiful aspects to it. Yet, we forget, in our reveries, that each period in history has its own share of complications and horrors. No time has ever been perfect. Yet no time has ever been without hope. We exist, as human beings, somewhere between each of these states in our hearts and minds whenever we find ourselves living.


I continue to imagine life in past decades, in other places and spending my time in deep contrast to my present. I love to read, I adore movies and I treasure works of art and pieces of music...often from times and places different than Maine in 2012. However, the lessons I learn here and now are the ones that will create my happiness. I can take advice and admonishment from the past. But, I need to bring those into my everyday life. I find that I want to assimilate those past areas of simplicity, beauty, creativity and joie de vivre into my today, while still having a deep appreciation for the exceptional time I have the privilege of experiencing.  As romantic as Elizabethan England might seem, it's awfully nice to have running water, excellent medical care and relative safety. 


Daydreams are fun. They're a diversion from the mundane. They're a way to escape, even for a few minutes, from the stresses we are plagued with. The present, no matter how complicated and rushed, has the potential to be infinitely more wonderful than any daydream. Why? Because it's happening this very second. We can breathe the air, taste the food and hear the music. We can feel the snowflakes on our cheeks and smell tang of the ocean. As delightful as the past might seem, right now is what we're blessed with...and right now is pretty extraordinary.

Nobility and Humility

"Whatever comes," she said, "cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it.  ~ "A Little Princess", Frances Hodgson Burnett


We have had a challenging month or two. My health has gone from adequately recovering from my December cancer surgery to being in debilitating pain. I have suffered through complex neurological issues that have not only taken all my strength to muddle through, but my dignity, as well. My husband, who has always been a hard working provider for our family, has lost his career. We went from looking forward to spending an extraordinary year planning out our next steps as recent "empty nesters" to just worrying about what the next day will bring. I wait from moment to moment, terrified when, and where, my next bout of seething pain will strike. I am deeply concerned about the unpredictability of our financial situation. There are times I want to be impatient, snappish, angry, bitter, jealous and downright mean spirited. I want to smack the hands of the nurses who can't start my IV's (after three tries). I want to kick the shins of the doctors who don't meet my eyes while telling me "We just don't know" about my medical saga's answers. I am seething when I see less qualified, and less competent, people who are still working in their same positions...and who want to buy bigger houses...when I worry about how we're even going to pay to heat ours.These are not thoughts I'm particularly proud of. In fact, I'm ashamed to be such a grumpy, churlish shrew. For better or worse, I'm exhausted. I'm too worn out from pain, from worry and from fear to be concerned about the social niceties.


Yet, when I think of the woman I want to be "when I grow up", this is not she. The woman I want to imbue is not a despicable harpy. She is a noble, kind, humble, loving gentlewoman. The "fully realized" Ellen of my imagination is about as far as I can travel from my current state of resentful harridan. Somehow, I need to make this transition from one of angry terror to one of gracious acceptance. It isn't easy. If I'm not physically in pain, I'm emotionally distraught. I do realize, however, that it's up to me to rise above these present circumstances and move into being the woman I choose to be. One of my mother's favorites quotes, from St. John of the Cross, keeps coming to my mind again and again: "I am not made, or unmade, by the circumstances in my life, but by my reactions to them".  If I judge myself in this light, I am thoroughly abashed. I have allowed myself to be 'made' by the circumstances in my life...both the good and the bad. I have taken pride in areas which were really no more than good fortune. I have basked in the glory of praise. Because I allowed myself to get caught up in believing I was 'made' by the good circumstances, I know that it's no wonder that I have been 'unmade' by the poor ones. I am ashamed.  Mea culpa.


I believe that this is my chance to grow up at last.I need to let go of letting my situation dictate how I feel. I must "put the ways of childhood" behind me and move into adulthood. The inspiration for desired transformation, ironically, is from my one of my favorite children's books, "A little Princess" by Frances Hodgson Burnett. The protagonist, Sara Crewe, shows exceptional courage and strength as layer, by layer, her carefree, beautiful life is stripped away from her. She's left with nothing, quite literally. And yet, her angelic, compassionate, noble soul shines through. It doesn't matter if she's wearing the latest fashions from Paris, or the rags of a street urchin. Sara Crewe, even as a fictional character in a child's book, embodies the woman I hope to be. She is unfailingly kind. She is loving to those who are wretched to her.  She is generous with what little she has. She is altruistic, accepting, satisfied and humane. 


Therefore, I've set my goal: I want to be a princess. Not the spoiled, nasty type that one sees on "reality television"...no, I want to be a princess 'on the inside'.  I may be in pain. I may be embarrassed. I may be frightened. I may be living with an unspeakable number of unknowns. But, I can be kind. I can be loving. I can remember that if I behave in a way that shows strength, courage, gratitude, peacefulness, acceptance and joy, perhaps that will come true. As Sara Crewe pointed out: it's easy to be noble when everyone knows it. The challenge comes in creating that gentle nobility within myself that is immovable regardless of what happens to me. 


