This little light of mine...

Light gives of itself freely, filling all available space. It does not seek anything in return; it asks not whether you are friend or foe. It gives of itself and is not thereby diminished. ~Michael Strassfeld

Back in the days before Ipods, Pandora music online, their interest in MTV and Sirius radio, my children thought the entertainer, Raffi, was Elvis Presley, Snoop Dogg and Pavarotti all rolled into one. We never left the house without a Raffi cassette tape in my dashboard, and a trip to the park or the grocery store usually included all of us singing "Joshua Giraffe", "The Wheels on the Bus", and that solid gold favorite, "Baby Beluga". If you have had children within the last 24 years, you know about Raffi. His live shows sold out faster in every area than U2 concerts. Now that my children are older teens, they only have vague and hazy memories of this chapter in their lives. They don't remember making the whole family sit in the living room, so that they could put on a Raffi cover band "concert"; my son strumming a Ukulele, pretending it was a guitar, and my daughter holding up a hairbrush microphone. They took these matinees very seriously and expected all of us to sing along with them. Although they were only about 2 and 4 at the time, they would set the stage, have 'shout out' moments in which the audience would have to sing parts and would expect rapt attention. I look back on these precious preschool days with a mother's heart and a mother's memory. But, I also realize what a tremendous lesson these experiences were for them. My children learned how to 'shine' in a safe, joyful and loving environment.

The one song that I remember beyond all of the others wasn't a Raffi original, but was his take on an old gospel song. "This little light of mine" is one I find myself humming constantly. It was written by Harry Dixon Loes in 1920. It first became popular during the Christian tent revival movement during that time. Later, "This little light of mine" became a resounding anthem for the Civil Rights movement of the 1950's and 1960's. It's had political histories from many different groups. It's been recorded by current artists, such as Bruce Springsteen and Joss Stone, as well as in numerous movie scores. It's a catchy, upbeat and uplifting little hymn, that's just as appealing to liberal leaning folks as it is to conservatives. The universal message of allowing our inner light, God's light, to shine within us is a powerful image.

The inspiring second verse of the hymn uses the words "Don't let anyone blow it out, I'm going to let it shine...." takes the lesson even further. In addition to allowing our inner gifts, our beauty, our strength and our courage to emanate from within, we are also implored to remain powerful in the presence of opposition. I've learned a great deal from this second part of the song. Why? For too long, I allowed outside influences to effect my happiness, my self-confidence, my beliefs and my abilities. I acquiesced to the leanings of other people. It's a wonderful thing to be able to learn from others, to share information and to be partners. It's quite another to allow them to steam-roll over you to change your opinion into theirs. No one should have the authority, or ability, to snuff out the light that shines in another person's heart. No one should be so demoralized that their feelings, their gifts and their very essence should be demeaned and vanquished. We should all be safe enough in our lives to shine in the way we were meant to.

What area of your own life could use a light to shine upon it? Could it be your relationships....do you need to see, with true awareness what is, and isn't, working in them? Is it, possibly, your ability to contribute valuable ideas? Far too many organizations and workplaces stifle creative, lateral thinking...but do you have an idea you can share to make work more successful, happy and streamlined? What about your faith traditions....are the ones you grew up with working for you, or do you need to seek out a path that speaks to your heart? What will it take, in every area of your life's journey, to kindle the flame of light within you? How can you fan the flames of love, confidence, success, passion, joyfulness and determination? Conversely, how can you keep that light burning, when others try to 'blow it out'?

When you need to, hum "This little light of mine". Don't worry about what the people around think. Sing away. Dance. Dream. Be in the light. Keep the light going. And, pass it on.

This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.

This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Lessons in Writing and Living

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. ~ Anaïs Nin

Twenty five years ago, I was a student at Wheaton College, and sitting in a creative writing class with Professor Lichtenstein. Professor Lichtenstein was one of my favorite teachers. She was beautiful, smart, intuitive and had an enthusiasm for her subject unsurpassed by other instructors. She taught us about life beyond the traditional New England campus, and encouraged us to find our life's purposes, regardless if they had anything to do with her class. Professor Lichtenstein told us that there were three vital elements to a meaningful paper, as well as to a meaningful life:

1. Always be aware of your voice. Hear your voice in your work, in your conversations and your passions. Listen carefully if your voice becomes a parrot for someone else's opinions, thoughts or ideals. These augmenting meditations are helpful in forming a complete picture of our own reflections but should not overshadow them. Our thoughts should be intrinsically our own.
2. Always be aware of the present moment. Understand that the past is over and the future is yet to be. Heed being aware of your surroundings, how you feel and what your experience is as it happens. It's far more elusive to try to recapture moments after they're gone, especially when our minds were elsewhere. There is nothing more vital that paying attention, with rapt absorption, to the life you're living now. Once those feelings are gone, it's impossible to reclaim them. If you never had ownership to begin with, you cannot recreate a sentiment that never existed.
3. Always keep childlike enthusiasm and spirit alive in your heart. When we're young, we feel things with a depth of emotion that we lose later on in life. When we hear the ice cream truck's sing-song music, our youthful hearts skip a beat and we want to run outside, quarter in hand, to buy a Good Humor Strawberry Eclair bar. The lightness of being a child gets squashed down by loss, by hurt, by failure, by fear, by anxiety. The more you can rekindle that spark of tender fervor, the more likely you are to appreciate the little things in both life and writing.

I have to admit that, at the time of these lectures (of which I've paraphrased a year's worth here), I was already struggling with all three of these areas in my life. At 19, I didn't have a clue as to what my voice was. I was daydreaming of a young marriage, a Volvo wagon and three children before I was 30. I would shift gears and think I'd want to be a career woman, living in the city in a fabulous apartment. My thoughts would change again, and I'd picture myself as a world traveler, never resting one place for long. I didn't know my political leanings, my personal style or even my favorite foods. I tended to like whatever was in front of me at the moment. I wasn't trying to be irresolute. I simply couldn't 'hear' my voice yet because the opinions all around me seemed to carry far more weight. As I matured and discovered that I did have tastes that were exclusively my own, I began to understand Professor Lichtenstein's motive in this comment; it's languid to change opinions based on what's going on around you. It's a simple thing to be easily led. It takes character to know who you are, and to express that in words, both on paper and in speech. It also means that you will have a greater sense of self-awareness.

Living in the present moment was also a tough area for me to work on. I've always had my head in the clouds. I could never wait for the next weekend, the next chapter in a book, the sequel to a movie. I spent years wasting time just to get to the next stage of life, in which I'd waste more time. And yet, during my Yoga Instructor training, this was one of the most powerful areas to explore. In setting the tone for my classes, I've had to learn to suspend time outside the door, not only for myself, but also for my students. During the 75 minutes of our class time, our focus is exclusively on where we are physically, emotionally and spiritually at the present moment. There is no wiggle room for daydreaming and mental list making. As my Yoga style and skills have developed over the past decade, I've discovered that I've been able to translate this to the rest of my life. It's had a profound effect on my writing, as well as on my enjoyment of each moment that I'm given in this life. What a sad existence it would be if we arrived to the conclusion of our lives never having truly felt the twinkling junctures that punctuate our journey. The trip is far richer if you take notice of it.

The third area, as Dorothy said upon leaving Oz, is the one I'll miss the most. Childhood's captivating magic is far more elusive than the first two points of Dr. Lichtenstein's lectures. In a way, I've discovered that it actually combines the first two principles. When you're a child, you know who you are. You may know, without hesitation that you live in a white house on a street that's lined with trees, and that your best friend lives around the corner.You know that you love your Grandma but aren't too crazy about the mean neighbor that refuses to let you Christmas carol at his house. You love pizza with your own favorite toppings and like having sleepovers. Within each defining characteristic, that makes you understand yourself with full awareness, is the enjoyment of time passing around you but not touching you. I can recall whole days spent at the beach with my friends, or riding my horse in the Santa Barbara foothills or biking around the harbor in summer time Maine with exceptional clarity. I wasn't thinking about what I'd do next. I did not consult a day planner or check my voice mail. I was simply living the splendor of life, as it presented itself to me, without wondering about the next step. That alchemical process of letting life unfold around you, rather than forcing it to happen in particular way, is an area of childhood I miss deeply. As a writer, it's important to consider a predetermined outline, form, structure and style. But, if I leave out that conjuring metamorphosis of allowing the words to 'will themselves to be told', my work will be shallow and lacking in passion. I need to find the balance to create a structurally sound, and still emotionally evocative, piece of work. I also need to feel the same balance in my everyday life; paying my bills on time, being a responsible community member and showing sound judgement, while still finding freedom to just allow unplanned experiences wash over me, charming me and inspiring me to continue to grow.

I have no idea where Professor Lichtenstein is today. I know that she's no longer at Wheaton, but I don't remember her first name to Google her. The lessons she taught me, however, have stayed with me ever since. I believe that I'm a better writer, and a far better human being, because of talks we'd have. She inspired me to continue writing, and although I'm not a bestselling author as she'd once predicted, I can't imagine experiencing my life without using the words she encouraged me to find. So, Professor Lichtenstein, wherever you are, thank you....thank you from the silly, preppy girl who wore an awful lot of pink, far too much Laura Ashley and carried a floral tote instead of a backpack. Thank you for teaching me to be my own person, living in and appreciating today's gifts. I am a stronger, kinder, and more intelligent person because of you.

