Falling in love

" Falling in love with someone isn't always going to be easy... Anger... tears... laughter.. It's when you want to be together despite it all. That's when you truly love another. I'm sure of it."  ~ Helen Rowland I'm in the midst of falling in love. The moment I saw the photo of my beloved, having never met, I knew it was meant to be. My heart beat a little faster. My eyes misted up with tears. My soul cried out "This is the one!". It was an extraordinary experience. I knew that we were meant to be together, regardless of how difficult the path might be. I was willing to take on any difficulties so that the object of my affection and I could share as many years as possible together. It's a wonderful feeling. I feel more alive. The air smells sweeter. Food tastes more delicious. My senses are more heightened.  And, I'm utterly and completely exhausted. Why? If I'm in love, for what reason could I possibly be this tired? Because my new love is young Shiloh Shepherd dog. I first saw her picture on the Shepherd Rescue organization's rescue page. I am on every possible animal rescue list. I am generous to a fault when it comes to the welfare of animals who are in desperate need of help. My mother has rescued countless dogs over the years. We even rescued some horses in dire straights. If I could adopt every one who needed a home, I'm afraid we'd be out of a place to live. So, I've learned to be sympathetic, to work hard to help animals who are at great risk, but understanding that I can't save them all. Yet, when I saw Dakota's face, I knew she was 'the one'. It was a spiritual experience. Dakota's eyes literally told me that we were meant to be a family. After applying for adoption, and being selected, we had to figure out how best to get this Virginia native up to Maine. This ended up involving a bleary eyed trip to New Jersey and back. Getting new a dog, even a young one as Dakota, who has already had one home isn't like bringing home a  puppy, who has just left her Mama. A dog who has had a home before knows her routine, she knows her 'pack' and she knows her life where she has lived all of her life. Uprooting her, even for the best of intentions, is a tough business.  There is a commitment and determination to love someone who isn't quite sure of her new life yet. There is a balance of affection, exercise, routine and gentle discipline so that she knows her new life. It's not a path to be undertaken by someone who just thinks having a new dog would be fun. There is a lot of work to be done. And yet, it's unbelievably wonderful. I have fallen completely in love with this beautiful girl. I know that she is still getting to know me. I understand that she's spent the first year of her life with someone else. I am teaching her not to bark at new people in the house. I'm helping her to get to know our daily schedule. I'm giving her as much snuggling as I can, while still instructing her that my word is the law. I'm playing with her. I'm brushing her. I'm feeding her, letting her get on my bed, walking her, laughing at her goofy antics and generally getting to know her. Most of all, I'm letting her fall in love with me. That's as much a part of falling in love...since true love is never one sided. I'm still awfully tired. But, it's a good tired.

At Loose Ends

Emma...my new walking partner

Habit is a cable; we weave a thread each day, and at last we cannot break it.  ~Horace Mann


A few days ago, my big Newfoundland mix was injured. Obviously, I adore my dog. He's my massive, cuddly Teddy bear. He's my conscience, my best friend and my favorite companion all rolled into a 110 pound package. Murphy is the court jester in our house. He's also the Spirit of Empathy. His torn meniscus may require surgery. His spirit remains positive and filled with joy. But, he simply can't walk around the house easily, let alone on our usual daily treks. It's painful to watch him try to get around. I love him so much that I hate his being in pain.


I also realized, however, that I haven't taken a walk without a child (or two) or a dog (or two) in 19 years. This may sound silly to many people. I am certain the idea of an unencumbered walk would be the ideal heaven to most. I'm perfectly capable of walking around foreign cities and going exploring. I like nothing better than seeing if I can get myself good and lost in new places to try to allow serendipity to bring amazing new spots into my life. I am a believer in kismet and fate beckoning me forward to previously unknown adventures. These chance encounters (with new museums, new restaurants and all new streets) aside, my daily walk is something completely different. I simply don't like to walk alone for exercise or to let off steam.