I won't be wearing a tiara. I have never owned a pair of Manolo Blahnik's. My wedding did not take place at Westminster Abbey. Yet, I can be a princess all the time. Perhaps, if I think about how a princess should behave, when confronted with adversity, it will be reminder to emulate one.

Losing things

"Anyway, it doesn't matter how much, how often, or how closely you keep an eye on things because you can't control it. Sometimes things and people just go. Just like that."  ~ Cecelia Ahern, "There's no place like here"


I lose things. I absolutely, resolutely, completely and totally misplace things all the time. Occasionally, the evasive  items seem to reappear in the most random locations possible. I remember, back in middle school, I was absolutely frantic because I'd lost my French book. I had a huge quiz on several chapters the next day. My mother and I turned the house completely upside down looking for it to no avail. I called every friend in that class to see if she might have taken my book by mistake. I retraced my steps over and over again. When my mom (who is a former French teacher) promised she'd do her best to make me up a study guide, with thoughts on her best 'guesstimate' of what the test would include, she realized it was time to start dinner for our family. The mocked up French chapters would have to wait until we'd eaten. As she opened the fridge, she saw, behind the orange juice and leftovers, the hiding text. For reasons I couldn't quite fathom, I'd come home from school, opened the refrigerator to get a snack and then left all of my school books inside. It made no sense, and yet, it made perfect sense. It was a logical, albeit peculiar, place for me to set them down after school and before my riding lessons.


Most of the time, my forgetfulness is exactly like this experience my 12 year old self had had: my missing items aren't actually missing. They're simply misplaced. I'm a terrible organizer, even to this day. I will kick my shoes off in the most illogical spots and then be panicked when I can't find them. (They're usually under my desk or, for reasons I don't really understand, in the pantry.). My husband will find bills in my car. My daughter will notice that my favorite bracelet is in the suitcase I'd used a week before. My son will laughingly point out that my sunglasses are not, in fact, missing, but rather are on my head. 


And yet, there are those times when something simply vanishes. It's gone. No amount of house turning over will help. I have learned the "St. Anthony" prayer from my Catholic friends. It does help me locate items that are still just misplaced. I've learned, however, that some odds and ends are stubborn and refuse to be located. I think this is why I enjoyed "There's no place like here" by Cecelia Ahern so much. Ahern (who is best known for "P.S. I love you" and "The Book of Tomorrow") has created a magical world. But, unlike Narnia or Middle Earth, Ahern's other dimension is populated by all those missing objects that people lose every day. The land is filled with car keys, luggage that vanished from being checked onto a plane and thousands of individual socks. More than that, Ahern has imagined a place where all those missing people, the ones we see flyers for every day, have landed. These folks have gone onto have full lives, built homes and a sense of community, in this home of the disappeared. The protagonist, Sandy Shortt (who is over 6 feet tall), has a classmate that vanishes from her neighborhood in Ireland, and becomes obsessed with finding every lost possession. She goes on to create a private detective service, specializing in missing people. Because, in both life and literature, irony remains a crucial tool, Shortt herself goes missing and winds up in this home for the off course. There was no need for money (though the residents have plenty, thanks to those vanished wallets and purses) because all of their needs are met by gathering the new suitcase arrivals. They have homes, lives, jobs and are settled into the lives they now have.


Although some readers had found this novel scary, rather than quirky, I quite enjoyed it. I actually took comfort in believing that, perhaps, my collection of right hand gloves (I have dozens of lefts) are somewhere nice. I am optimistic that my books (most of which I'd only made it halfway through) are being read by someone else somewhere. I'd be relieved to know that my children's favorite toys (which were tearfully left behind in places) would be loved by others. While it's awful losing something we treasure, the possibility that it's gone on to have 'another life' is ultimately reassuring. 


Obviously, this can't happen. Those poor books, left forgotten and face down on a beach someplace, have turned to paper goo. The stuffed animals, or Star Wars figures, would have, at best, ended up in the trash. My right hand gloves, most likely left on top of my car after I'd unlocked my vehicle, probably blew off to be driven right over only moments later. Still, the imaginative idea of a second life for all of this 'baggage'  is a fascinating daydream. I'd like to believe it.


In the meantime, I'll continue to look for my yoga mat  and car keys. If only I could find them!

