Happy Holidays from our family

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Coincidental Calendar

But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day. ~Benjamin Disraeli

We all have various dates that have significance for us. On a calendar they may have little else to document the meaning these junctures may have to the rest of the world. Yet, to us, a random point in the day book can bring back years, or even decades, of memories. We tend to find clusters of important events have all occurred around the same time. Perhaps these events are linked by the simple fact that we often experience the same celebrations on a particular date. On the other hand, seemingly random, but important, occurrences might take place, coincidentally, during the same span of time.

In my own life, the 4th of July happens to be my own hub of significance. While I've written about the preciousness of liberty and appreciation for our American ancestors before, I haven't mentioned that July 4th has always had a personally consequential point on my own calendar. Enjoyment of summer days, fireworks and personal freedom aside, I could easily tick off the momentous events that have happened around the 4th, both wonderful and dreadful. I have always said that Independence Day is my favorite holiday; there aren't feasts to cook (other than fruit and lighting the grill), there are no presents to agonize over shopping for, there are events planned by others (such as parades and fireworks) that I only need to attend. It's a day of cookouts, laughing with friends and enjoying the sunshine. July 4 also seems to hover around many of the momentous times I've experienced: I biked on a streamer laden be-ribboned tricycle with my cousins in my first parade, I went on my first 'date', in junior high, to an Independence Day celebration, I met my future husband, we moved into our first purchased house, we awaited the birth of our first child, people with whom we had much in common moved in close by and we brought our children to camp the first time. On the other hand, I was in a terrible horseback riding accident, I had knee surgery, my father had open heart surgery, I found out I was expecting (a pregnancy that I would later lose to miscarriage) and I was told I had cancer...all around July 4th.

I'm left with asking myself: is it because on the date of July 4th that these turns of events have happened, or is that I'm more aware of each one because of the holiday? Is it coincidence or is it perception? C.S. Lewis wrote, "What you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing; it also depends on what sort of person you are." I take this to mean that I do tend to attribute major events to July 4th because I'm looking for them. I happen to enjoy coincidence, happenstance and concurrence. Even if negative things happen to me, and around me, I tend to take comfort in kismet...both good and bad. Why? Why would I appreciate the saddest times in my life just because they land amidst a sea of fireworks? The answer is simple: these events, both the light and dark, give me a touchstone in knowing that I exist, that I'm alive and that I am experiencing all that life has to offer.

Louis Pasteur wrote, "In the field of observation, chance favors only the prepared mind." Serendipity is an awful lot like that. There may be coincidences all around us. We may simply not take notice of them if we aren't looking for them. If we go through life so intently focused on our own set schedule, we may miss these moments of opportunity...we may evade the infinite possibilities that await us; the chance to make a new friend, the ability to try a new skill or the blessing that comes with the unexpected. We might be overlook, disregard or eschew something wonderful in the fear that something negative might just happen in its place. Having experienced my share of both the light and the dark, I can honestly say that without the deepest despair in my life, the joy would not be able to shine as brightly. Conversely, without the memory of happiness and laughter, I never would have been able to transcend my own sorrow and fear.

Hanging above my desk there is a poster of Albert Einstein, under which the quote below reads, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." As for me, I may be ascribing more to the 4th of July in my life's coincidental calendar than truly exists. However, it's this very significance that leads me to look for opportunities. It may be just a date on the planner, it may simply be a time that I'm more relaxed and open to enjoyment. But, the 4th of July also reminds me to allow myself to be more intuitive, to be more compassionate, to look for junctures of good fortune and to think more expansively. If I look for coincidence, I'm far more likely to see it. If I've closed myself off, then I will surely miss it. Will a miracle happen? Will serendipity take place on the 4th of July? Maybe...maybe not. But, if it is far more likely for me to process it, to take note of it and to learn from it if my eyes (and heart and mind) are open.

The luck of the Irish...

May your troubles be less and your blessings be more.
And nothing but happiness come through your door.

May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings,

Slow to make enemies, and quick to make friends.

And, may the Lord welcome you in Heaven,

at least an hour before the Devil knows you're dead.

-- Irish Toast

I have to admit...a part of me has always wanted to be Irish. The magic St. Patrick's Day began in school for me. Unlike other holidays, this was a day that meant pure fun. It didn't mean feeling left out, if I didn't get a Valentine. It never was homogenized to the point of saying "Happy Winter Holiday", in the place of Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah. There was no enormous feast to prepare for visiting relatives. There aren't any traditions that have to be followed to the letter, at the rink of offending those around you. Nothing is expected, other than the pure joy and fun of celebration. I remember picking out something green so that I wouldn't get pinched, and looking forward to a simple dinner of corned beef and cabbage. Despite my blended heritage, there isn't a drop of Irish blood in my ancestry. And yet, I've felt a personal connection with Eire since I first cut out a shamrock from construction paper in Kindergarten.The allure of leprechauns, castles, sprites, pixies, pookas and rainbows with pots of gold at the end is powerful. I'd look at my brown hair and eyes in the mirror and feel utterly bereft...all I wanted was red hair, green eyes and freckles.

Now that I'm older there are other reasons why I still feel blessed by St. Patrick's Day. The tenacious history of the Irish people is one I respect. They have withstood invasion and occupation for hundreds of years, and still have a strong cultural identity. Their rich history is made up of powerful metaphorical stories that are told cross-culturally. Their language, their traditions and their respect for their ancient times is noteworthy. Despite famine, wars (both civil and international), prejudice and, eventually, a divided country, national pride remains high. Unlike most Americans of other European ancestry, Irish Americans remain firmly rooted in the land of their forefathers. The rest of simply have left the "old country" remain lost to us. There is a connectedness between Ireland and the many countries the Irish have emigrated to that simply doesn't exist in most other cultures.

