A day off...

Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in reverie.  ~Henry David Thoreau


When my children were younger, it often felt as if we were on a merry-go-round that was spinning much too quickly. Our days were spent rushing from one place to another. We hurried to get out the door to school, to pick up, then to soccer, to ballet, to hockey practice. We might have had Cub Scout meetings in the evening. We would be up until midnight creating a diorama for a 2nd grade project on dinosaurs while helping to make flashcards to memorize multiplication tables. Even vacations seemed to be too busy, as we hurried to visit one group in the family in one part of the country, while already planning the next trip. It became a stressful, messy blur of movement.


Every now and then, I'd declare a family holiday. No one would go to school, go to sports, we'd blow off Sunday School one weekend and we'd simply let the laundry go undone. I'd throw a blanket down in the yard, or in poor weather, in the family room. We'd watch Monty Python and make traditional English "set tea". We'd play endless games of Mother May I or "Guess Who?". We'd make forts using couch cushions and sheets. We'd make pizza for breakfast or pancakes for dinner. We would let the phone go unanswered. We'd leave the mail in the box. We'd read. We'd read. We'd read. The kids and I read all of the Narnia Chronicles in just such days. 


Obviously, we couldn't do this all of the time. We had responsibilities. We had work and lessons and life. It was all just outside our home. But, for a day here and there, we stepped outside the realm of 'have to' and into 'want to'. These were blissful, magical, dreamy lazy days. I wish we'd had more of them. Time does march on, of course. Kids grow up. It's much harder to miss AP Biology than it is to blow off one day of long division. The world becomes more stressful with every passing year. 


With the unbelievable dread of the news today, I find myself thinking of those days off wistfully. The horrible helicopter crash in Afghanistan broke my heart. The economic crisis makes me terrified of our own financial well being. My health being precarious only makes my fears more personal. I wish I could take a step back from all of it. I want to turn off the phone. I would like the television to either break, or to only broadcast shows that are lighthearted. I want to throw off bill paying, house cleaning, yard work, personal commitments and everything that causes me concern. I want to lie in the hammock and re-read children's books that are full of fancy and imagination.


I want a grown up day off.  Too often when my husband and I have extra time, we need to squeeze the most of it. While Jeff is mowing the lawn or sealing the driveway, I'm getting caught up with vacuuming, dusting and organizing. I wish I could wriggle my nose, like Samantha from "Bewitched", and all of those chores would be completed. More than that, I'd like to curl up and watch "Bewitched", "I Dream of Jeannie" and even "Gilligan's Island" and remember being 10 and having a day off from school.


I think we all deserve it. I believe most of us work far too hard every day not to have a true day off...with an interrupted block of time to do absolutely nothing. Or to do something absolutely silly. Try it. Ignore the news. Ignore the phone. Ignore the calendar. And just be. 


Just don't forget to laugh.

The Power of Beauty, Time and Perspective

Do I love you because you're beautiful,
Or are you beautiful because I love you?
~Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, Cinderella


I have always been a sun worshiper. I have reveled in the summer months. I've spent countless hours at the beach, allowing my feet to tickle their way through the top layer of hot, silky sand down to the cooler, submersed floor below, as if they had a mind of their own searching for buried treasure. Every poolside beckoned me and I used to spend immeasurable moments reading, laughing and talking before inching my way into the water. I've loved being on boats, and feeling the wind upon my face. I've even just happily wallowed in sunshine in my own yard,  gently rocking in the hammock, one foot trailing on the ground.


This love aside, something has obviously changed greatly for me: the way I look. I am thankful for the DNA that blessed me with a somewhat pleasant appearance. I never needed to make major changes or have dramatic makeovers. I was always self-conscious about my thighs, but then again, so are many women. I am one of those people, however, that genuinely enjoys eating healthfully and exercising, so staying in shape was second nature to me. The passage of time made its way across my face, but I was thankful for that bit...it allowed me to see the lessons I've learned. My "smile lines" were even a badge of honor, showing others that I had laughed far more than I had cried.


Following this most recent cancer surgery, my body has been left damaged. My scars are evident. My body's defense against this invasiveness of the surgery was to send "helper cells" to different spots around the trauma, leaving me with pronounced, but highly uneven, puffiness. I lost approximately 1/3 of my lower abdominal muscle, in which the malignant tumor has insinuated itself. One would think that this would make me concave. But, instead, it's as if the area is in rebellion at losing part of itself. My face is changed...more tired, older, careworn. My hair, still short from the biopsy, gave me nothing to 'hide behind'. My confidence in my appearance is at an all time low. I remain thankful at being here, but fearful and exhausted.


I had resigned myself to spending the rest of my life in "modest mom" bathing suits...the kind you'd see on older ladies who also sport flowered bathing caps. Both my own mother and my teenage daughter encouraged me not to change the way I approach my love of sunshine. They insisted I wear the same bathing suits I've always worn, and that, should I hide myself away in layers of spandex, it's as if the cancer has won regardless of my surgery's outcome. While in Arizona in March, I blissfully sat out by my mom's pool...no one seeing me but family. It was heavenly to feel the sun on my skin after such a long winter of pain, recovery and fear. I was slightly encouraged in the way I looked, and just that hint of a tan I gained made me feel much more like the 'old me'. 