The 30 Day Book Challenge

A house without books is like a room without windows.  ~Heinrich Mann

When my friend, Jocelyn, first began writing about her Book Challenge on Facebook, I was immediately intrigued. Reading is one of the greatest passions of my life! Having also completed the October Dress Project last Autumn, I was up for another 30 day challenge. Given that we've just completed National Library Week, I decided that this was as good a time as any to begin a new endeavor. Finally, having just come out of my head being in a fog from battling Leiomyosarcoma, a rare form of cancer that struck my abdominal muscles, I believed that an intellectual challenge would be just what I needed to get my mind thinking about the books that have shaped my life.

Does this sound interesting? I hope so, and I hope that you will join me in my latest quest: Ellen's 30 Day Book Challenge

Below are the directions for completing a 30 day book challenge of your own:

Create a photo album and use Photobucket, Amazon, or Shelfari (or some other site with pictures of books) to share pictures of the books on this list day by day. Day 1: Favorite book Day 2: Least favorite book Day 3: Book that makes you laugh out loud Day 4: Book that makes you cry Day 5: Book you wish you could live in Day 6: Favorite young adult book Day 7: Book that you can quote/recite Day 8: Book that scares you Day 9: Book that makes you sick Day 10: Book that changed your life Day 11: Book from your favorite author Day 12: Book that is most like your life Day 13: Book whose main character is most like you Day 14: Book whose main character you want to marry Day 15: First “chapter book” you can remember reading as a child Day 16: Longest book you’ve read Day 17: Shortest book you’ve read Day 18: Book you’re most embarrassed to say you like Day 19: Book that turned you on Day 20: Book you’ve read the most number of times Day 21: Favorite picture book from childhood Day 22: Book you plan to read next Day 23: Book you tell people you’ve read, but haven’t (or haven’t actually finished) Day 24: Book that contains your favorite scene Day 25: Favorite book you read in school Day 26: Favorite nonfiction book Day 27: Favorite fiction book Day 28: Last book you read Day 29: Book you’re currently reading Day 30: Favorite Coffee Table book

A book by any other name is still as sweet

These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves.  From each of them goes out its own voice... and just as the touch of a button on our set will fill the room with music, so by taking down one of these volumes and opening it, one can call into range the voice of a man far distant in time and space, and hear him speaking to us, mind to mind, heart to heart.  ~Gilbert Highet


It should come as no surprise that I'm a book lover, a true Bibliophile. From the first moment I wake up, until my eyes grow unbearably heavy in my head, I am reading. Books, both reviews and in metaphor, have been a large part of this blog, not to mention, my life. I can't remember ever not reading. My mother loves to tell the story of my seething, incensed Kindergarten teacher who told Mom, after my first bewildering day at school, "She knows how to read!", believing that I should be unable to do so, by virtue of my age. To quote Curtis Sittenfeld's wonderful fictional account of the former first lady, Laura Bush's passion for books, "Above all else, I was a reader." I'm sure those who know would feel this is a fitting epithet for me too.


Although I graduated from both high school and college, and was well on the path to an M. Ed., I still maintain that my greatest education has come from reading. I consider myself to be an autodidact. I learned far more about physics from reading "Einstein's Dreams" than I did in class. My passionate love of history was animated far more from essays and fictional accounts than from dry lectures aimed at entrapping fellow students on exams, rather than imparting knowledge. I never knew I could be enamored of geography, philosophy or chemistry, until I began perusing them on my own. I've discovered a world of fascinating subjects simply by turning the pages of a book on a subject about which I knew very little. For me, reading has been a way to shine the light on a world of possibilities...ones I never deemed accessible.


In my blog piece, a couple of years ago, I daydreamed about what heaven would be like for me. I envisioned an English library, with ever changing views to suit my mood. In my interpretation of heaven, every book I've ever wanted to read would be available at my fingertips. I have since gone on to think about my long desire for one of those fabulous library ladders on casters, a la Harry Potter in Olivander's wand shop. I truly stand by this interpretation of my own desire in "The World to Come"...I can't fathom eternity unable to read. 


To Kindle or not to Kindle was a piece I wrote not long after my meditations on heaven. Having borrowed a Kindle from my library, preloaded with a few titles that the staff had picked (two of which I'd already read), I can't say I was impressed. I simply didn't 'get' the big deal of a Kindle. I missed the tactile sensation of page turning. I missed using a bookmark. Silly though it may sound, the ability to watch my reading progress by the advancing movement of my bookmark, gave me a profound sense of satisfaction. I knew I'd miss wandering aimlessly around bookshelves, my hand alighting on a tome that no one had picked up in a long time...feeling as much a discoverer as Christopher Columbus, and realizing I'd come upon a land of treasure.


This opinion of the Kindle recently changed. During my confinement (which I define as an inability to get to the library), my girlfriends banded together and bought me a Kindle and an Amazon gift card with which to purchase e-books. I was in so much pain, and feeling so trapped in my own home, that something I had once 'poo-poo'ed' became a delightfully transporting mechanism. Since simply getting up and walking down the hall was a challenge, I knew that my meanderings around the library or a bookstore would be months off. The closest I could muster would be meandering around the Amazon website, picturing the concept of virtual shelves in my imagination. As tactile as I am, it was a bit of a challenge for me initially. But I came to realize that I could 'pick up' a book by reading sample chapters and I could chose to put that book back down, or to order it on my Kindle. And thus, a new love affair began.