Yet what brings people, like myself, together with their Irish friends on St. Patrick's Day isn't the history, the fairy tales or the geography; it's the overwhelming friendliness of the Irish spirit. I have been befriended by the Irish, both American and those of the Emerald Isle, in a way that has warmed my heart. When other cultures can be insular against 'outsiders', the Irish friendliness is legendary. I have felt more embraced, more welcomed and more blessed by my Irish friends than I ever dreamed possible. Regardless of how we met, or how long we knew each other well, my Irish friends are all sociable, affectionate and neighborly. During times I've felt blue, or lost in the shuffle, it's been my Irish friends who have been not only considerate, but overwhelmingly sympathetic. Their zest for life, their affability and their congeniality has delighted me. It isn't any wonder that, in addition to my adoration for their magical stories, the kindness of the Irish themselves, has worked its way into my heart. I feel incredibly blessed to be accepted by this spirit of goodwill.

Wouldn't it be a different world if we all embraced one another as we would on St. Patrick's Day? Can't you imagine the good cheer, the friendliness and the sense of camaraderie all year 'round? To be welcomed as a sister, or brother, the moment we walk through a door, into a room of strangers is a powerfully dynamic experience. Once someone has felt that expressive acceptance, it is never forgotten.

So...on March 17, I encourage you to pull out your green sweater, to channel your inner leprechaun and to dance a jig to Irish folk music. I will reinforce any desire to march in a parade, to sing songs in Gaelic or to make merriment in your local pub. I invite you to go chasing rainbows or to listen closely to the hear the fairies whispering at dusk. But, most of all, I encourage each of you to bring forward the beautiful spirit of Irish friendliness...and to extend it to a new person in your life. Your heart will warm forever, with a little piece of Irish magic, in doing so.

Mardi Gras

“You must treat everyday like a present and open it with great expectation.” ~ John De Lemme

Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Carnivale. New Orleans. Rio De Janeiro. Venice. The time period, in the liturgical calendar between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday, marks one of the most celebratory delineations of time in the earliest Christian calendar. What began as a simple period of joy became synonymous with decadence, lasciviousness and hedonism.Yet, regardless of one's religious beliefs or affiliations, Mardi Gras has its own delectable spirit that is both captivating, and feels a little dangerous. It is the idea that all inhibitions can be released before a period of austerity. It encapsulates the impression of absolute license for freedom proceeding deprivation. It's the purging of animal impulses before the mastery of them. It's retrogression of composure before the ultimate test of asceticism.

Rather than give an easily found, and utterly fascinating, full history of Mardi Gras, I would like to explore why this holiday is captivating to so many of us. Few people live by the true liturgical year any longer. Lent is rarely a time of fasting and self-mortification in the 21st century. If observed at all, most people I know try to give up a bad habit, such as smoking or junk food. This is less about trying to deprive oneself as Christ fasted in the desert, tempted by the Devil. These relinquishment's are much more about letting go of something we shouldn't be doing in the first place. Like New Year's resolutions, these are begun with the very best of intentions but generally, without a conscious effort to become Christ-like in the process. Additionally, like most New Year's resolutions, these promises for self-improvement are usually begun with the very best of intentions but fall short within a week or two. I'll never forget the year my friend, Debra (a sweets fanatic) gave up desserts. I gave up shopping the same Lent. As we walked through the Mall, I pulled her away from Godiva's immense chocolate covered strawberries, as she gently led me away from Ann Taylor. We were like two addicts, trying desperately to be sponsors for one another, but failing horribly. As she bought her box of truffles and I my blouse, we promised to hang onto them for one another two weeks, just until Easter Sunday, when we'd exchange them as gifts of bonded friendship to one another. We didn't even make it home from Portland before we were digging through the two parcels. On the one hand, we felt horribly guilty. On the other, we secretly delighted in our sins. It was a dangerous combination.

That experience taught me something valuable: being forbidden makes the acts we're trying to avoid all the more delicious. We, as fallen, wretched humans, are prone to deep desires and desperate wants. We are tempted and we can resist, but we often fail. Mardi Gras may seem riotous and deplorable to many, but what it really does is to tap into our base natures of rapaciousness. I believe that the reason this holiday is so attractive is because we know that "anything goes" has a time limit. We understand that our days of infatuation are, indeed, numbered. Perhaps the early designers of these times of revelry knew that people would be more likely to succeed during Lent if they were given free rein the time period preceding. One of my first teenage jobs was at Dunkin' Donuts. The store manager told me that I was allowed to eat as many doughnuts as I wanted. I have to admit, I was more than just a bit of a glutton the first few days. I sampled the glazed, Boston Creme and the blueberry. I gorged on the cinnamon, the chocolate and the jelly filled. I feasted on the sour cream, the maple frosted and the apple fritter. By the end of my 5th day at work, I was not only disgusted with myself, but never wanted to eat another doughnut again in my life. This experience was thirty years ago. I have never eaten another doughnut since. Is my doughnut feeding frenzy anything like the intention behind Mardi Gras? Do we need to move through a time of extreme indulgence to teach ourselves self-discipline?

In my yoga classes, I try to teach a balance in all areas of the class. We practice willpower, self-restraint and control in our breath, in the movements of our bodies and in the thought patterns of our minds. Yet, there are asanas in which I lead movement for the pure exaltation of being alive and well. The Warrior poses are

a good example of this phenomenon. They do require a singleness of thought and focus, and yet, they feel utterly empowering. The delight to be gained from practicing Warrior is heady; it allows the Yogini to feel mighty, beautiful, desirable, exceptional and even a little racy. There is a powerful sense of being when in Warrior. It feels at once self-controlled and alluring. Warrior is a highly transforming series of dynamic poses.

Mardi Gras, for all its decadence, its mystery and its ribaldry is ultimately about just such a transformation: from the boundaries of gluttony to be remade into the self-control over weakness.It's very difficult to overcome our useless attempts at discipline unless we have tired of them. Additionally, it's harder to see the metamorphosis into the enlightened life if we don't understand the transitory attractions of the alternative. This is not to say that we must all rip off our clothing and fall down in a drunken heap on Bourbon Street to understand the value of seeking spiritual illumination.What Mardi Gras has the potential to create is a way past those tiring impulses and a way to see more brightly see the window of inspiration.

Whether you feast on King Cakes tonight, or share a cocktail with friends, I hope the coming of new awakening awaits each of you. As we begin our magical transformations from spiritual worms into butterflies, I pray that these weeks inside your own personal chrysalis bring you the radiance you are meant to develop.