So, bikini packed, I headed to Florida last week. My son was moving out of his apartment and getting ready to head home for the summer. I flew down to help him get everything organized and settled. In between trips to the UPS store and phone calls to the movers, I did have a couple of blessed afternoons by the hotel pool. For the first time since my surgery, I sat out in a bikini in front of strangers. 


Friends, it did not go well. There was a 20-something couple, drinks in hand, who saw me walk by as I neared the pool steps and snickered at me behind their hands. They'd look up and laugh a little more. This hurt me tremendously. My face flushed with shame and all my insecurities came rushing back, hurtling like a runaway stagecoach. My urge was to flee and hide indoors. Who was I kidding? I looked like a Frankenstein-ian experiment gone horribly wrong. I am a 45 year old lusus naturae. What was I thinking, wearing a bikini? And then, just before I grabbed my towel and ran for the safety of the pool house, I stopped. I took a couple of deep, measured breaths. Then I continued on my journey towards the pool steps. But, before I walked into the water, I turned and looked at the very young, very foolish pair who were laughing, and said, "Beautiful day, isn't it?".


And so it was.

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.

Slowing Life Down...

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop to look around once in a while you could miss it. ~From the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off

A far too common theme, among people in the western world, is how quickly life appears to move. In the blink of an eye, we move on from high school, race through college, twirl through young adulthood, blur our way through parenthood and find ourselves in middle age, dazed at how half a lifetime could have transpired. There are days in which I feel as if I fell asleep a carefree college student, and woke up with wrinkles. An entire existence has continued while I've been busy loading the dishwasher, taking the dogs to the vet, attending Parent-Teacher conferences and folding laundry. Great works of art have been created, new scientific theories have been proven true and astonishing events in history have all manifested, while I've raced from one school pick to the next, dropped off one child at ballet and the other at hockey and cooked an everlasting number of dinners. When I have spoken with my friends, I know that I'm not alone. This sense of almost dream-like frantic movement is the cultural norm. We all want to slow down to appreciate the little things in life more, but we can't, because we're late for a Little League board meeting.

And yet, there are constantly images and ideas being thrown at us about how to be even more productive with our time. As if life isn't darting away rapidly already, we are told to "Multi-task" more efficiently and to employ strategic "time management" philosophies. Books with titles like "101 Ways to Make Every Second Count", "The Successful Time Manager" and "Measuring Time, Improving Performance" are everywhere. Articles on the topic are in all types of periodicals; from "Parenting" to the Wall Street Journal. Classes abound at community colleges on Time Management, aimed at students of all ages. Though each one has good ideas about not wasting time, I find the plethora of information about time management to be overwhelming...and if I'm being completely honest, going through all of them would be a colossal time waster. While I'm certain that I could pack even more onto the house of cards I call my schedule, the question is, do I really want to? Will I enjoy life more, if I'm finally able to fit in learning Russian, redecorating my house in Feng Shui principles and taking watercolor painting classes?

I have enormous respect for people that really can do it all. They seem to juggle parenting, marriage, fascinating career, exceptional volunteer work, time for self-improvement, fitness, housework and travel. It leaves me feeling embarrassed about how little I'm able to manage. But, rather than try to add more to my 'load', I've made a conscious decision to add less. Why? As much as I'd love to be, I seem to spread myself too thin when I take on too many projects. As worthwhile and as important as these might seem to be, I find that just adding that one extra ball to my juggling hands, can lead to my dropping the entire contingent. So, instead of judging myself harshly about what I have not been able to do, I am making a choice to give all of my focus and attention on each moment as it comes. Some people have the enviable gift of being able to intentionally focus on a huge variety of projects all at once. Others can only manage one or two. I believe that we need to look inside ourselves, find out where we can best spend our energies, and then give those items the attention they deserve by not looking too far ahead to the next bit to be ticked off our to-do list. By slowing down our thoughts, by focusing on each piece of our day, by breathing deeply in the moment, we can appreciate each one as it comes...rather than let it whip past us in a hurricane.

Buddhist monk, poet, teacher and philosopher Thich Nhat Hanh wrote, "By being aware of your actions, you can enjoy your life while you make tea, or while you wash the dishes. All of this means that you can stop running after things which you think will make you happy. By being aware of what you already have–and of the beauty that surrounds you–you can be happy right here, right now." I find this attitude to be refreshing and inspiring. Dr. Hanh isn't exhorting us to give up the life that we have to move into seclusion. Nor, is he instilling the need to scale back. He's simply reminding us to appreciate the life we've been given. Whether we're folding laundry, cheering on our kids at a tennis match or offering input in a conference, we have the ability to slow down. We can create a quiet inner sense of peace, regardless of what we're doing. How do we do this? By just realizing that moments are here. They are present. They are now. They can be appreciated.