I am absolutely content in my own company. I'm one of those women who, like a hopefully  less suicidal, Virgina Woolf, would love to have a "Room of one's own". Walking alone, however, has left me at complete loose ends. I have no idea what to do with myself. I have walked with company for so many years that I truly enjoy it. When the children were little, I used to push them in the double jogging stroller every day...with them bundled up like beautiful cherubs against any cold weather. As they grew up a bit, we'd stop and look at interesting things...the ducks in the park in Summer, the changing leaves in Fall or the very first Snowdrops in Spring. When the kids outgrew our daily strolls, I began walking the dogs alone. Although the pups didn't chatter away like my children did, they nevertheless provided me with company, fun and a bit of a sense of mischief.


Murphy's injury has taught me a truth about myself: I don't like to walk alone. I'm not afraid. I'm simply too bored with my own thoughts. I found myself dragging along, not even wanting to go. It's much easier to be lazy without a dog to walk! After a couple of days, my neighbor took pity on me, after seeing me walk brokenhearted. She has two lovely Golden Retrievers, who have often played with Murphy. Her younger dog, Emma, needs longer walks that my neighbor can manage right now. Emma was so happy to be my walking buddy! It was also fun watching Emma encounter my usual route for the first time. Seeing the paths through her eyes gave me a whole new incentive to continue to show her other new spots we can walk together.


I will still miss walking Murphy. But, I'm glad that Kismet provided a temporary partner for me. I am never comfortable at loose ends with myself. And since my walks are a vital part of my healing from cancer, I'm glad that Emma's along for the journey.

The Fine Line

Practicing compassion, caring for others and sharing their problems, lays the foundation for a meaningful life, not only at the level of the individual, family or community, but also for humanity as a whole. ~ His Holiness, the Dalai Lama


People say that there are only three seasons here in Maine: Summer, Autumn and Winter. Summer is glorious and we revel in it. The long hours of sunlight, filling our days with the beach or boating. Lovely picnics and laughter well into the warm evenings. Autumn is nothing short of magical. The trees turn colors we only see in gemstones; rich ruby, glimmering topaz and vibrant amber. Winter, while seemingly endless, takes on a rhythm and sense of coziness. The snow blankets every surface and shines like diamonds each morning. Spring, however, remains elusive. Gray skies, torrential rains and fields growing nothing but mud seem to be the norm. The past few days, however, have been exceptional. I have taken to walking my dog, Murphy, and have taken full advantage of the sunshine to get back into shape following my surgeries. Walking has been therapeutic for both my own health, and for Murphy's...as he tends to look more like a Hippopotamus, than a Retriever mix. 


Our long walks have taken us into town, exploring streets we don't normally travel. It's been a bit of an adventure for the two of us.We love setting out in the morning, with no particular destination in mind. We may not be ready for a 10K walkathon, but we are definitely improving our stamina. 


However, a recent walk left me shaken, not from over-exercising, but from my own fears. As Murphy and I lumbered along in our usual mediocre pace, I saw a young man on the road ahead of us. He had a tattered coat, an over-sized backpack that was bursting at the seams and a very long, shaggy beard.  His entire demeanor gave off a threatening vibe. I looked around and didn't see another soul on the road, either in a car or on foot. In short, I was scared to death. I was a woman alone with a dork of a dog on an isolated country lane. 


My conversations with my friend, Jennifer, immediately sprung to mind. Jen is a gifted social worker and teacher on womens' issues of  personal safety. I have learned more from her than from anyone else on this subject. Jen taught me to scream "FIRE!", rather than "Help!" in an emergency....people being who they are are far more likely to respond to the former plea than they are to the latter. I learned that, if someone tries to pull me into a car to hold onto something solid, like a telephone pole or, when biking, to my bicycle. Jen explained a number of ways to incapacitate a would-be abductor. All of these scenarios flashed through my mind in an instant. I felt my heart pounding in my throat as the scary fellow approached. I seriously considered turning my dog around and running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.


In the next instant, I was filled with shame. Here was someone clearly down on his luck, and walking to his next destination. My recent theology class discussion about compassion rang in my ears, and I was horrified to have judged harshly when I espouse kindness above all else. Are my lessons in practicing hospitality, generosity, graciousness and consideration just empty ideals, with no place in my real life? Can I say one thing in an abstract setting and another when faced someone in need? My face burned red with embarrassment.