"The journey between what you once were and who you are now becoming is where the dance of life really takes place." ~ Barbara De Angelis

Resolved

I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me. ~Anaïs Nin

I’ve been a terrible poo-poo’er of New Year’s Resolutions in the past. Every year, I have watched people on national television share their goal to lose 10 pounds, to find Mr. (or Miss) Right, to get out of debt or to learn to speak fluent Italian. I’ve seen friends fall apart as their will power crumbles after dieting for 3 weeks, when the realization that life eating only cabbage isn’t much fun. I’ve seen expensive pieces of home fitness equipment become relegated to awkward coat racks. I’ve noticed that those who decide to give up McDonald’s often have a secret stash of Twinkie’s and Cheeto’s in the back of their closets. New Year’s resolutions are hard. They are tough to maintain. Worse yet, most of the time we end up feeling worse about ourselves than we did on December 31st. Before midnight, we think everything and anything is possible. We believe we’ll have the strength and determination to create a new and better version of ourselves. We always have the idea that we can be thinner, more intellectual, more successful, wealthier and more interesting. In turn, we are confident that these miraculous changes will finally bring us the long sought after happiness we’ve always desired. It should come as no surprise that by Valentine’s Day, most of us have slipped back into the roles of “same old us”.

Therefore, this year I’d like to do something differently for my New Year’s resolutions: I’d like to set up as few changes as possible. In doing so, I hope that I will feel more confident in who I am, in what I stand for and in what direction my life will lead. I hope my readers will wish me luck in these endeavors. I have no doubt that, as simple as they are, I may well find them challenging.

I resolve to remain at my current weight, and not to lose a single ounce. I therefore resolve to look in the mirror and be thankful that I’m not fighting a debilitating, or life threatening, disease. I resolve to make peace with my reflection and refrain from criticizing the way I look, but rather to find the find the good in the woman looking at me. I promise to refrain from complaining about my thighs, my wrinkles and my outward self. I resolve to take good care of the body I’ve been given and to be thankful for every moment I am breathing, walking and spending time with those I love. My body may be far from perfect but it’s time we we made peace with one another.

I resolve to live within my means….and to refrain from drooling every time a new catalog comes in the mail. I promise to look at the beautiful clothes I own and the loved furniture, knowing that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the store. I resolve to take joy in what I’ve been blessed with instead the joy I’ll feel when I rely on something else to make me happy. I resolve to reuse, renew and just take stock in my current possessions…without giving a single thought to what the “Joneses” might be doing. I promise to take good care of the things I have, so that I won’t need new.

I resolve to spend more time being thankful and less time being envious.

I resolve to play with my dogs as much as possible.

I resolve to get rid of the words "would have", "could have" and "should have".

I resolve to let go of guilt and regret.

I resolve to look at my son’s graduation as a beginning, rather than an ending.

I resolve to see my friends more often, even if it means traveling on my own.

I resolve to smile when I’m grumpy and say a cheerful thank you when I’m annoyed with mediocre service.

I resolve to ignore my bad hair days.

I resolve to put things away when I take them out.

I resolve to let myself off the hook when I slip up.

I resolve not to judge other people.

I resolve to enjoy the films and books I like, without apology or embarrassment. If people think I’m foolish for watching movies in which the heroines all wear corsets, they simply don’t have to watch with me.

I resolve to be a kind, funny, literate middle aged woman, to live in today, instead of the past or the future.

I resolve to take these resolutions only as seriously as I feel like at any given moment.

I resolve to stop speaking when the only words coming out of my mouth are argumentative.

I resolve to put books down, or turn movies off, if I really don't like them. Sometimes, not finishing everything I begin is going to be okay.

I resolve to sleep in on days I'm able to, and to enjoy those peaceful few moments in cozy warmth.

I resolve to just give myself a year to be me….to work on living each day as it presents itself and to refrain from self-badgering.

Hopefully, I can accomplish this. But, if you hear me bemoaning the way I look in my jeans, feel free to call me on it.

Anticipation

Looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them. ~ Lucy Maud Montgomery

I happen to be ridiculous when it comes to the anticipation that comes with the Christmas season. I morph, mystically and on schedule, into an impatient Elf. I am the first person to want to put up my tree. In general, the day after Thanksgiving is the perfect time for me.I am filled with a holiday "nesting" spirit. As I'm cleaning up the turkey and creating bags of leftovers, I also want to begin singing Christmas carols, dusting off the Christmas light up village (complete with skating pond) and start decorating my house within every square inch. Out go the regular pillows and in come the Christmas ones. I want to watch tear jerker holiday movies on the Lifetime Channel. I wear embarrassing Santa aprons when I cook and Santa hats when I run errands. And, I usually have my cards ready to mail out on December 1st. In my heart, there is no break between the two holidays: it's as if Thanksgiving is just Opening Day for a marathon of red & green excitement. I wish everyone in every store, "Happy Holidays". I anticipate Christmas morning with a child's heart. The only difference is, I'm far more excited to see the expressions on my family's faces when they open the gifts I've picked out for them. It's all I can do not to give them presents early. I'm terrible about this: my daughter has had to say "No, Mom...we wait for Christmas or it's not special!". Like a four year old, I simply can't wait, and all of my nervous energy comes to a frenetic peak on Christmas Eve. I want to sing all night and wake up with the Christmas morning sun.

The problem is not my passion for Christmas, it's the crash that inevitably comes after. As soon as the gifts are unwrapped, the living is tidied up, and we've eaten our Brunch, I feel a unbearable sense of let down. I want my exuberance back again. What happened to "Peace on Earth; Goodwill towards Men"? It seems to vanish altogether. I want to piece the wrapping paper back together, and travel through time back to that moment just before we began sorting the gifts. I begin to rethink every purchase I made and realize that most of them were completely wrong. I want back the festivity that comes before the festival, the magic that comes before the rabbit is pulled from the hat and the expectation of a Broadway show the moment before the curtain is pulled up. I want the dimmed theater, the lifted glass just before a toast and the cake while the candles are still burning. I dream of the first page of a book you can't wait to read. To me, that infinitesimal foretaste is where the real joy lies.

