Awake

A brahmin once asked The Blessed One:
"Are you a God?"
"No, brahmin" said The Blessed One.
"Are you a saint?"
"No, brahmin" said The Blessed One.
"Are you a magician?"
"No, brahmin" said The Blessed One.
"What are you then?"
"I am awake."
~ Zen Lesson


While I was lying prone in bed last week, I came upon this lesson former yoga teacher training books. I'd first read the quote about 8 years ago, just as I was beginning my R.Y.T. program. I found it to be enlightening, encouraging, helpful and compelling. I was excited to become a yoga teacher! I knew that I'd be "living what I love" in my new career. The extraordinary concept that I could actually get paid to practice yoga, and to share it with others, was still a novel concept to me at that time. I studied the wisdom words by everyone from Moses to the Buddha to Thomas Merton. My program of study was especially wide ranging. Not only did I learn an incredible amount about anatomy, but I also apprenticed in the 15 most common forms of yoga practice. It was both overwhelming and edifying, and unnerving and revitalizing. I had phenomenal teachers and surprisingly nasty ones. I met lifelong friends in my classes, as well those who took competition (in a 'supposed to be non-competitive' atmosphere) far too seriously. Through all of these lessons, over my 8 months of study and practice, I kept coming back to this first lesson: I asked myself if I was "awake". I felt, at that time, that I was. Every cell in my body told me that I was finally waking up from my lifelong trance-like slumber.


Now that I'm older, more jaded and, hopefully, a bit wiser, I've learned how unconscious I am most of the time. My thoughts of being awake, 8 years ago, are laughable in their innocence. What I had envisioned to be a "one time alarm clock moment", even a 'born again' experience, was simply not the case. I think that, regardless of one's religious beliefs or personal practices, the art of being awake isn't a singular event: it's a lifelong goal for which to strive. I can't possible undo decades of absent minded and heedless practice overnight. In our culture of repetition and unconscious habit, it's tough to remain mindful in everyday life. I seem to operate on auto-pilot through much of my day. Before I'm even aware of it, I'd gotten up, made breakfast, gotten the kids to school, taken the dogs for walks, done the errands, paid the bills and even taught a yoga class, all without consciously being aware of these actions. Living mindfully aware, in the present moment, requires a great deal of practice, I've discovered. I tend to get so caught up in daily routine that my sense of being 'awake' slinks into the background.


I'm no longer a yoga instructor. Unfortunately, my surgery last December made that career impossible to continue. However, I have discovered a bit of a tough lesson: even being a yoga teacher did not make me immune to falling into daily amnesia. I often taught six classes per week, in addition to my other 'jobs' as mother and wife and committee member and volunteer. My daily practice and classes simply were added to my 'to do' list. 


It's my hope to find a bit of time each day to "wake up". I'd like to have my reflections and prayers become more than my 'wish list' of 'wants'. I would to get out of bed each morning not just stumbling towards coffee, but as a conscious experience of the new day being the precious gift it is. I truly understand my ignorance of 8 years ago as a wistful enthusiasm. I just hope I can poke that same hopeful, eager, but exhausted woman I was back then. Perhaps in my gentle (or even forceful) nudges to my psyche, I can revivify that former earnestness, but temper it with cautious awareness.


The alarm clock has gone off! I'm awake!  But I'm learning that waking up is easy. It's staying awake that's much more challenging.

Nobility and Humility

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


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


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


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


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


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

Prayer

“In prayer it is better to have a heart without words than words without a heart.” ~ Mahatma Ghandi

Today, May 6th, 2010, is this year's National Day of Prayer. This beautiful idea of collective harmony, thoughtful introspection and united intent has become a hot button political issue. The current administration feels strongly in the separation of Church and State and will not condone public prayer at the White House. The far right Evangelic movement believes this separation is detrimental to our very salvation. But for the multitudes of us whose beliefs lie in the middle area, it's a day of confusion. If we're not practicing this on a national level, does it still 'count'? If we're not praying within a the confines of a mega-church, or by the rule book of one particular brand of faith, are we not 'invited' to pray also? If I take part in the National Day of Prayer (or choose not to participate), am I buying into one particular political belief system?