So, where is the fine line between ensuring our personal safety and practicing altruism? How can we remain grounded in a dangerous world, and be mindful of our own vulnerabilities, while still showing tenderness to those in need? With my thoughts on ways to keep myself (and Murphy) safe, I continued walking towards the intimidating man. I made eye contact, I smiled and said a cheerful, "Good Morning!" to him. He stopped and looked right at me. His gentle blue eyes showed nothing of the 'keep away' signs I'd seen before I spoke to him. Though bedraggled, his entire persona seemed to shift before my eyes, transforming him into a handsome, albeit world weary, traveler. He reached down and patted Murphy's immense head before looking up at me and saying, "And, good morning to you, Ma'am" with such kindness in his face. We exchanged another smile, and then went each in our own direction.


I was reminded of the verse from the book of Hebrews in the New Testament, "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing, some people have entertained angels without knowing it."  I didn't entertain the young man, nor did I invite him home. I knew that that would be foolish of me. But, I am happy that I showed kindness, rather than rudeness, and a peaceful heart, rather than a fearful one.


Who knows? Perhaps I just 'entertained an angel'. Or, at least, brightened someone else's day. In either scenario, I feel both blessed and grateful for the encounter.

Powerless

We had an intense blizzard yesterday. What began as a slow and gradual accumulation of snow overnight turned into full blown (pun fully intended) white out conditions for 24 hours. While my 16 year old was thrilled with having a Snow Day (and therefore, postponing return to school, after February break, by another day), my husband and I were doing out best to keep life running smoothly, without power. We are fortunate: when my parents built this house, my visionary father had the foresight to install a generator. While the generator is a godsend (or in my case, a Dad-send), it only runs the bare essentials: heat, a few key lights and the fridge.

Although we were safe and our pantry could easily feed an Army of Huns for weeks, it was very easy to feel powerless, both literally and metaphorically. We had absolutely no control when power would be restored. We had no idea when cable and internet would come back. We found our landline phone service was sketchy at best, and there is no cell service at our house. We were, quite simply, at the mercy of Mother Nature, AT & T and Central Maine Power, not to mention, the Town of Camden's road service.

Considering the fact that I do tend to micromanage just about everything I can lay my hands on, I found myself getting very frustrated when I couldn't use my appliances, and had to light lanterns around the house. I felt powerless in the literal sense. I have such a habit of everything electronic working, I found myself walking into rooms, and switching on lights. It took me a few moments each time to grasp that *they didn't work*. The same thing happened with the stove. I tried to preheat the oven for 5 minutes before I realized that it didn't work. Thankfully, I have burners that are propane based, so I was able to light them (without burning myself) and cook up some tins of food. It wasn't a gourmet meal, but we made due. However, all I could think of was how much better dinner would have been with the oven working. Although Jeff and Joshua were perfectly content with hot dogs and beans, I felt enormous guilt that I couldn't whip up something magnificent, in a "MacGuyver meets Martha Stewart" sort of way. I felt impotent in my cooking abilities!

And yet, being powerless wasn't dreadful in the long run. Being unplugged meant I spent more time with the dogs outside, and laughing with family indoors. I was not surgically connected to the computer, the phone or chores requiring electricity. Freed from the responsibilities that come with power, I was able to ignore the floor that needed vacuuming, the laundry that needed washing and the emails I had to send. I was able to live completely in the moment, and to enjoy the blessing of a day 'off'...not just from work, but from outside distractions, as well. I was able to take the time to notice the unbelievable beauty of the Maine coast after a snow storm, and realize how truly blessed I was to live in a place that looks like children imagine Santa's home to be. I was able to devour visually the fluffy white snow against the sharp green of the evergreens, and the vivid blueness of the icicles.

While I have to admit that I was very happy when the power came back on 36 hours later, I must also say that I learned a great deal about appreciation of the peace and quiet. I just wish peace and quiet came with a Cafe au Lait.

I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it. ~ Alice Walker, "The Color Purple"

Bringing It Home

The expression "Bringing It Home" has many connotations. It happens to be the name of a PBS television series about fine dining in your own house. It's a gymnastics term for sticking at landing. Bringing It Home can mean winning a trophy, acing a test or bringing revitalization to a community. In the news lately, it can often mean bringing lost jobs back to the United States. I hear people talk about this expression in reference to their work; meaning they'll tackle the projects at night. I have seen people use this analogy when they mean to make a very solid point in an argument. I have also heard it used by dancers, as they finish a particularly rough bit of choreography. And yet, lately, I've been hearing this used more and more as a Yoga term. What does it mean, in a yogic sense?