So, what is there to do, when one appreciates the enthusiastic idealism more than real thing? When the clothes don't fit, when the video is one the receiver has, when the tree starts to look ragged, when the French toast burns and the pile of rubbish seems far bigger than the stack of gifts was, it can be terribly gloomy. I've found myself cleaning up, and then simply wanting to take the tree down Christmas evening...wanting to 'get it over with'. If I can't find the adrenaline rush of good cheer, I want it to be all over completely, with every trace of Christmas eradicated before New Year's. If my heart doesn't burst with the readiness, I want to move on. My inner Grinch seems to steal Christmas after Christmas has come.

The wonderful thing about life is that we're given more years to get it right, and to try again. This year I have identified my self-destructive behavior and am circumventing my own bad actions. I'm not taking the tree down before New Year's. That simply won't happen. My daughter is my sponsor in the 'extend the Christmas experience' quest. She's even more passionate about Christmas than I am...and she doesn't let the day itself ruin her holiday cheer. "When the student is ready, the master will appear"....and in my case, the master happens to be my 15 year old. We're going to enjoy our time by the tree, reading, having cocoa and tea, the entire time she's home from school. We're going to organize our gifts so that she doesn't pull out our stockings in 2010, to discover that they're all half full with last year's items. We're going to make a plan for putting away the Christmas decorations more slowly and more deliberately, so that we stretch out the process, rather than treat it like a move across country. Hopefully, this will have the added benefit of finding everything as we need it next November. If we take the after Christmas idea more slowly, it might just like inching into a swimming pool....it will be bracing, but it will keep away the shock factor. We are going to use our Christmas plates until New Year's, and not allow the negativity into our home. We're going to appreciate our gifts one at a time, instead of being gluttonous with them all at once. This will also keep the excitement fresh.

Patience has never been the strongest area in my life. I was notorious for peeking in my mother's closet weeks leading up to my birthday. I wanted to know the gender of my babies, from the moment I found out I was expecting. I couldn't wait for our puppies to come home from the day they were born. I wanted what I wanted without having to wait. I've learned, in my wiser middle years, that the sweetest moments lie in being fully present in the current moment. The pleasure that can be derived from slowing down, being mindful in each new experience, even the anticipation leading up to it, can far outweigh rushed, transitory glimpses of thrill. Therefore, it's my goal this year to be peaceful, rather than voracious, in my holiday spirit. In doing so, perhaps the joyful fires will remain kindled longer...and not burn themselves out at 5 minutes past 9 on Christmas morning.

As Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote so eloquently, "All things come round to him who will but wait." I hope that my waiting will bring about a new understanding of the Christmas spirit....as well as an extension of my appreciation for it.

And, I promise not to peek this year. Well, maybe just a little.

The Holiday Hot Bath

There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. ~Sylvia Plath,The Bell Jar

During this busy time of year, the most common answer I hear, when I ask "How are you?" is "Stressed!". Most people I know have Christmas lists that resemble the size and length of a Bill, set before Congress, to become a law. People have to shop for their families' gifts, which becomes more difficult each successive year. How many years can you make cookies for people, or give them a bottle of wine, without seeming uncreative? There are Christmas card photos to take...and with every passing year the children become older, wiser, less cooperative and not as easily bribed into standing still. There are addresses to look up, because in our more mobile society, few people still live in the same house that they may have a few years ago. There are parties to attend, which sounds like an enormous amount of fun until you try to schedule around them. There are parties to give, which is even more stressful....between making sure the dog hasn't eaten the sofa, the hors d'oeuvres or the front porch steps before the guests arrive. There are party dresses that fit last year but now seem sized for a completely differently shaped woman. There are recipes that are "Never Fail!' in the cookbook, but manage to do just that. There are sporting events to attend, cheering for your children while wearing Santa hats. There are office events that we want to appear at our best, yet cultivate a savoie-faire attitude (and not make a fool of ourselves, like Roy from Accounting did one year). There are gingerbread houses that collapse and require power tools to fix. We try to play Secret Santa, without our victim figuring out who is leaving boxes of caramels on her desk. There are Caroling parties that always seem to be held on the one evening per year that disproves global warming. There are Christmas Pageants, concerts and plays. There is too much clutter, and not enough "Yankee Swap" gatherings to dispose of it all. There are important Charity events, such as Toys for Tots drives, Adopt a Family and care packages to support our troops overseas. There is too much to do, crammed into too short a period of time, and far too much enforced merriment. It's hard to 'merry' when everyone is telling you to do just that...at my five commitments each afternoon.

Bah Hambug! So, how do we get out of the doldrums and into the delight? We find time every day for a hot holiday bath. We need to close the door, and draw the hot water, putting on whatever music relaxes us the most. In my case, it happens to be Andrea Bocelli, but you may enjoy hymns, Christmas carols, show tunes, or whatever happens to be your 'happy place', musically. You will want to be luxurious with your bath products. Lavender is wonderful for relaxation, but for the more adventurous, Bath & Body Works has developed a line of holiday bubble baths. My two favorites are their Twisted Peppermint and Nutcracker Suite. Each one lathers up heavenly and takes me far away from the bottle drive I need to coordinate for the hockey team. Make sure that your bathroom is stress free....it's tough to relax, when you're looking at a counter filled with half empty bottles and an exploded toothpaste container. Either earlier in the day, or while your bath is drawing, "clean sweep" whatever you need to...simply put it in a box and deal with it later. (You may find that, once it becomes later, you don't miss that half empty container of bug repellent in December). Lock the door if you need to, but just make your holiday hot bath a ritual you do for yourself. Pour yourself a glass of wine, or a cup of hot chocolate, and sink back, promising yourself that you won't think about anything on your Christmas "to do" list for the duration of your sanctuary in the tub.