I adore my Kindle now. I bring it everywhere. I can finally travel without having my entire carry-on bag be crammed with half a dozen hardcovers. I can slip it into my purse and sneak a chapter in while waiting in doctors' offices, during boring meetings and ever-so-carefully in the bathtub. I treasure how tiny a space it takes up and how giant a world it opens up for me when I'm reading. I am completely and totally a convert, with all the zeal and enthusiasm of one who has just found a new religion. I now espouse that books, in any form, are still books. I preach the saving of trees to all who will listen. I share the wonder of any book available at any hour of the day or not. I have shown an elderly friend, who is losing her sight, how large the print can be made to suit her. I have helped my mother, who is my soulmate in reading, how to use her new Kindle, and have successfully transformed her into adoring it too. It's become a way of life for me, in just the few months that I've had it.


Given my new creed on the use of an e-reader, has my vision of Heaven changed? Do I now picture something entirely different? No. My imagination, my comfort place and my illusion of where I daydream about is still my wonderful library. I picture Mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling. I can just make out the unbelievably comfortable chair, the side table holding my tea and the beloved wheeled ladder. I can smell the slight mustiness coming from the tomes. But in my eager hands, there is just as much likelihood of seeing a conceptualized Kindle, as there is a leather bound volume. 


As far as my previous opinion, mea culpa. 

Destined to Choose

"The price we pay for having the freedom to choose (good or evil) is having to live with the consequences of other people's choices." ~ Sheyna Galyan, "Destined to Choose"

"Destined to Choose" by Sheyna Galyan is a truly wonderful first novel by a talented author. In it, we come to know Rabbi David Cohen, a Conservative Rabbi for a congregation in Minnesota. We experience with him the trials and tribulations of running a busy house of worship, balancing his work and family life, dealing with the counseling crises that come up and experiencing Cohen's personal angst that surfaces while trying to find answers to the major questions in life...as well as many of the smaller ones. Galyan tackled some gargantuan hurdles as she wrote this novel; it is approachable to non-Jews, educational for all readers and feels familiar to Jewish readers. The author has taken on the weighty issues of life and death against a backdrop of Holocaust (Shoah) survivors, as well interfaith marriage, pastoral confidentiality, Antisemitism, depression, and youthful questioning of one's background. In doing so, the author has created characters for whom I developed a true affinity and understanding.

As with any novel, I find it very hard to review it without comparing it to others. Initially, I began to see "Destined to Choose" in comparison to the works of Naomi Ragen and Dara Horn. Both of these women, who happen to be among my favorite authors, write from a Jewish perspective, and like Galyan, do not shy away from taking on challenging life issues using a Jewish world view. Like Galyan also, they do so with depth and meaning to every word. Although I was born into a secular Jewish family, I have been Episcopalian for most of my adult life. Reading books from a Jewish perspective has helped me to learn a great deal about my heritage and my own history. Additionally, I have learned to find a trail in literature to help me trace the path of my past. This past, of which I've known precious little, has been crucial to my understanding about who I am and where I came from. Jewish authors have written my past for me, leading me to the waters that nourish the piece of my soul that wants to learn more.

Additionally, I have to compare "Destined to Choose" to the "Harmony" series by Phillip Gulley. The Rabbi David Cohen novels will continue (God willing) and it is my hope they will become a series that parallels Gulley's fictional Quaker Pastor, Sam Gardner's ongoing struggles and life stories revolving around his ministry. Rabbi Cohen, like Pastor Gardner, have a cast of congregational characters I can't help but identify with. Having served on numerable church committees, I find parallels between the fictional small Quaker church in Indiana, the fictional medium sized Shul in the Minneapolis area and my own Episcopal parish in Maine. Both fictional places have caring, compassionate, funny, intellectual spiritual leaders, as does my own. All find themselves trying to be in the position of spiritual leader while being told, by their respective boards, to 'sell the church' to newcomers. I've sat through board meetings myself in which I could have taken dialogue, word for word, from either of these books and superimposed them directly into my own parish. What struck me, as I read both Gulley's and Galyan's work is how universal our experiences are in traditional houses of worship. There are going to be extremely difficult congregants who want to complain about everything. There are the inevitable loudmouths who gossip. There are those who are so resistant to change that their argument for not enacting new policies is "But, we've never done it that way before." There is also a sense of deep love, a passionate sense of community, an important view towards the congregational future, and a place of inspired spiritual learning. I smiled to myself, as I read "Destined to Choose", because I could have 'plunked' in my own church members for those who appear in the fictional synagogue. The similarities were striking.