For many people who practice Yoga, the entire adventure centers on going to class. In addition to regular classes they attend, many people will even go on retreats, take weekend intensives, go to resorts where yoga is offered or read Yoga Journal. Still, the very essence of Yoga isn't about going away, but rather, about coming home. I love teaching classes, and I love attending them. It's a wonderful feeling to walk into the studio and, in either role, know that the next 90 minutes will be all about the practice, without distractions and full of intent. Attending regular classes is very important: without them, we don't learn about proper body alignment or correct positioning. We would fail to connect with other people, in various stages of yoga development. We would be islands to ourselves.

Still, Yoga isn't just about attending class. Part of the wonderful feeling we have in class isn't meant to spent there, and only there. It's meant to be brought home, to share with those we love and to continue on the journey at home. An analogy I heard from a master teacher recently was, without a home practice, it would be like taking a piano lesson once a week, and then ignoring music for the other 6 days.

Unrolling the mat at home is very difficult! In my case, as focused and single minded as I am in class, I am completely distracted at home. I look at the laundry that needs to be folded, the bills that need to be paid, the dust bunnies under the chair, the meals that need to be cooked, and yes, the distraction of checking the computer. I'll give myself 10 minutes to get my to-do list partially squared away, and before I know it, I'm emailing with my cousin, and the dogs are lying on my mat. The dogs are another distraction: they see Human Mom lying on the mat, and then believe it's "Pile on Mom Time!".

Still, a home practice is essential to overall yoga well being. It connects your home self to your studio self. It gives you more opportunities for growth. It also teaches you enormous self-discipline. I am working very hard on the clutter in my house, but it is hard to escape from completely. So, I've created one small niche in which to practice: my front hall. I realize this sounds a little bizarre, but it's open, it's got wonderful natural lighting and a good mirror. I orient myself to face the door (and not into the house and its nagging projects) and just give myself whatever time I can squeak out. Interestingly, what began as 5 minutes has turned into 30. In summer, I practice outdoors, which is far more amenable to a home practice, unless, of course, you're an avid gardener. In this case, I'd suggest to orient yourself away from your weeding.

Even if you don't practice Yoga, I believe that the idea of bringing home the very best of ourselves is crucially important to our well being. How many people do you know are passionate about their work, but come home miserably? If we can share that spark of our authentic, loving and compassionate selves with the people closest to us, we have a much better chance of enjoying our 'home' personas much better ourselves.

Just make space in one corner of your house to let your true self shine....even if it means turning away from the dust bunnies.

"If one desires a change at home, one must be the change before it takes place." Gita Bellin

The Peaceable Kingdom

My home is, in many ways, an oxymoron. It's a home filled with animals who shouldn't get along, but love each other. It's a very busy household with each family member heading off in different directions, and yet still exudes a sense of sanctuary...most of the time What my goal for my home has always been is the "Peaceable Kingdom", where the lion can lay down with the lamb. Or, in my case, the German Shepherd with the Holland Lop Bunny and teenagers can feel comfortable enough to consider our home a nice place to hang out safely.

It never fails to amaze me how well Mackenzie, my 120 long haired German Shepherd can get along with Pancakes, the 5 pound rabbit. Most mornings, when I let Pancakes out of her cage, the first thing event of the peaceful day is Mackenzie and she touch noses, and Mackenzie gives her the morning kisses. Then, the bunny will follow the German Shepherd around all day. It's not unusual to find both of them curled up at my feet, bunny resting between the safe shelter of the dog's front paws. What should be a 'no contest' death match between predator and prey is a love relationship between two different species who find comfort in one another's presence. Mackenzie treats the bunny with maternal affection. Pancakes has no fear of the enormous dog but rather, believes her to be a safe and sheltering place to rest.