Webster's Dictionary defines prayer as: "An address to the Divine in word or thought". An alternate definition is given as "an earnest wish or request." Personally, I'm completely in agreement with the first definition. Regardless of one's religious leanings, time spent quietly in contemplation and conversation with God is a form of prayer. We do not need to speak. We do not need to recite formulaic systems to 'get prayer done right', although those very same formulas may be exceedingly helpful in bringing our hearts and minds to the "right place"...as a jumping off point for personal prayer to commence. As an Episcopalian, I find enormous comfort in the Book of Common Prayer. I find the Daily Office to be helpful, restorative and calming of my emotions. It's a powerful feeling to know that I can walk into any Anglican church, anywhere in the world, and find the service to be the same...with the same litany, the same ideas and the same cadence. Yet, I've found prayers that speak to my heart from a variety of traditions; Buddhist, Native American, Jewish and those of some Catholic saints. Are these prayers, written in a tradition different than my own but still magnificent, less efficacious?

My enormous discomfort comes when people try to push their prayer beliefs onto my own personal faith. On one hand, there are those who think I'm a fool for wasting my time and energy in prayer. They believe I can better use my talents and gifts to better the world around me using my own sense of empowerment. These people feel that prayer is, at best, a red herring and, at worst, sheer stupidity and counter to intellectual prowess. On the other hand, there are people who believe that my teaching Yoga means I am not 'really' a Christian. Additionally, these folks believe that even the hint of another tradition, no matter how exquisitely written or composed, is inherently evil...that no beauty can come from a wisdom that is not their own. The concept of personal prayer is so frayed at both edges that the entire concept unravels in an ugly, discordant manner.

As easy as it would be simply give up on prayer, acknowledging that no matter what I do, I'll be wrong, I find myself drawn even more to having a heart for a strong prayer life. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what the news programs have to say about both extremes. It is not important who tells me I'm absolutely wrong. Being affirmed as being 'in the right' is just as meaningless. The fact is, no amount of corporate opinion carries weight. Prayer is personal. It is, as Webster's defines, "An address to the Divine in word or thought". Prayer is my own quiet connection to God. It's not a marketing list or a wish list for Santa Claus. It's not a time to make deals (as in "God, if you let me pass this test, I will always be a good person..."). It's not a catalogue of set words that must be said in a specific order, or it's "wrong". Prayer is really nobody's business but your own. It's a time of solemnity, entreaty, supplication, gratitude, compassion, kindness and communion. It's a connection between our own meager, fallible selves and an infinitely loving and patient God. Prayer can give us strength, temper our misunderstandings, fill us with renewed energy for our tasks and remind us to be humble when we fill with pride. Prayer is distinctive and direct for each person. Prayer is what the individual believes she needs most...and what she needs most to give.

So, if prayer is so private, why a National Day of Prayer? What's so important about it? In my own heart, this holiday shouldn't be about political agendas, but a simple reminder that we share a planet, that we want, as a group, what's best for everyone and that we hope for the unparalleled point of unity to come into each of our lives. It's a chance to have a moment to trust in a unified consciousness that's greater than each of us individually. It's a moment to join together in thankfulness, respect and hope.

What is my own prayer for today? That I will be a better listener...that my own prayers will not include a list of grievances, wrongs, wish list items or rambling diatribes about myself. Rather, I hope to find that small, quiet place in my heart and mind not to speak but to hear and pay attention more closely.

No apologies and no regrets...or not.

Accept everything about yourself - I mean everything, You are you and that is the beginning and the end - no apologies, no regrets. -- Henry Kissinger

It's very common to read magazine articles, watch television programs, discover inspirational books and listen to self-improvement gurus discuss the concept of living with 'no apologies and no regrets'. We're implored to accept ourselves for whom we are and to avoid making any offering of remorse for our lives. We hear the virtues of being 'true to ourselves' and not compromising anything in which we believe. We're asked to not self-censor or to be self-critical in any way. We are to love ourselves, just where are at this very moment, and unapologetically find delight in living authentically. I agree with some of this...up to a point. I do believe that it's important to find the path in which our "own selves can be true" (with my apologies to both Polonius and the Bard for my twist of words.). However, I believe that living fully without apologies or regrets can ultimately be harmful to us and to those about whom we care.