Galyan's novel may have many similarities to 'real life' and to other novels. What makes "Destined to Choose" so unique is the fresh voice of Galyan's writing. She has a remarkable talent for weaving together spirituality, character development, educational asides and entertaining prose. This very 'readable' book challenged me to delve deeply into my own beliefs and ask myself the 'tough questions' regarding good and evil. Why does a loving God permit evil to happen? Is free will truly worth the pain it can inflict? Regardless of one's religious perspective, this is a novel that helps, not with the answers, but in truly Talmudic learning style, in teaching us to ask the questions...while still helping the reader find common ground. "Destined to Choose" is a wonderful book, and I look forward to the next one in the series.

Renewal

We need quiet to examine our lives openly and honestly.....spending quiet time alone gives your mind the opportunity to renew itself and create order. ~ Susan Taylor

As many of you have gathered, I've been on a break from blogging for a short time. With a great deal going on in my family's life right now, I realized I needed to step back and focus on life as it's happening, rather than writing about it. I will be back before long with, I hope, a renewed spirit, invigorated energy and original thoughts for the summer. As I gain inspiration, I hope that I'll be able to pass those ideas along and generate some joyfulness in the lives of Preppy Yogini readers. Additionally, I hope to come back with an enriched sense of creative energy. So...how do I hope to gain all of this renewed vivacity? By living in the moment with my family, by continuing to put my heart into my Yoga classes and by reading wonderful books. I remember, with great delight, my summer reading lists that would come out at the end of each school year. I looked forward to them as being books to read on the beach, in the hammock or at camp. Each book seemed to draw me a little more deeply into the magic of summer.

I have been reading quite a few novels recently that have been designated as "Young Adult" books. I'm not sure how each one has crossed my path, but as I read, I have found that these stories are brilliant for readers of all ages. I find it unfortunate that bookstores and libraries need to label them for teens because this list I will share below contains, what I believe, is wonderful writing and amazing storytelling. So...instead of just browsing in the regular fiction section, take a glimpse at the Young Adult novels....in both the classics and bestsellers. You may find that your next source of inspiration...or even just a deeply moving read...comes from this area. I have put this list together to help animate and encourage you to move out of your literary comfort zone. My only advice is not to label these novels in your mind...but read them with the open heart of youth. I hope you enjoy!

Young Adult Books for all ages:

The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak

Reality Check by Peter Abrahams

Beautiful Creatures by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater

If I Stay by Gayle Forman

North of Beautiful by Justina Chen Headly

The Coffin Quilt by Ann Rinaldi

The Summer of Naked Swimming Parties by Jessica Anya Blau

Maggie's Story by Dandi Daley Mackall

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman

Sweetness in the Belly by Camilla Gibb

Before I Die by Jenny Downham

Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

A Separate Peace by John Knowles

The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis

So....curl with one of these great books and enjoy your summer reading list.

Lost

"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves." - Henry David Thoreau

Not long ago, I wrote a piece about my favorite college professor, Dr. Lichtenstein. In "Lessons in Writing and Living" , I explored my memories of an extraordinary teacher, who had a profound effect on my life. Alice Lichtenstein taught me to be the writer I hope I'm still growing into becoming. Additionally, she inspired me with life lessons, to continually look forward while remaining grounded in the present moment, and to always listen to my voice, as a woman and as a writer. Serendipity has had an amazing role in my life this past week. Not only was I able to rediscover Dr. Lichtenstein through her newest novel, but as I read it, I found that I heard her voice speaking to me just as clearly as she had in the classroom at both Wheaton College and Boston University. It's not often that a writer can achieve a highly complex, fascinating and profoundly moving work. It's even more complicated to remain true to one's inner voice, one's philosophy and one's belief system while writing fiction. Dr. Lichtenstein has done just that with "Lost: A Novel".

The novel's plot is the search for a college professor's elderly husband, who wandered off, lost in his dementia. Hindering the search is inclement upstate New York winter weather, and being surrounding by heavily wooded areas. Masterfully interwoven with the search process, the protagonist, Dr. Susan Hunsinger, are the lives the search and rescue coordinator, Jeff Herdman, as well as Corey, a troubled preteen boy whose path crosses the lives of Susan, her husband, Christopher and Jeff. The narrative is intense, the prose brave. What begins as the search for the lost Christopher Hunsinger translates to a much larger picture; each one of the characters is lost, but the elder Hunsinger's journey is the literal one that can be measured, documented and resolved. For the rest of the characters, not only the main ones, but each one dancing on the periphery of the story, must find his, or her, own path in the world. As the novel reaches its bitter, poignant and palpable conclusion, the reader is left learning how lost each of the characters truly has been. Each one may not have been navigating the frigid forest, but may have been floundering in relationships, guilt, uncertainty and each one may not have seen the light beckoning them forward...towards a place of warmth, understanding and answers.