An artist I have long admired is Edward Hicks, who painted a series of "Peaceable Kingdom" pieces in the late 18th century. A Quaker, Hicks' beliefs were new to both himself and to the new nation. His religious beliefs were so new and were so unusual, many people were not sure quite what to to make of him. Even his fellow Quakers found Hicks' beliefs in a beautiful world in which all could live in peace and harmony to be anachronistic. Because I have a love for Colonial folk painting, and because I also have a heart for Hicks' code of ethics and beliefs, I find his work to be prophetic, in many ways, of the modern Yoga movement, as well as more tolerant denomations of Christianity. Interestingly, Hicks' work is quite well known, but his life story is not. His goals of justice and purity of spirit shine forth from his paintings and certainly hold true today, as much as they did in the late 1700's.

In Yoga, we do strive to find a peaceable kindgom. We hope to create, within our hearts and within our lives, a sense of justice and hope. We hope to build bridges between ourselves and those with whom we have disagreements. We hope to create, within our own hearts, a deep and abiding love for all those around us. We hope to let go of our frustrations, anger and resentments, and in their place, allow new possibilities to take hold. We hope to breathe in the light of goodness and release negative emotions and prejudices. We believe in trying to create a peaceable kingdom both within our hearts, and also within our lives.

If a German Shepherd can do this with a little bunny, I believe anything is possible. We just have to try.

This Old House

When Jeff and I were very young newlyweds, we used to love watching "This Old House" on weekends. In the days before cable was widespread and new channels, like "HGTV" and "The Travel Channel" sprung up, we'd live vicariously through these occasional glimpses of historic restoration work on PBS. We would see, week by agonizingly slow week, the painful renovation of an old barn into a beautiful home, and imagine that we, ourselves, could undertake that wonderful journey ourselves. I fancied myself an amateur conservator, if we could find an old barn to restore ourselves, and to create a magical sanctuary, from what was once forgotten and decay.

In addition to an unrealistic and ill-advised passion for old houses, I've also always loved Scotland. The idea of it, the "William Wallace" soul of bravery, and the sheer beauty of the place have forever ignited a passion and a connection to this special country. One of my father's dream trips, that he was never able to take, was to go to see the Scottish Sheep Dog (Border Collie) trials. A lifelong love for this breed, and what these amazing dogs could do instinctively, led him to own two Border Collies over the years. But, he always wanted to see their amazing displays of prowess in Scotland. I just loved the romance of the land...even if I do have a long standing fear of Haggis. (Google it...not so appealing as adorable dogs and castles).

These two loves in the abstract sense, that of restoring an old house and that of Scotland, came together in Belinda Rathbone's memoir, "The Guynd". In this very readable story, Ms. Rathbone recounts her transformation from single New York City writer to life married to a Scottish laird. In her story, she writes "I knew that the house came with the man...or the man with the house." The Guynd (pronounced to rhyme with wind, especially fitting since it never stopped blowing) was a decripted, sprawling, mausoleum of a manor house, with 300 acres of former gardens and land...now all gone to seed, both the house and the land itself. Ms. Rathbone's discoveries in long forgotten rooms, outbuildings, basements and attics lead to her own passion for the estate, and for its restoration. She learns the vast history of being part of such a long lineage of homeowners, but more importantly, she learns that the history is more important than the present to her husband. Her painstaking care of restoring the gardens, and creating liveable family spaces in the house itself, are meticulously, and hilariously, described. In the end, neither her marriage, nor her never-ending 'to do' list survive, and yet, Ms. Rathbone's journey and adventure seem to have been an end in themselves. I admired her story. However, it also made me appreciate not having to live it myself.

While I still have my admiration intact for Scotland and historic preservation and renovation, I have come to realize that I may not have the chutzpah for a major overhaul on a property. Whenever I point out a great old house for sale, Jeff kindly reminds me of the 1980's movie, "The Money Pit". Still, when we're at Home Depot, he drools over tools he'll never need in our 1992 contemporary. I have grand dreams of a breathtaking restoration on a home that had historical significance in the Revolutionary War. Jeff has grand dreams of sheetrocking without any visible seams or being able to reroof our entire house himself.