New Challenges

It's faith in something and enthusiasm for something that makes a life worth living. --Oliver Wendell Holmes

Two days I began my journey into a simplified life. I read Benjamin Franklin's words, "Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy." I looked up the definition of "temperate", and was intrigued by the old fashioned ring to the expression. The sound stirred up thoughts of prohibition, and yet still evoked the peaceful sense of a controlled, orderly way to live. Webster's dictionary defines temperate in this way: "marked by moderation, keeping or held within limits : not extreme or excessive". I have to admit, I was smitten with the concept. For years, perhaps even for most of my life, I have felt a desperate need to be on top of every area in my life. I've felt the need to dress in the latest style, to have my hair a specific way and a pathological desire to fit into the popular cultural landscape. While I'd always hoped to be accepted and liked on my merits, the fact remained that, deep down inside, I was a glutton for keeping up with the "Joneses". No one made me feel this way. I easily slid down the Slope of Consumption and happily made purchases on the way.

I've always loved to shop. Shopping, for me, was a Power Sport. In my husband's mind, shopping was a mission. He saw the needed item as an objective, the store as territory to traverse and the strategy involving speed and accuracy. On the other hand, I found shopping to be relaxing, even restorative. I could be upset by bad news, have worries over health or even just feel garden variety stress, and the first place I'd want to go would be to the mall. Somewhere between Banana Republic and French Connection, I'd find myself able to breathe again. Those purchases in hand felt like magic, soothing balms to my weary soul. I'd get an uplifting, soaring spirit from every credit card swipe. I'd buy clothes, jewelry, handbags, shoes, perfume and home decor. I'd feel blissfully dynamic on my way out to my car.

Yet, the opening of my trunk would begin to kill the rush of positive energy. Starting the drive home would already begin to leave me disappointed...and more than just a little embarrassed at my own greedy behavior. By the time I'd carry parcels in, I'd wonder what came over me. I felt ashamed at my own inability to find joy in other ways.

While I never got to the point of many women, who lose their homes and careers due to shopping addictions, I will say that I am not happy with myself about my views on shopping. I am completely rational, well educated and responsible. Therefore, it shouldn't take a new pair of suede boots, no matter how soft, to make me feel better about myself. I don't hoard and regularly give a great deal to the charity shops. But, I also realize that my sense of self-worth is too intrinsically tied to material gain to be healthy. So, I'm giving it up. All of it. No more recreational jaunts to the Gap. No more open catalogs surrounding me in bed. No more Internet browsing of fabulous sites. No more putting unneeded items on a worshipped pedestal.

Two ideas came my way this past year and inspired me to take on a Year of Temperate Living. The first was reading "The Year of Living Biblically" by A.J. Jacobs. In this well written, clever, witty and touching journal, the author explores his roots by living according to even the most remote and obscure biblical principles. I devoured this book, mainly because I was deeply impressed at the level of commitment that these drastic measures entailed. I also noticed the profound impact that taking a year to gain perspective on life's greater meanings had on the writer. Although A.J. Jacobs never intended to go further past his year, he did find that the life changes he made were far reaching and powerful.

The other life impacting movement that caught my attention was theOctober Dress Project. This fascinating project took on many forms, took on different names, and created a frenzy of interest all over the Internet. Many women, like myself, found frustration in trying to be stylish....the frustration came financially, personally and even ethically. How can we continue to become voracious consumers and not become bankrupt...emotionally and pecuniary? I read account after account of the rich meaning women gained from this experience, including my friend, Alexandra's. I became enamored of trying it myself. Yet, when it came down to my own attempt at this project, I became way too caught up in the shopping aspect...the hunt for the Perfect Dress. I realized that, for me, this wasn't a healthy challenge.

And so, it begins: I'm laying down the challenge for myself. I'm not going to buy anything I don't need. I have already defined need vs. want in my own heart and life. I do not need clothes, shoes or accessories. I don't need to buy books, movies or entertainment features, as all of these can come from the library. I need food, health care, the love of my family and friends and nothing more.

Will it work? I hope so. I'm also hoping to learn some lessons about my own sense of strength along the way. I know that this will not be easy for me. But, I think I owe it to myself to try.

I will continue to write "The Preppy Yogini", but I hope you will join me in my new venture: The Year of Temperate Living.

Resolved

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I resolve to let go of guilt and regret.

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

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

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

I resolve to ignore my bad hair days.

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

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

I resolve not to judge other people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

Anticipation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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