As a yoga instructor, part of my job is helping my students to unlock their hidden potential. For many, the lives they've led up until now have been for other people. The demands that parents, spouses, teachers, employers and even children, have placed upon these students have left their emotional well dry. They feel downtrodden and don't really know how to pick themselves up. They have long since suppressed their own dreams and desires, in favor of living for others. They have fit in with what they were expected to do, rather than where their passions lie. Watching these students blossom is one of the most extraordinary experiences I've had in my life. Fostering another human being to grow in confidence and in awareness is a humbling experience for me. I feel honored to be in a position to assist, in a meager way, the knitting together of a student's idea of self. Being in a position to aid in this has been a true blessing in my life. I've seen women, with a lifetime of negative body image, begin to feel comfortable in their skin for the first time in their lives. I've seen men who had never taken time away from sports and their work to slow down. I've seen teens, still gangly and awkward, find a measure of contentment and peacefulness. It's been, without question, a job for which I feel great appreciation.

And yet, living a life completely free of both regret and apology can be 'too much of a good thing'. One reason I feel terribly uncomfortable with the policy of 'no apologies, no regrets' is that this sentiment can lead us too far in the opposite direction; towards that of selfishness, apathy and indifference. If we live our lives so completely focused on our own centeredness and in our own personal manner, where does that leave other people? Can we live a life without acknowledgement and atonement, and still remain kind and just? Is it possible to be fully aware of our own innate value, while refraining from trampling on the values of others? This quandary isn't new. St. Clement of Alexandria wrote, "It seems the greatest of all disciplines is to know oneself; for when a man knows himself he knows God" in the first century A.D. But can we know ourselves, and tap into the divine, if we're exclusively focused on our own desires?

Despite how chic the buzz terms of inner discovery and remaining firm in one's own beliefs may be, I can't help but wonder whom we must override to do just that. If we live a life without apology, are we likely to hurt someone else in the process? I don't see that it's possible to avoid bruising relationships, even with the best of intentions. If we go further down this path of authenticity, we're certain to be in a position of confrontation. Does this mean we need to subdue our inner light to avoid ire in others? No. We should not suppress our true selves. However, a truly developed to enlightened soul will not seek out to subjugate another person, nor will she intentionally bring harm. We can rest in our self-confidence, and still accept responsibility for our actions. We can refrain from putting down the views of others and learn tact. We can treat those with whom we disagree with respect. We can be patient with those who are impatient. Most of all, when we have wronged another person, intentionally or not, we have the further responsibility to apologize. Apologizing is actually far more difficult than excusing oneself. It takes a voluminous amount of humility to accept one's own error and to say "Mea culpa" to someone. The fear of rejection, the embarrassment of error and the admission of guilt are terrifying. It's actually much easier to say "I don't apologize for my actions" than it is to admit them as wrong. This doesn't mean we should compromise a precious belief. But, it does mean that we need to integrate a part of prodigious humility into our lives. "Knowing ourselves" doesn't just mean being aware. It is more than that. It means striving for improvement of mind, body and spirit. It's very difficult to do this if we can't admit when we happen to be wrong.