Hearing Dr. Lichtenstein's voice in her work challenged me in many ways. I began to ask myself the hard questions; "How am I lost?", "What am I missing?", "What do I truly need?" and most importantly, "What am I wandering towards?". At every junction in our lives, we find ourselves in places, in situations and in circumstances we never envisioned. Some of these aimless wanderings turn out to be exceptionally fortuitous. Others tend to sneak up on us. I may think I know where I am, where I'm going and what my intentions are, and may still flounder about, lacking even the most rudimentary clue as to where I'm meant to be. I feel as if I've set out on one journey, map in hand, directions well written and necessary supplies packed. Yet, when I arrive at my destination, I realize that I was heading the wrong way the entire time...and certainly had brought the wrong provisions. I tend to stumble through life, absolutely confident in my steps, until I discover I've managed to bungle the very trip itself. It's both humbling and troubling.

Yet, without realizing that I'm off course, there isn't any way to make course corrections. My GPS (or built in navigation system) in my car has changed my life. Born with a severe handicap of inability to properly read maps or follow directions based on anything other than landmarks, driving has always been an adventure for me. My GPS now tells me how to get where I'm going. However, if I take a detour, it corrects my course based on side trip I've made. Instead of asking me to backtrack and go back the way I came, my mechanical voiced co-pilot lets me know the 'new way' of finding my destination. I love her. I do yell at her, when I'm alone in the car, when she tells me to make U-turns (legally, of course), but overall, she's been a great asset to my many trips around New England...and even cross country, between Arizona and Maine. I realize how much easier my life would be if I had a GPS to guide me through my decision making processes. How helpful it would feel to know that there's a machine that has my back, who is going to politely correct me when I go off course, and who only has my safe and timely arrival as her mission!

Since none of us come with Tom-Toms or Garmins built into our psyche, the best we can do, when we realize how woefully lost we are, is to stop right where we are. If we're physically lost in the woods, rescue workers always say to stay put initially. We may have had a nagging suspicion that the direction we're heading in life is leading to a dead end. We may also begin to get that gut level feeling that we're just not doing the right thing. Rather than race further down the wrong path, we need to come to a complete stop. We need to evaluate where we are, what we're doing and most of all, what we want to be doing. We need to talk with our family and friends and, without overloading them with drama, get their impressions. Those who know us, and love us, are best qualified to act as our navigation system, when we are sure we've gone too far into the woods. Listen with an open heart and an open mind. Pray. Journal. Try new experiences. And, then, when you're ready, set that new course, knowing that you're on track once again.

We can't always prevent ourselves from losing our way. Sometimes getting lost is part of the journey itself, even if we can't see the lessons immediately. What we can do, however, is to allow ourselves to be found.

A House to Die For

“The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.” ~ Oscar Wilde

Growing up in the 1970's feels as if my generation was the last one to have a truly nostalgic sense of time and place. The innocence of the 1950's may have been lost. The changing times of the 1960's had passed. An era of 'new and improved' was upon us. It was a generation that fell in love with Hostess Fruit Pies, Pet Rocks, Big Wheels and waking up on Saturday mornings to watch "Super friends' in the Hall of Justice on color TV. Our mothers wore long, wildly printed Maxi-dresses with platform heels. Our fathers eschewed ties and wore open neck shirts. Evil Knievel attempted to jump to Snake River Canyon. Nadia Comaneci was cheered on for Olympic Gold in gymnastics. But, most of all, I remember an enormous treat that happened every weekend: the NBC Friday Night Mystery. It was a huge thrill to stay up way past my bedtime and get to watch MacCloud, MacMillian & Wife and the other thriller series that would take turns airing each weekend. These one hour programs would always reveal an underlying plot, solved bravely by our heroes, who were really just 'regular folks' trying to do the right thing. TV shows today don't have the same innocent, but multi-layered, approach to mystery. We are now told, in graphic detail, by forensic specialists, what happened. The only question remaining today is: "What techniques will they use in the lab?".

In the great spirit of well told stories, underlying character traits, hidden agendas and the need to dig for clues on a personal level, comes "A House to Die For" by Vicki Doudera. Doudera has authored several excellent non-fiction books, worked as a freelance magazine writer, has owned and run a successful Inn, and has worked in selling luxury real estate. Her varied life experience has brought a wonderful amount of charm, perspective, humor and knowledge to her first mystery novel. In many ways, Doudera's book, "A House to Die For", reminds me of those Friday Night mysteries that I grew up watching...or even a Nancy Drew for grown ups. This book is deeply compelling, sensual, entertaining and amusing. But, its style hearkens back to a time that didn't overwhelm the reader (or viewer) with horrific 'too much information' about the wounds on the victims. The protagonist, Darby Farr, solves the mysteries the old fashioned way: good old sleuthing. She asks questions, she digs deeper into all possibilities and rather than relying on crime scene lab, she goes to people's homes and asks questions. Is she a criminologist, working for a secret government agency? Nope. Darby Farr is a realtor...and just like Nancy Drew, just can't help but solve the mystery of the deadly, historic Victorian house on the point.