Somewhere in the middle, I'm sure, lies our next great project. Maybe it will be historic. Maybe it will just need a fresh coat of paint. Maybe the universe just wants us to take care of what we have now. No matter what, sometimes it's a great deal more fun to dream of the next "big thing" than to actually live it.

"It's when you're safe at home that you wish you were having an adventure. When you're having an adventure you wish you were safe at home." ~~ Thornton Wilder

We are the champions!

When I was in high school, our sports teams came out to Queen‘s “We will rock you”, followed by “We are the champions”, before every game. To this day, when I hear the combination of these pop songs, I still can’t help but be filled with pride, excitement and a sense of belief in something larger than myself. Obviously, these rock anthems aren’t hymns, nor are they patriotic. But, for those of us who came of age during “a certain era”, the songs themselves can fill us completely with a sense of anything being possible, and that victory is surely within our reach, if only we work hard enough. It’s no wonder I have both of these songs on my playlist, to listen to while I exercise. I’m sure I’ve received my share of funny glances as I jog around the track at the Y, attempting not to belt out an off-key imitation of Freddy Mercury. And yet, when I’m jogging, and listening to “We are the champions”, it simply fills me with a sense of empowerment to know that, even though I’m only jogging inside, on a snowy day, I have the possibility to accomplish whatever my goals are. I have the potential to be a champion.


I just finished a book in which this point is beautifully accomplished. “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein is a magical story. The protagonist is Enzo, an extraordinary dog, who is the companion to a Formula One race car driver. With racing as the metaphor throughout the story, Enzo relates to us, his views on what living on Earth has meant, his belief that a dog is the highest form of enlightened being, next to man, and what the heart of a true champion believes. This is not a silly story, but a dignified one, and it moved me deeply regarding Enzo’s life lessons about true championship. Enzo relates to us that a true champion is a good listener, loves others will all his heart, believes in those he loves, keeps his eye on the next turn, never gives up and always finishes the race. There is no dishonor, nor lack of championship if one doesn’t win the race at hand…only in quitting, giving up and letting our fears overtake us during the hardest times of our lives. Because I’m a dog lover, of course, this is a novel that would be appealing to me. However, the grander theme of inner strength was what held me in rapt attention until the very end.

This lends the question: “What IS a champion?”. Is it the woman who climbs the corporate ladder, breaking gender barriers ? Is it the man who, despite his own paralysis, rescues others around him ? Could it be the much lauded professional athlete, who begins an important charitable foundation? Or, is it the single mother, who despite the odds, raises her children, earns her degree and succeeds beyond her own socio-economic barriers ? I submit that these people are all champions. While I applaud those who complete the Appalachian trail hike, those who play on title winning teams and those who set world records, I must say that I believe the greatest sense of championship lies within our internal accomplishments, and not without. I respect and honor people who have dreamed, and finished amazing feats, but I would also speculate that each of those men and women find their inner growth to have been the greatest achievement of all.

During the Yoga classes I teach, I always try to include Warrior II asana. This empowering pose is an amazing blend of physical strength and mental focus. The longer the Yogini holds the pose, the greater the benefit to her body and mind’s attunement, strength and agility. I have found there to be a profound change of many of my students who practice the Warrior series of asanas regularly. One of the greatest challenges I have had, in Yoga classes as a student, was when my own teacher had us hold Warrior for more than 15 minutes. Beyond the ache in my shoulders, and the burn in my quads, I found my mind to wander. My biggest challenge was to remain focused and “in the practice”, rather than allowing my thoughts to drift from ‘This really hurts’ to ‘I wonder what I’ll make for dinner?’ to ‘I really like Tammie’s yoga top’ and back to ‘This really hurts even more !’. Yet, when we were done, I had never felt so empowered in class before.

I invite each of you to look inside yourselves and ask “What IS a champion ?”. Brainstorm on this subject in your heart and in your life. Find out what you value in champions, and what championship really means in grand scheme of life's current direction. Most of all, remember that championship is ultimately not about the blue ribbons or medals. It’s about inner strength, power and joy in all circumstances. The heart of a champion does not always rest in glory. Championship lies in finishing the race with honor.

It's easy to have faith in yourself and have discipline when you're a winner, when you're number one. What you got to have is faith and discipline when you're not a winner. ~ Vince Lombardi