Additionally, living our lives without any regrets is foolhardy. Regrets are healthy. Regrets are needed. If we didn't regret our mistakes we would never grow beyond them. Regretting one's actions can actually be a pivotal turning point for many. If we live our lives, blindly forgetting everything we've ever done, then we have no ability to take a step back, examine what we've done well, what we've done poorly, and moving forward in the proper direction. I have women friends who have regretted the marriage they've made. They mourn the loss of their youth and the time wasted. I know men who regret leaving a job they loved for a more lucrative (but less fulfilling) career. I think we have to be careful to live our lives in an examined manner; to see where we've made mistakes with our choices, and then to create a new, empowered beginning for ourselves. Should we forget our mistakes? Not at all! If we dismiss places in which we've gone astray, we are doomed to return to those places again and again. Regretting our lives to the banishment of future possibilities is unhealthy. But choosing to think about these regrets as lessons can actually be both liberating and powerful.

e.e. cummings wrote, "it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." Some people believe that this sentiment echoes that of Dr. Henry Kissinger's words, at the beginning of this piece. I respectfully disagree to draw the parallel. It's my personal, and humble opinion, that we can be fully aware, fully cognizant and fully enlightened people, living a life "in the direction of our choice", while still maintaining a sense of kindness, understanding, responsibility and generosity towards others. We can make the choice to live in the moment, who we are right now and still respect the feelings of those we love. We can decide to work towards intellectual growth while still acknowledging our faults, making amends and learning from our past blunders. It's a tight rope. It's a delicate balancing act. It's not easy. But, I believe that, if we do apologize, and we do choose to examine our regrets, we have a much better choice of growing into those people we truly are.

The K Factor

Synonyms for Klutz: 1. clumsy, ungraceful, ungainly, lumbering, lubberly. 2. unhandy, unskillful, maladroit, inexpert, bungling, bumbling, heavy-handed, inept.

There are skills I'm actually quite proud to possess. I'm pleased that, although I happen to be tone deaf, I can read music very well. I'm happy with my ability to read intricate and complex material, and to derive meaning from it. I'm awfully glad I'm learning how to balance the check book. It feels superb to have the ability to speak in several other languages...even if it's only conversational phrases. I can bake bread from scratch, teach a large dog to eat delicately from a fork and also have perfect recall of every film I've seen since I went to Mary Poppins. I'm not completely inefficient in the way I run my home, or lax in the I brought up my children. I hope that I'm a good friend, a loving mother and a kind daughter. I can dozens of hats in my life and feel incredibly blessed wearing any of them. I am confident I can meet most challenges with bravery. However, when it comes to walking a flight of stairs or trying to hit a moving ball, I'm a lost cause.

I happen to be a Klutz...capital K, not small. My ability to injure myself and those around me is legendary. My method of seeking out the one item to trip over in a room is without failure. My prowess at dropping my tray so often, in my college's cafeteria, was so adept that dropping any tray became known as an Ellen. There is no glass I cannot break, no surface I can't bump into. I am the least coordinated person I have ever met. When I play tennis, people at neighboring courts take cover.When I'm pulling out the garage, I just feel my husband's anxiety in fear that I just might take off another mirror. I'm one of the only people I've ever met that manages to trip going UP the stairs with alarming regularity. When I was in high school, I had a gym teacher pull me aside and ask me to confide in her why I was so bruised. She refused to take "I'm a klutz" for an answer and begged me to be honest if someone was mistreating me. Once she saw my attempt to play soccer, however, she no longer worried that I was in an abusive home. She saw me fall over when there was no one near me. Not even the ball.

As a yoga teacher, I find myself wrestling with my clumsy nature every day. Yet, while I'm practicing yoga, I seem to have an effortless way of moving. It's just off the mat that I struggle. Because this lack of coordination has plagued me my whole life, I've gotten used to being teased about it. I could laugh when my daughter, then at age 8, could ski backwards in front of me, trying to encourage me to get off the baby hill. I could grin the fifth time I fell stepping out of my car....in less than a week. I could even get a good natured chuckle over the times I'd simply drop dinner, not only splattering it all over the kitchen, but smashing my dishes to bits. That said, there times that I've felt truly awful to be such a drain on those around me because of my propensity towards disaster. I felt badly for my teenagers when I've face planted trying to get into bleachers at hockey rinks. I could my husband's ire when I backed through the garage door...and his complete frustration with me over it. I'm sure my mother constantly had to explain to other children why softball was simply not my sport. I've born the utter disgust of people who been forced to play on a team I was on, or to see me humiliate myself in any number of ways. I always seem to find new ones....just to keep life interesting. No one could have predicted that I'd hit my head with a falling iron, as reached down to pick up a shirt that had fallen.