Comparisons to Nancy Drew aside, "A House to Die For" is *not* a children's book. It's a well written, imaginative grown up novel. However, the style and prose reminded me so strongly of the mysteries I grew up loving, I couldn't help but make the connection. It's a read for a rainy day, with a cup of tea, and a roaring fire. It's a novel to immerse yourself in, on a beach on vacation. It's a step back, nostalgically, because it's not an onslaught to the senses. It manages to be thrilling, and takes unexpected twists along the way. But, "A House to Die For" is not brutal in the way that a Lee Child or Robert Crais novel might be.

Mysteries are compelling for most of us. We all love unsolved puzzles and we admire the intelligent truth seekers who can ferret out the truth. Above all, we love being privy to the process surrounding the "whodonit". Since very few people will actually pursue investigation as a career, it's spectacularly entertaining to tag along, on a literature journey, with a character who does uncover dastardly plots. In the tradition of Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, Darby Farr is mystery solver for the 'rest of us'...for those who have a nostalgic spirit and love a well told pot boiler...without the graphic violence that besieges far too much in modern novels and movies. We can safely try to solve the crime, along with Darby. In doing so, we can imagine ourselves to be 8 years old again...curled up on the floor, watching television on the 1975 RCA with built in cabinet that had the remote control that actually was "a clicker".

Just make sure to make some Jiffy Pop for a snack while you read...you will want it!

The Host and Companionship

“Ultimately the bond of all companionship, whether in marriage or in friendship, is conversation...” ~ Oscar Wilde

Suffice it to say that I'm not a big science fiction fan. Like many women, I find the idea of aliens, space ships, rockets, futuristic weapons, sea monsters, Big Foot, and the entire area surrounding Roswell, New Mexico to be a colossal annoyance. I have never watched the SciFi Channel on cable television. I had no idea that there were entire series that had garnered passionate followings. I was terribly disappointed to see how many recent films either had aliens on Earth as their 'surprise twist' at the end, or as the movie's entire premise. I was ready to walk out of the much anticipated final Indiana Jones movie, when the otherworldly zinger happened. I have never even seen E.T.

However, because I liked Stephanie Meyer's "Twilight" series so much, I was willing to give her newest novel, "The Host" a try. I was reluctant, to say the least. Yet, I'd heard Ms. Meyer's interviewed about how this novel came to be. As a mother myself, I could relate to her story. She was driving a long (and dull) distance with her boys in the back of the car. They had finally settled down and were watching a DVD on the integrated system. I remembered, when my children were younger, wanting to canonize the person who developed this. It prevented me from spending 10 hours in the car, dealing with arguments like "Mom! She's over the LINE!" or hearing "I'm not touching you!". Ms. Meyers then related her profound boredom at the monotony of the road ahead and wishing she had someone (over the age of 9) to talk to. The thought came to her: "What if there were two people living in my head?".

Therein lies the premise for "The Host". Once I got passed the slightly creepy and wee bit confusing first two chapters, I realized that this was an excellent story about two women, with different thoughts, different ideas and different priorities who come to love one another in a deep and true friendship. Some of their goals become common to one another. Others remain individual and intact. Rather than give a synopsis of the story, I'd prefer to reflect on how much I gleaned from a novel that I hadn't believed I'd enjoy. The relationship between Wanda (the alien who inhabits the host's body) and Melanie (the host herself) is both complicated and fascinatingly simple. They come to admire one another's strengths of character and conviction. They come to realize that each personality possesses gifts that the other lacks. They realize that together, they create a powerful and well balanced person. They give each other advice, understanding and unconditional love.

How often in life have each one of us wished we'd had someone to talk to? There are times when just speaking words loses meaning and intent. What would it be like to have a best friend who is so completely integrated into our thoughts, that she would understand our animus, our signification and our very heart's desires, without having to vocalize these wishes...and lose part of the "meat" in the telling? Many children have imaginary friends. Some children go so far as to want to set a place at the table for "Mrs. Bloomsbury" or make sure she has her own stuffed animal to sleep with. These children (myself included, though it's only in reminders from my mother that I know this happened) "see" their chimerical whimsies, but only in relation to these sidekicks existing outside of their own bodies. The difference in the idea brought up in "The Host" is: "What if your companion resided within?". There are those who would say this is the path that leads to madness or delusion...and they wouldn't be far off the truth. In centuries past, people who 'heard voices' were burned at the stake for being possessed by demons! And yet, it's fascinating to contemplate having another sounding board, another voice or another perspective to bounce ideas off, to keep us company or to have that deep sense of intimacy with. After all, aren't we all looking to be understood, admired and loved for who we are?