However, if you find that your mind is having a hard time shutting off, as mine often does, bring a good book into the tub with you. While I wouldn't recommend trying this even with the steadiest of hands for Kindle users, but if you take care, it shouldn't be a problem for a tradition book. I'd recommend reading something inspirational, uplifting, heart warming, or at the very least, light hearted. We have enough drama in our lives this time of year. This isn't the moment to read Tom Clancy's latest, or any Lee Childs thriller. You don't want heart pounding action.You want to be renewed. Action books can be enormous fun, and can pull us into a web of adrenaline that leaves us feeling mysterious and accomplished. But, during times of great busyness, it's often helpful to read words that are more life affirming. This will help us ease tension and find inner peace. You may enjoy reading inspirational books by The Dalai Lama, or by inspirational Jewish and Christian writers, such as Rabbi Harold Kushner or Max Lucado. Richard Paul Evans writes beautiful,"easily read in a night or two" books that uplift, entertain, inspire but aren't insipid novels. Most of all, I'd recommend reading Mitch Albom's new book, "have a little faith". The journey the author takes, from being asked to write his childhood rabbi's eulogy (when the spiritual leader was still very much alive), to connecting with an inner city homeless project run by an extraordinary pastor, this novel will kindle a light within you...one you may find flickering and on the point of blowing out altogether if you don't nourish the flame.

There are so many ways that we celebrate the holiday season. We spend time with family and friends. We do good works in our communities. We try to make the holidays special for our children...to create memories they'll look back upon with great happiness. But, in all of that activity, we often do 'forget the meaning of the season'. I don't like being reminded, again and again, that we need to reach into our faith traditions, and dwell there exclusively, while I have no ethical way to get out of honoring my other, secular commitments. I don't like hearing how badly the stock market is doing because people "just aren't shopping enough", when I'm trying to teach my teenagers to think of one or two special items, as opposed to one of everything at Circuit City. What I do like is finding a way to balance the must do's, the want to do's, the love to do's and 'do's for my health and sanity'. For me, this means taking a hot bath every night. It means finding a way to shut out everyone, including the people I love desperately, just for a chance to recharge my Elf Engine.

I think that creating a Hot Holiday Bath ritual is a healthy, non-addictive way to deal with holiday pressures. It can relieve tense muscles, warm you all over from a frosty night and give you a much needed break. If nothing else, the presents that the kids have unwrapped, and then tried (unsuccessfully) to re-wrap will still be there when you get out. And, you may just have a more effective, gentler method of handling it all, warm and cozy from Peppermint bubbles.

Thankfulness

If you concentrate on finding whatever is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul. -- Rabbi Harold Kushner

Just as millions of other Americans are doing this week, my family is preparing for Thanksgiving. We're cleaning the house from top to bottom, scrubbing every surface that doesn't move (and a few that want to run away when they see the dog shampoo). I'm creating a master plan for who will sleep where, as our relatives come join us for the holiday. I'm planning the cooking time sheet to remind myself which dish needs to go into the oven when. I'm pulling out and ironing my holidays linens. I'm making last minute trips to the store so that I don't run out of milk, coffee and laundry detergent. I'm focusing on pick up schedules at the train, bus and airport. My mother and I will have our family tradition of watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade as we cook together. My husband will share the tradition of home projects with his parents, feeling grateful for their help. We'll feast too much, we'll watch some football, we'll enjoy my mother-in-law's extraordinary pies and we'll count our blessings.

This year, however, I'd like to try an exercise that's a little different, and quite a bit contrary to our usual recounting of the events and people we appreciate. I would like to attempt thankfulness towards the challenges in my life. The Buddha says, "Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful". In 1 Thessalonians, St. Paul wrote, "Always be joyful. Never stop praying. Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus." It's easy to be thankful for our health when it's good. It's a snap to be thankful to friends and family when relationships aren't strained. It's not a stretch to be grateful for our lives when one joyful coincidence follows another. We can smile, we can sing and we can praise the heavens for the bounty in our lives when our thriving plenitude overflows. But, what happens when we face a serious illness? When we find ourselves deeply hurt by someone we care for? When our finances will never cover our bills? It is at these times of "want" that we learn to appreciate the plenty.

Therefore, I'd like to count my trials as my blessings this year. I would venture forth to say that it is from these times of inadequacy that I have learned where my fortune truly lies:

• I am thankful for the seriousness illnesses I have had, and the continued screenings and tests I must endure to make certain they have not returned. Being hospitalized, and especially being in intensive care, has left me with a profound sense of appreciation for my very existence. Every deep breath I take, every morning I wake up not attached to monitors and every moment I'm not in pain is a gift. I'm thankful for the amazing men and women who have cared for me, while I was unwell, and especially thankful for those who saved my life. The air smells crisper, the sunrises look more dramatic and the feeling of sleeping in my own bed is more delicious.
• I am thankful for the people who have hurt me terribly. There is nothing like the pain of rejection, betrayal and disloyalty. Those feelings cut to the bone and are more arduous wounds to heal than those created by a doctor's scalpel. They left me with gaping trauma and humiliation at being so trusting of those who meant me harm. Still, as I began to heal from these internal injuries I also realized how exceptionally precious those steadfast people in my life truly are. Although my skeptical inner voice would whisper in my ear, "Don't allow this person to see the real you....she won't like you and she will use yournature to harm you....", I discovered that in being sensibly optimistic, I would have the chance to make a new friend, appreciate a family member more deeply and open myself up to new possibilities for caring. The somber wounds of deceit won't go away, but they can be cauterized. They also serve as a reminder to love those who are true all the more profoundly.
• I am thankful for days in which everything seems to go wrong: the car won't start, the dog throws up on the one good rug, the washing machine 'walks' across the floor as it spews soapy water and the backyard fence falls over in a slow drift proving Newton's theory. I am thankful when our finances are in the red, rather than in the black. I am thankful when my two children get into a scrape. I am thankful when the roof over my head needs reshingling. I am thankful when the coffee pot overflows grounds, just like lava from Mt. Vesuvius. I am thankful when my jeans don't fit and that I'm sure that the scale must be broken. I am thankful when I'm hopelessly stuck in rush hour traffic, or that my airline flight has been delayed for the fourth time. I am thankful when my driveway becomes so icy that it's more like a skating rink built into a hillside than a road way. I am thankful for bad hair days. I am thankful for the swelteringly sickly hot days of summer. I am thankful for stuffy noses, bruised elbows and mosquito bites. I am thankful for dropping a Waterford crystal glass. I am thankful when I feel disgustingly short tempered. I am thankful when I burn dinner beyond recognition, and we have to have cereal for supper. I am thankful for every library book I've lost, for every bill I've misplaced and for each appointment I'd forgotten completely.