When people are patient with me about my obvious shortcoming, I am eternally grateful. When someone sees me fall, and they offer a hand, rather than stepping over me, I feel slightly less horrified. When, instead of laughing, someone actually asks if I need stitches, I feel touched by their kindness. Why? Because it happens so rarely. As a clumsy person, I am deeply aware of my faults. I seem to find no end to the damage I can inflict. So, when someone is patient, understanding and caring towards me, it comes as a surprise...and a welcome one. I'm always convinced that my accidentally flinging my phone across the room, and hitting someone with it, is going to make enemies for me. My blushing and stammering generally don't help matters much. The kindness that I've been shown, by those who have been hit in the head with said cell phone, is both embarrassing and yet, comforting.

I've learned, as a result of my challenges just standing upright, to look past the challenges other people face. I try to look past the obvious faults and into the heart of the person standing before me. My experience in embarrassment has been life lesson in looking into the way people wish they could be. It is in my own heart to look for the home run a person wishes she could hit or the casual way of giving a speech he hoped he possessed. I try very hard to look past the errors, the fear, the nervousness and the defense mechanisms. I try, for those I meet and those I care about, to see them as their best possible selves. Why? I've been there...curled up at the bottom of the stairs, just hoping no one will notice my misstep. It's with that sense of humility that I try to envision the successes, not the failures, of those around me.

I am still a wretched driver. I constantly worry about slipping on the ice..or on the non-ice surfaces. But, I also try to look past other people's crashes...and into where they hope they will go. Just like my clumsiness, I can't promise that I'll be perfect in my efforts...but I can try.

Best Friends

"Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only a true friend will leave footprints on your heart."

Not long ago, I was volunteering at our beautiful library in town, when two older women walked in. They were bundled up against the Maine December winds and had all the usual tourist paraphernalia: cameras, umbrellas, that extra layer of sweatshirt that has "Maine"embroidered on it, purchases from the knick-knack stores and maps of our historic, but small, downtown area. Yet, these women had a different kind of twinkle in their eye. When at the library, I'm accustomed to answering questions about our elegant park, the best places to eat and the area attractions. I can suggest museums, that are a short drive away, the best shopping and out of the way spots that are the exceptionally picturesque. What was unusual about these ladies was that they asked none of these queries. They smiled, they walked around the airy, light-filled space and when they did come up to me, they simply beamed and asked if I would take their picture. I was more than pleased to oblige. As I was positioning them just outside, with Camden harbor in the background, they told me that they had been best friends since they were six years old, and as they relayed in hushed, elegant Carolina drawls, this trip to coast of Maine had been a dream of theirs since high school. Their joy, the longevity of their friendship and their palpable appreciation of being in a special place at a special time, tore at my heartstrings. I felt deeply honored to have been a witness, and even a modest participant, in their experience.

I'm a "best friend" kind of a woman too. A boy I once knew remarked about me, decades ago, that I'm attracted to boys, but prefer the company of girls. He said this in the nasty tones of condescension, but in reality, he

wasn't far off the mark. Throughout most of my life, I've had a best friend. Unlike the two beautiful ladies from Charleston, however, I haven't had one best friend for more than four decades. It seems, in my life, that I've had different best friends during different seasons in my life. When specific events have taken a turn to shift onto a new path, I've been fortunate to have a friend who has shared the journey with me. When my biological father left our family, and my mom was bravely putting the two of our lives back together, I had a best friend who let me sleep over all I wanted, in her very happy "normal" family. At Kathy's house, I felt secure and part of a peacefully safe tribe. When I was going through feelings of unease at being the only "only child" I knew, my friend Maria welcomed me into her busy, chaotic, fast paced house....getting a taste of sibling life. When I was passionately curious about spirituality and religion, fate opened up the door for me to have not one, but twin best friends who came from a deeply kind Episcopalian home. From them, I learned the faith that would become my own, and would forever change my life. As a new student in a boarding school 3000 miles away from my home, God gave me a sister....one from the same place and from a similar background. We were able to forge through unknown territory together on adventures. She held my head in her lap when I cried over a boy, long since forgotten. She inspired me to take life as it was presented to me, rather than worrying over the way that it had not transpired.