While science fiction is still not my 'genre', I did learn a great deal from "The Host". I learned that it's always a good practice to step outside our comfort zones, and to experience a different perspective. It also sent my imagination off, wondering what my internal duality would be like, if she existed. I can only hope she has more coordination and is better at balancing the checkbook.

Never Say Never

Never say never, for if you live long enough, chances are you will not be able to abide by its restrictions. Never is a long, undependable time, and life is too full of rich possibilities to have restrictions placed upon it. ~ Gloria Swanson

When I was younger, I had highly defined pronouncements of what I would and wouldn't do. I had exceptionally high standards for myself and for those around me. There was no wiggle room for error. I believed that this gave me a feeling of striving for excellence. I believed that, the more clear cut my determining factors are, the greater chance I had at achieving my 'goals in the clouds'. While I can attest to the fact that this way of looking at my life kept me out of trouble and intensely focused, I can also see how this view of the world led to lack of flexibility and compassion. When my plans did go awry, I had no way of readjusting. Because my impressions of success were black and white, I missed all the magnificent shades of gray that there are. I also believe I gave up on projects too soon...truly believing that, if I was unable to do a task to my own standards of perfection, I was a failure in this area. These situations cropped up time and time again. I began to view my own pursuits of excellence with a filter of failure. My only failure was failing to see each attempt as a color off of my black and white grid of ideal vs. worthlessness.

My mother, always far wiser than I, told me "Never say never...and never say forever", when I'd pronounce a situation impossible or irrevocable on one these counts. Between Mom's insight and the quote from Gloria Swanson, I have slowly tempered my judgments. I realize that using words like "never" I'm limiting my own possibilities, and I'm placing harsh, subjective convictions on other people's lives. I have come to understand how many chances for grace I've missed out on by using the word "never". I've withheld understanding when someone else has made choices that are far different from my own. I've fallen short in my own chances for sublime discovery. I've allowed conviction to overtake openness. Thankfully, I've been blessed with a long and forgiving life. I've been able to see my rash verdicts clearly, and I've been able to overturn, to walk back and right wrongs I have done. When I saw the world in black and white, I believed it was for the best. Not only did I miss out on all the shades of gray, but I missed out on enjoying my life, rather than perfecting it.

One silly example of this is the "Twilight" series of books. I had made disparaging comments about them to all who would listen. Being a literary perfectionist, I've long held myself to the highest standards where books are concerned. I've made fun of "Chick Lit" for years. I have remained true to my great literary works standards since I could first read my own chapter books. Never one to read pulp or popular fiction, I began my pursuit of excellence in literature in grade school. While other girls were caught up in reading Judy Blume books, I perused quickly and then passed them over for "Anne of Green Gables" novels. Even in high school and college, I was far more likely to read Tennyson or the Bronte sisters for pure enjoyment, rather than Stephen King. Everyone else I knew was reading "Cujo" and I was ankle deep in the north country Moors of England. My friends had fun passing around books by Mario Puzo and Lawrence Saunders...bookmarking the best chapters for each other. I was too deep into Jane Austen and Charles Dickens to even notice. The fact is, I missed out on a lot of great reads because I was too much of a snob to take notice that not all books have to classics to be entertaining.

A week ago, I had never read any of Stephanie Meyer's famous and popular "Vampire" series books. I had looked down on them, not only for being rubbish, but also for being too young. I stand here with big plate of crow set on my table. With the stress of the past week, I decided to watch the first "Twilight" movie. I was hooked within the first ten minutes. I sheepishly told my friends how much I'd enjoyed watching the movie (I am sorry to say that I'm also a movie snob), and was told that I simply NEEDED to read the books. I've been unable to put them down since. I'm already onto the 3rd in a series of four. I have discovered these books are highly entertaining, quick reading and simply engrossing.

Because of this experience, I'm looking back at many other areas of my life and am wondering if I was too quick to judge in the past. Perhaps I've been too rigid in my views on other subjects? Maybe I've pronounced something else to be rubbish, when it really bears another look? I've discovered than I can do no harm in being more open minded, especially where entertainment is concerned. I can look at some novels, and some movies as well, as pure entertainment, without worrying about my own level of intellectualism at that very moment. It's tough for me. I still have incredibly high standards. Perhaps I can learn to be a little less black and white...and allow a little more color into my experiences. My rigid voice says I will still never eat junk food. But, one never knows? I may just discover that I've had a long dormant desire for Cheeto's....and that's okay.