Why in the world would I be thankful for these events? Why would I feel grateful at having my feelings, my time, my life and my sense of self turn into a cyclone of emotional discontent? I am thankful because at these very moments, I have the special, exceptional and delightful opportunity to experience grace. We don't discover blessing, clemency or compassion when life is going well. We can't buy it, we can't trade for it and we can't steal it. We can only open our hearts to benevolence in times of need. I have learned far more during the darkest chapters of my life, and even during the moderately cranky moments, than I have when life seemed effortless and easy. It's when we are broken, distraught and inept that we have the unlikely shining goal of opportunity: the chance to find that magic crystal, from video game graphics, that will lead us to a greater understanding of life's meaning, to a more profound situation from life's tiny blessings and to an enhanced vision of where our life priorities should lie. These dreadful times of misfortune are when we learn true appreciation.

So, when you 'gather together' this Thanksgiving, and each friend or family member is telling what she is thankful for, remember that not all blessings come during the easy times. More often, the greatest lessons we can learn, and that can teach us to be the exceptional people we were designed to be, come wrapped the gift basket of calamity.

Veterans' Day

It is easy to take liberty for granted, when you have never had it taken from you. M. Grundler

Two weeks ago, I had written some notes regarding my Veterans Day blog. I had planned to discuss our family's experiences during deployments, the way the military community pulls together and how proud I am to be the wife of a veteran. In light of the Fort Hood shootings, however, I find that my heart and mind are walking down a far different path. Although we knew none of the shooting victims personally, nor were we ever stationed at Fort Hood, the Army is a small town with a global impact. There are always people we've known, men and women my husband has served with and far less than 6 degrees of separation from any Army family.

Like the rest of the world, we were shocked and horrified by the news of this past week. The most insidious aspect, in my own heart, was that the shooter was an Army doctor...a psychiatrist. Not only does this situation create a dreadful sense of mistrust throughout the medical system, but it has to be terrifying to live and work on post, and no longer feel safe. That this rampage would occur in a 'secure' location only makes the ramifications more complex and disconcerting.

Ironically, I have never felt safer than when I'd arrive on post. Before the first Gulf War, there was the simple checking of military (and dependent) identification. After the war began, our cars were searched, to include large mirrors on wheels to be rolled underneath, checking for bombs. Although this did present an inconvenience for those us who chose to live off post, it also gave us a sense of security. I was able to go to the American school in which I worked, feeling not only confident for my own sake, but also for that of my students. My classroom, during this time,

experienced a great deal of upheaval. Fathers left our post in Germany to go to the Gulf. Mothers often left children in the care of neighbors to return stateside to be with their own families. My 2nd grade class felt a lot of uncertainty during this time. I found that I needed to wear many hats...none of which were in my job description. This one year, we spent more time creative writing, and less time memorizing. We studied the geography of all the places the soldiers were going, knowing that was more relevant than the social studies chapter on "people in my neighborhood". We cried. We found ways to laugh. We read wonderful books, and composed ones of our own. We created care packages and calculated distances to various locations. We learned about many modes of travel that the military uses. We painted. We made paper mache globes. We learned the names of constellations and understood that the students Mommies and Daddies could see the same stars. We sang. We cooked. We were there for each other. But, at no time did we, ourselves in our own little classroom, feel at risk or in harm's way. Our classroom was our sanctuary. It was where we felt safe, away from the fighting.

President Obama has called the killings "incomprehensible". He went on to say, ""Their life's work is our security and the freedom that we too often take for granted. Every evening that the sun sets on a tranquil town; every dawn that a flag is unfurled; every moment that an American enjoys life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness -- that is their legacy". What President Obama must also realize now is that even our Army posts, here on American soil, have lost the small town safety they once had. In the military, your current post becomes your home. Your neighbors are in the same life situation that you are...which is a far cry from civilian life. Everyone has been the new person, and everyone lends a hand to help out. Army life can be brutally hard, including separations from those we love. But, it can also give you a sense of family, thousands of miles from your home town. The soldiers who lost their lives did so, not by someone who sneaked into this country illegally, but one of their own.It's a case of a neighbor killing his neighbors in small town USA. The tragedy is further reaching than just those of us in the military. As one of my dear friends from our Army days told me "It's not enough that my husband is in Afghanistan right now...in danger and ready to give his life for his country. Now, I have to look over my shoulder at our coworkers." What started out as a peaceful day in Texas, shattered not only a military community but the sense of freedom that our soldiers risk their lives to prevent.

This Veterans Day, I hope you will take a moment, in between parades and shopping the sales, to thank a veteran. Regardless of your political beliefs, the fact is that there are exceptional men and women who put their lives on the line to protect our nation and to facilitate the military life. They might be Army Rangers or Navy Seals. They might be doctors and nurses who provide safe health care for servicemen and their families. They might be college professors, scientists or supply specialists. They might be husbands or wives, fathers or mothers. It does not take one political party, or another, to have faith in humanity, to have appreciation for the courageous actions of others or to hope for peace and better days ahead.

If you disagree with me, that's fine. But, thank a soldier for protecting your rights to your own opinion.

Tradition

"Who must know the way to make a proper home,A quiet home, a kosher home?Who must raise the family and run the home,So Papa's free to read the holy books? The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!" --From "Fiddler on the Roof"

I'm a Broadway fanatic. I inherited this trait from my mother, who took me to see "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown" and "Hair" before I was five years old. I came out singing and dancing, and completely in love with musical theater. Before I would return to school each year, first as a young girl, then as a prep school student, and finally as a college student, Mom and I would go to New York and have a two day Broadway Buffet: we'd fit in as many shows as we could. Between matinees and evening performances, we'd try to do some last minute shopping, and to try a couple of new restaurants. But, the goal of our trip was always the theater. If it was Labor Day, then Mom and I would be in the audience of the St. James, the Gershwin, the Majestic, the Minskoff or any one of a number of auditoriums that sound like a litany when said altogether. Going to the theater, for my mother and me, was our tradition. It was something that never changed, that always could be counted upon and that felt safe and right.