As an adult, I found this experience of friendship appearing didn't change. As a new bride living in Germany, I met others...each one a newlywed too, and each one eager to form a support system. We could pour out our hearts, express our misgivings, our fears and just wonder if what new marriage in foreign country was 'supposed' to be like this. Some of these friends were more hesitant about venturing out on their own but taught me how to cook beyond my ability to heat up frozen food. Others were pioneers, not even using a map to find some out of the way corner of Europe to investigate. I found I learned skills from each of them. Later, I found a best friend in

my childbirth class, another in preschool story hour, one at the children's soccer game and still another purely by chance. Each one of these women was part of my life for a milestone season. From them, I learned independence, how to budget properly, how to mix a mean Martini, how to tell if the hockey puck is off-sides, how to ask the doctor the right questions when I had cancer and how to tell a joke without forgetting the punchline. I've learned how to read a map, how to dress more stylishly and how to find a good hairdresser. I've discovered that some lessons come in the form of 'what not to do'...how not to treat my husband, how not to parent, how not to overreact and how not to leave a marriage. I've learned that some lessons are learned by the experience of others. I've learned that loyalty isn't always forever. I've had my heart broken, and my life enriched...by the same friend at different times.

I don't have a best friend right now. I don't even have a close friend nearby. Most everyone I know has moved, and while I have terrific people to know near and far, I miss that sense of intimacy. I miss being able to look at a woman, with a twinkle in her eye and say "Do you remember that time at that place?", and have her laugh uproariously over an event that's revealed only in shorthand conversation. I miss going shopping together and going to the theater. I miss lying in someone else's bed at midnight, drinking coffee and watching movies. I miss passing books and forth and then phoning every few hours and asking, "What chapter on you on?". I miss having my friend know my favorite foods and laughing about the ones I won't eat. I miss her redoing my hair because "Seriously...what was I thinking?". I miss having someone know my story without my having to rehash 44 years. I miss having a friend remind me of an event that I'd long forgotten...and feeling blessed that someone else could help be my memory keeper. I miss crying on her shoulder, and having her cry on mine. I miss sharing sweaters, borrowing earrings and ordering in Chinese food. I miss having a best friend.

Yet, I continually count my blessings. I have a husband who does love me very much, and despite his need to watch either the Red Sox or the Bruins at all times, is a good and decent man. I have teenagers who are smart and funny and interesting people. I have an accomplished, successful mother of whom I'm extremely proud, and cousins who make me laugh, in spite of myself. I have two dogs and one bunny, who think I've Queen of the World. I have friends with whom I'm still in touch after many yeas, and others who have slipped out of my life. I have wonderful memories, and painful ones. I have hope.

I am still on the lookout for a best friend. I hope she's on the lookout for me too. I am just waiting for us to recognize each other.

In Defense of Libraries

A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where a man's mind can get both provocation and privacy. ~Edward P. Morgan

I once read that Laura Bush, wife of former President George W. Bush, describes herself as a "Reader", above all other labels she could possess. I found myself smiling at that description. Of the many "hats" I wear, as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a friend, a teacher, a writer, a volunteer, a foil, an animal lover, a Yogini or a klutz, "Reader" is the most accurate definition of what makes me, me. I am never without a book. I carry one with me at all times. If you ask any of my close friends or family, they will say I'm happiest, curled up, cup of tea by my side, reading. It's an image that encompasses the way I feel about myself; learning, peaceful, traveling in spirit and engrossed. I read to my babies from birth, and some of my favorite memories of the early years of motherhood, are those curled up with two toddlers, snuggled in close, rapt attention at what would happen next in the Narnia series.