None of this is new or ground breaking. Mindful living doesn't mean doing "without". It simply is a method of allowing our focus to shift from "out" to "in". It won't turn back the hands of time. It will not keep the calendar from moving ahead to the next month. But it will give us a tool that, unlike the books designed to teach us to cram even more into our lives, has the intention of helping us appreciate the uniqueness of our day to day existence. When we feel that gratitude...by simply living in the 'now', instead of checking our watches every five minutes....we can make every moment count. At the very least, we have the ability to enjoy the gift of the time we have.

So, breathe. Close your eyes. Open them. Take in your surroundings. Find the beauty in this specific moment. And, know you are here right now...use that time to cherish the important things.

The Time Between

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

As a writer, one of the of skills I find the most fascinating is an author's ability to account for the non-linear aspects of time. Talented writers can express this through flash-backs, through moving in multiple directions of a character's imagination or simply by writing with the fluidity of ocean currents, moving from one time to another. Not long ago, I read that "time is linear, but human behavior is circular". Moving between times in a character's life, or moving between characters living at different points in history, is an intriguing method in story telling. As time becomes less fixed and more movable, the characters can relate to one another, and the story can be told, by unwrapping each layer of scarf covering the singular core of the protagonist. As time becomes less of a fixed point in the literary horizon, the author is free to explore what actions happened before she came on the scene, as well as to look ahead as to the ramifications of an action years later. These perspectives can tell a story more deeply, while not boring the reader with dull facts about 'what happened before'.

Two books that used this concept with artistry and finesse are "Labor Day" by Joyce Maynard and "Dreaming in French" by Megan McAndrew. Both of these brilliant, insightful novels revolve around a young adolescent, struggling to come to terms with their own lives 'in between' childhood and adulthood, while still dealing with life changing events that forever bind their existence into a time 'before' and 'after'. The central story in the novels themselves can be looked as the "time in between"...the days during which everything changed. Yet, both of these extraordinary stories use time in a non-linear fashion; to help the authors to give background information that isn't dull, but is exceptionally relevant. Both novels explore the deep seated feelings of not belonging, of wanting one's parents to be 'normal' and of being uncertain of one's place in an increasingly adult world. Both of these stories tell, in the eyes of dramatically different main characters, the impact of feeling out of place, of not being a child any longer, but also not being ready for adulthood. These novels accomplish the feat of combining innocence with unyielding knowledge, of being equally balanced between a character's intelligence and inexperience. Both are gifts of instinctual genius....to capture the minds, thoughts, deliberations and allowances of the 13 year old mind during exceptional circumstances. I couldn't put either book down once I began reading.

The time in between childhood and adulthood seems to go on forever, when a person is young. I remember being 13 and feeling desperate to be 16. Then, at 16, I was desperate to be 18. I can materialize my adolescent self and feel her frustration, her joys, her insecurities, her gifts and her fears. I can conjure her up with a photograph, and want to look into her eyes, admonishing her to cherish every moment of youth, encouraging her not to cry over boys who will be forgotten or slights that will vanish. I want to whisper to her the secret of "you may want to move on right now...you may not like the way you look or the way your life is, but there will come a time that you would do anything for five minutes back in these shoes....". I want to give young Ellen a hug, make her a cup of tea, and without giving away too much of the adventure that lies ahead, assuring her that all will not only be well....it will be far better than well. I wish I could allow young Ellen to relax, to breathe and to imprint every single moment of youth on herself so that I could better recall it with clarity now. I would like her to see that her life will not be over when she sees the first gray hair, that her hopes and dreams will far surpass anything she could imagined for herself and that time itself will become her friend and companion. Time becomes one's medicine to help get over loss, one's ally in making choices and one's vault in which to bank one's precious memories.

I would also like to encourage my younger self not to discount the memories of older people. As a child and a young teen, I remember listening to the stories of my grandmother and great-aunts as they recalled their childhoods growing up in Winnipeg, Manitoba. It seemed to always be cold. It appeared as if everyone was always fighting, and that there was never enough money. Beyond that, I simply didn't listen. I would hear the same grievances rolled out every year, and the same grudges being held from infractions that occurred when they were my own age. I simply didn't listen with the rapt attention to the stories of our family because I thought these retellings, these hashings over and these tribulations were "boring" and "done". What I failed to realize was that my grandmother's recollections of her own adolescence were windows into the universal spirit of all coming of age stories. I wish I'd understood that within these squabbles lay buried family histories I'd never come to explain or perceive. In Grandma's own 'time between' would lie the answers to my own. I was even given the gift of non-linear time to explore and to enrich, but I wasn't ready to use the gift when it was presented to me.

"The time between" is an alluring concept to deduce. It can be a literary device. It can be a way of explaining moments that seem to stand out between two fixed points. It can also be a way to comprehend those times in a person's life in which she feels suspended between two sides of bridge. Underneath the bridge appears a bottomless chasm. On one side is the familiar, the known and the learned. But that side has begun to crumble and we have no choice but to cross the rickety, shaky bridge ahead. What is on the far side is shrouded in mist and we can't see ahead. Yet, we press, carefully, tentatively pressing on with each step, and hoping the sun will break through the fog that lies ahead.

If you happen to peer into the clouds and see what awaits, find a hush within yourself....and ask questions. You never know what the answers will be. I'm sure they will surprise you.