The first time I saw "Fiddler on the Roof", I knew it would be different from other performances I'd been to. For one thing, my mother already knew all the songs, and I had seen the movie version. More than these foretastes of the show, I was also aware that, in many ways, "Fiddler" told my own family's story. This was not just a fantastical voyage come to life; this was a recounting of my own ancestry, and that of many people like me. "Fiddler" wasn't a fairy tale come to life. It was my own sense of learning about where I came from, who my people were, how they did their very best in oppressive conditions, and finally, why they left. I grew up with wonderful parents in a loving, intellectually stimulating home. However, our sense of belonging was very much rooted in the present. I had long had a fascination with the past. "Fiddler on the Roof" gave me that clue to who I was, not in this very moment, but from where I had come. Because my family was not religious, I knew very little about the faith based traditions of our people. And yet, seeing the small actions in the theater characters, little comments they made to each other and telling bits of dialogue, I felt completely at home in the small Russian town portrayed on stage. The quips made between the women of the theater family could easily have been made by my grandmother, cousins and mother. It was as if someone had written down our own family's traditions, placed them back in time, added in religion and voila! My family!

One thing continued to bother me: why didn't we have the exact same traditions as the family in "Fiddler on the Roof"? My parents were simply not interested in religion. My father, a very wise man and a very pragmatic one, said that religion did more to divide than it did to heal. My mother was very comfortable in her cultural, and secular, form of Judaism. I felt sad to be left out of such rich traditions. And yet, as I grew older, I began to see that traditions don't just include lighting candles on Friday nights: they include the small, special ways we relate to one another and the rituals we developed over the years. Our family had a lobster bake with our closest friends at a nearby beach each June and we always watched the fireworks from the boat on the 4th of July. As we decorated our Christmas tree, my mother and I would laugh when one of us would pull out a ratty pompom duck ornament (that I still have). My grandmother and I would wrap up the same tambourine elaborately every year, and give it to one another...each time trying to disguise the packaging a bit more, so that the other would not suspect a thing. While my father would not admit to laughing about this tradition, we would absolutely lose one hard boiled, colored Easter egg, each holiday, someplace in the yard, and would discover it months later. These were all traditions...secular, yes, but meaningful, also yes. The rituals were not written down, nor were they in any way dogmatic. But, they created a connection from one year to the next for us.

The arm of Yoga that I teach is Ashtanga Yoga. Some yoginis feel that this is a very rigid discipline because Ashtanga tends to have a set routine and follows the same plan, roughly, from week to week. I take great comfort in this sense of continuity. I believe my students are pleased to anticipate what asanas are coming next in our series. This doesn't mean that I never challenge my students with new asanas, or encourage them to move more deeply into a familiar one. This also doesn't include room for self-expression. However, as we begin class in the familiar way, we move through our exercises, always knowing what will follow, and end class in our customary manner, my students are able to focus more on their own practice, and less on trying to figure out what I'm doing. Having attended many classes in which the instructor shakes up the dynamic from day to day, I have come to value the tradition of my own class: in which my students can breathe, move and explore, without constantly looking up to discover a completely random, and unfamiliar, asana. By keeping our 'new poses' to a minimum, and by keeping them in the same spot in our routine, I'm able to run an efficient, informed class. We have developed our own traditions.

Traditions don't have to be positive. There have been numerous human rights violations that have been done in the name of 'tradition'. Yet, when respecting the sanctity of human dignity, traditions, whether long held or newly formed, can create a meaningful framework for people. Many of us like to know what to expect; we enjoy remember our days in a string that connects them. If a tradition has meaning, if it makes one happy and it creates its own magic, I believe it's worth holding onto....and that's why I still have the unbearably raggedy duck ornament. When my daughter and I hang it up each year, we say the same silly words I did with my mother, and I know the circle is complete. I just hope he lasts long enough to make it to Caroline's tree in her own home someday.

The 5th of July

Freedom is the oxygen of the soul. ~Moshe Dayan



Independence Day has always been one of my favorite holidays. Growing up with a father passionate about the 4th of July helped me to see the day with eyes to appreciate what an exceptional holiday it is. James Blaine once wrote, "The United States is the only country with a known birthday." Although other countries would beg to differ on this point, the fact remains that the 4th of July is a time for all Americans, whether descendants of those who signed the Declaration of Independence to those only recently embracing citizenship, to stand together, in celebration for our country's uniqueness. Our ideal of freedom and equality for all people make us a leader in the world...not just in might, but in our vision of all people having a voice to be heard. On the 4th of July, we stand together, passionately American. We have family gatherings, barbeque's, picnics, parades, town fairs, and of course, fireworks. Under the canopy of those extraordinary explosions, we can celebrate the birth of country, and feel a connectedness to our nation and to one another.



But, the question begs to be asked: What happens on the 5th of July? Do we remain united in our compassion towards all Americans? Do we embrace the ideals of freedom and unity? Do we keep that spirit of a truly United states alive? Or, do we fall back onto negative behavior patterns for the other 364 days a year? Do we keep brotherhood and sisterhood alive and well all throughout the year...or do we fall prey to squabbling over political parties, agendas and divisive attitudes of superiority?



As a passionate reader, I have always loved series of books.This isn't simply because of my enjoyment of literature. I adore knowing what happens "next". As a child, I was not content to hear the words "And they lived happily ever after." I wanted to know exactly what action took place next. Did Cinderella and Prince Charming truly live happily ever after, or did they have arguments over what to do with the castle? Did they have children? What ever became of the wretched stepsisters? What about the fairy godmother? Does she remain a part of Cinderella's life? We'll never know, because the story simply ends on Cinderella's personal Independence Day. We don't know if she grew disheartened in her life, or if the stepsisters learned from their experience to treat others with kindness and dignity. We are never told if Prince Charming is a good father or if the kingdom appreciates their new Princess. We don't hear about the day "happily every after" begins. One of the reasons I've enjoyed rereading the Chronicles of Narnia over the years is because the series of books gives the reader enough time to discover everything about the characters, the world they inhabit and to bring the series to a firm conclusion. Every story needs an ending...either one that the reader is meant to discover on her own, or what that is resolute and final.