Because my love of reading has been such a critical part of my life, libraries have naturally been my sanctuary. I learned to read long before I began Kindergarten. My mother taught me when I showed an interest around age 3. My Kindergarten teacher, a sadist of a woman who should not have been allowed to talk to children, let alone teach them, shrieked at my mother that I "wasn't ready to read before Kindergarten". My mother calmly informed "Mrs. Amie" that, had I not been ready, I wouldn't be reading. So, when the other children were learning their alphabet, I was 'banished' to the library, where I couldn't corrupt the innocent non-readers. As time went on, and I changed both states of residence and schools multiple times, I made friends with every librarian. My librarians were not the ridiculously stereotyped 'shushing' old spinsters, but loving, gentle book admirers who welcomed me into their sisterhood without question. Librarians would pull books for me, give me a hug, or a piece of peppermint, when I was being bullied. They would eagerly discuss the books I loved with me, and share insights of their own. Often several would gather with me, and allow me into their inner sanctum, behind the desk, where we could discuss biographies, novels and classics. These women gave me a sense of community when I felt little elsewhere in my life. I found myself rushing through my lessons in class, so that I could be excused to go to the library. It became my safe haven, my other home and my catechism of true learning. I only needed to step inside a library, smell the aroma of books, pens and antiseptic cleaner, and I could know I was home. Throughout 12 years of traditional school and 4 years of college, I knew that, even if I was the 'new kid' in school, the library would be the one place I could feel peacefully welcome. The first place I visited, once my new husband and I moved to Army posts in the States, and abroad, was the library on post. Every library contained hundreds, even thousands, of new friends....the books. I might have been thousands of miles from home, from each library welcomed me in like a devotee on a pilgrimage.

Not long ago, on my way back from Massachusetts, a radio news program pronounced that "libraries are dead". The story went on to discuss the fact that, in light of book sellers like Amazon, Borders and Barnes & Noble, library use was at an all time low and could cease to exist in 20 years. I was both shocked and horrified. On the one hand, these stores, both online and brick and mortar, do make shopping for purchased books much easier. Yet, for a voracious reader like myself, the idea of buying every single book I read was staggering. How could I possibly afford to pay for three or four books a week? Not to mention, where would I put all of these books that I might read once, but not again? I'd be bankrupt and drowning in both debt and hardbacks!

My personal book journey begins at my local library. I find a book I'd like to read. This is an almost alchemical process. I peruse, I wander, I pick up, I research. If our library does not have the Holy Grail of the Moment, they are able to order it for me through inter-library loan. This exceptional program allows me to receive almost any book imaginable, that's available in any Maine library, at no cost to me. When I receive a phone call that my ordered book is in...which I receive almost weekly...it's Christmas morning. It is walking down the stairs to see a shiny new bike under the tree. It's a wedding day, feeling like a bride in her beautiful gown for the first time. It's the excitement of discovering a kindred soul in a person you have not yet met. Finding a new book in this way is falling head over heels in love again...and again...and again.

But my library is more than just a place to procure books to 'feed my habit'; it's an important part of my community. I have met some of my closest friends at the library. We met with our very young children at story hour. We became bonded conspirators over keeping little ones in place, as we helped them glue together projects for "Dr. Seuss" week or learning to dance the Hora at the library's Hanukkah celebration. We sat and talked about grown up things beyond laundry, pediatricians and coupons. We were able to share ideas that didn't involve Sesame Street. At that time, the library became our haven, during the long, cold Maine winters, where our children could safely play and read, and we could be surrounded by intellectual thought. Now that my children are older, my library is still essential to my well being; I help out where I can, and I am thrilled to discuss books with staff and patrons alike.

A library is more than bricks and mortar. As Aristotle wrote, "The whole is more than the sum of its parts". The books are essential, but it's the people who make a library a sanctum. Kindles and bookstores are wonderful. They provide a way to own the books we have come to love, and wish to add to our collection. But a library is the collection and the wealth of knowledge that every single patron adds to. A library is a school, a hospital, a harbor and a neighborhood. Reading can happen in other places, but a library brings health to that pursuit.

To those who insist that "libraries are dead", I ask them to visit any one, during a Thursday morning story hour, and rethink their position.