With this idea in mind, I invite you to explore your feelings about the 5th of July. How can we continue to breathe the very air of freedom in an often quarrelsome nation? What we can do, personally, to protect our freedoms and appreciate the contributions that others may make? Can we find paths around discord into true unity? I believe we can, and that we already have the skills to do so. We simply forget them. We go to sleep on the 4th of July, as one, and we wake up on the 5th as partisans. We need to maintain that 4th of July spirit, not by our nationalist words, but by our meaningful actions. The manner in which we speak to one another, how we treat people we may disagree with and how we embrace all elements of freedom can create a far greater sense of true patriot unity than one day of fireworkds. The best preservation of freedom, in my humble opinion, is by appreciating it, and protecting liberty for all citizens...not just those we happen to agree with.

By not just celebrating the 4th of July, but by celebrating our Independence on the 5th of July, and the 6th of July, and every other day of the year, we have the ability to find out "what happens next" in our nation's ongoing history. America did not begin and end its story that day in Philadelphia. It has begun its story every morning since thathen. Let's not gloss over what comes next by saying "And America lived happlily every after". Let's embrace making those words come true.

Memorial Day

The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example. ~Benjamin Disraeli


The last Monday in May brings with it Memorial Day...the day set aside to honor those Americans who gave their life in battle. For some of us, this holiday will feature parades of Little League teams, fireworks, floats, marching bands and spoken tributes. We might have backyard barbeque's or a day at the beach. For others, the day will be felt as a personal day of loss, remembering a husband, a brother, a sister, a wife, a son or a friend who was killed in the line of duty. For these families, Memorial Day will not mean a day off from school, a chance to try out new water skis or an excuse to break out the grill. It will not be about kicking off the summer season. Memorial Day will be a time set aside to remember their precious one, whose life was cut short far away. There is a dichotomy to Memorial Day that many people ignore. For those who have lost beloved family members, it feels awkward, and even distasteful, to celebrate. For those who have not, it feels a little unsettling to grasp that this day is about far more than a bank holiday.


I believe that Memorial Day has the potential to be both a day of jovial welcome to the summer season, as well as a time to honor the fallen heroes. Even if you haven't lost a soldier in your own family, it bears remembering that there are families in your own community that have been touched by war. Afghanistan and Iraq are both still very much war zones. Ours is a nation at war right now, at this very moment. Simply because one hasn't lost a brother in the fighting outside of Mosul ,doesn't mean we are unaffected by the ongoing hostilities. I can sadly promise that many of us know people who have lost someone, or who has someone currently serving. One of the kindest ways I believe we can reach out to the families of service people right now, is by not ignoring them. Because these wars have been ongoing and unpopular, there has been a tendency to look the other way at the families left here in the States. As a former Army wife, myself, I remember the long months of the First Gulf War, and living in Germany at the time. There were plenty of times I wanted to listen by the radio (as we didn't have Armed Forces television at our house in the countryside off post). But, there were other times, I would have loved to have been invited out....to have been invited to a party or a cookout to celebrate our courage and thankfulness. Yet, during times of trouble, people often like to keep their distance.


Our family was truly blessed. My husband's unit was fine, and although it was disbanded during the time of the first Gulf War, we were fortunate to have a strong sense of community among other military families. With our husbands away, many of the women in the wives' groups had rotating dinners at one another's houses, planned outings and just generally used one another in the buddy system to keep tabs on our well being. This was one of the advantages to being abroad already: we had a built in support system in place.


Yet, for many current military families, their husbands and wives have been called into active duty from the reserves, and therefore tend to live in their own houses, in their own neighborhoods, rather than in military communities. Because of this, many families can feel invisible. Even if a woman hasn't lost her husband at war, not seeing him for 18 months can feel like a lifetime, particularly if she has children. I've heard a military spouse of a deployed Army officer say that she feels as if she carries a highly contagious disease: people feel badly but prefer to wave from a distance...as if her 'bad luck' could possibly rub off on them. She doesn't know if her neighbors ignore her because they disagree with the war, if they think she must already have support or because they simply don't know what to say. While her husband is in Afghanistan, all my friend would like is to be treated normally, and included just as she would have been before.


It's my wish that we find ways to honor our military: the fallen heroes, those currently called away in service, and those heroes left at home. The quiet hero is the mom who tells her children bedtime stories about things their Daddy loved to do with them, even if the children can't remember going to the zoo together. The hero at home is the father balancing his work and his children who miss their mom so much, they cry at night. They don't understand why she's not a nurse at the hospital up the street anymore, but has to be a nurse on the other side of the world. The hero at home is the grandmother, raising her grandson to be proud of his parents, who are in two different places far away. The quiet hero finds ways to keep the pieces of the puzzle together when the edges are all missing.


There is a Greek proverb that says "In hospitality, the chief thing is good will." I urge my readers to take a few minutes and cultivate that good will. Think of ways to be inclusive to the widow who is remembering a beloved husband, killed in action 30 years ago. Try to put yourself in the shoes of the haggard dad, busy with his job and the responsibilities his wife used to take on ,before she left for active duty. Find ways to be there for the little ones who just need to laugh while running through a sprinkler. Bake a pie, and have a cup of tea, with a woman whose son is in an area currently under attack. Investigate programs to write to soldiers who have no one else to communicate with them. Good will, the intention of cultivating the best for others, should be at the forefront of our Memorial Day.


By all means, grill those hamburgers, and spend the day on the lake. Wave flags at the parade and eat ice cream from a cart. But, remember the people who have given their lives for this country...and those who are still giving of their lives every day. Then, step out of your comfort zone and enact that good will.