Happiness in Balance

“Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony.”   ~ Thomas Merton 


Tonight will bring in the first official day of Summer. I have to admit; I'm a much bigger fan of the first day of Summer than I am of the first day of Winter. Here in Maine, our weather is governed not by a calendar, but by our windows. What we see happening outside tells us which season it is. Snow isn't unheard of in late October, nor is it unreasonable in April. To people in southern areas, this would be a travesty in Autumn and Spring. Frankly, it's just a normal part of life at my home. Because our Summer season is so very short, our celebrations are all the more meaningful up here. We try to embrace and hold onto each moment of warm weather, every trip to the beach and all the memories will keep us warm all winter long.


Because I was so unwell this past Winter (and since Spring is a stealth season, much of Spring, too), I have to admit that I was looking forward to today's  'annual summer kick off beach' excursion even more than usual. There is something about digging my toes in the sand, listening to the waves on the shore and smelling the salt air that just makes me happy. The feel of sunshine on my cheeks, a lovely picnic lunch and a good book is honestly all I need to feel completely at peace. And yet, if it wasn't for the lousy way this winter had gone, I wonder if I'd truly appreciate how magical today was? Would I feel the same amount of appreciation for a simple day on the ocean, if I hadn't been in and out of the hospital? Would I smile, just hearing my daughter laugh with her friends, if my house hadn't been empty and hollow all winter?


I wish I could say that I'd have the exact same amount of joy, on the first day of Summer, if I lived in a warm climate, but I'm not entirely sure that would be the case. Without the dark, there is no light. I imagine that it would be very exciting for a while. The ability to eat on the deck every night would be wonderful. The giggles rising up from the bonfire, as my kids make S'moes with their friends most nights, would be heart-warming. The idea that I could sip my coffee in the sunshine each morning would be pretty delicious. And yet, I know myself well enough to realize that I might take each one of these summer favorites for granted before long. As healing and delightful as I find the sunshine right now, I can just as easily imagine that I could stop noticing it if I had it in spades every day. Why? Because there are times I fail to appreciate living at the ocean. Not long ago, my husband and I were walking our dog along the cove and ran into a very nice family from inland Virginia. They wondered if we just were in awe, every single day, about living in such a gorgeous place with such exceptional views. The fact is, we drive in and out of our neighborhood so many times every day that we don't often look up, as we're driving towards the ocean. Our brains are set to get into the garage as quickly as we can. 


Maybe it takes a certain amount of Winter before we can fully appreciate Summer. Maybe we have to be diagnosed with cancer before we stop and realize that life is miraculous. Maybe we have to be completely off kilter and out of balance in order to appreciate having a harmonious symmetry to our days.


Whatever the celebrations will bring this Summer, I promise myself to strive for balance...to appreciate the small things as much as I do the grand ones, and to seek out quiet for every period of revelry. Maybe, this way, I'll just be able to spread out my sense of equity.

Things my Father Taught Me

We started a program with all our guest contact people using a new secret oath:  “Everybody sells!”-- "Think Strawberries", James H. Lavenson


Most people believe that their father was a giant among men. In this, I'm no different. My father, Jim Lavenson, was an extraordinary man. His career had three major peaks: advertising, corporate hotelier and entrepreneur. He conquered all of them and set the standard for excellence in each field. That said, what I remember most about my Dad wasn't his glory and achievement in the business world. It is the lessons about life he taught me. He was courageous, he was terrifyingly smart and he was unbelievably witty. He taught me to strive for those three fundamental principles in everything I do.

Here are some other lessons I learned along the way:

• Never lose your sense of humor. I'm serious by nature and Dad taught me that maintaining my sense of humor in all earnest matters will save me from continual heartbreak and hurt feelings. I also learned that a sense of humor can diffuse conflict more quickly than a need to prove that I'm right.
• Never take anything personally. This is part two "Never lose your sense of humor". When someone makes a snarky remark to me, I need to think "They can't possibly mean me". 
• Everybody sells. This was the cornerstone of Dad's business plan. It also meant to be gracious, to be outgoing, to be knowledgeable and to be enthusiastic. It doesn't matter if one is in a sales job or not. We are all sellers of our talents, our time, our point of view and our dreams.
• Keep your eye on the objective.  Sometimes, when we're reaching out for our goals, there will be stumbling blocks. A lot of the time, those stumbling blocks are awful. We may have to eat crow in order to move forward. Therefore, keeping our goals clearly in mind when we are in a situation we hate, but must pass through, will be the key to 'sucking it up' to get where we want to be.
• Never say "Here I am" when entering a room. Say "There you are!" to someone else. Humility is far more important in building character than a large ego. Dad taught me to always treat others as honored and inspiring, and to avoid puffing myself up with pride.
• Family is everything. Despite my father's keen business success, I knew that my mom and I were the most important things in his life. I knew he had to work very hard. But, I also was always aware that I was the center of his universe. I never equated his long hours with his not wanting to be with me.
• Nature is extraordinary. Dad was a conservationist before the term was ever a political buzz word. While he never managed to impart his love of camping with me (I still loathe it), I appreciate the beauty of the natural world. I want to maintain and keep stunning the unspoiled magnificence just as Dad did. In spite of a dislike for sleeping outdoors, Dad did teach me to ride (both a horse and a bike), sail (albeit poorly), ski (again, albeit poorly) and hike. My lack of 'Maine Guide' skills aren't Dad's fault. 
• Root Beer Floats make an excellent lunch. So do Banana Splits. 
• We are dog people. Both of my parents are dog people. Dogs, whom my father trained and loved, were always a part of our lives. If we had to claim a kinship to any animal, it would be dogs. 
• The best gift a father can give his children is to love their mother. I had this gift in spades. My father deeply loved my mother. He was a romantic until the end of his life and always surprised her in sweet ways.

There are dozens more lessons that Dad taught me. The tears in my eyes, despite his being gone for almost 13 years, are too heavy to keep writing. Above all, my father taught me, through his example, to always strive for excellence, but never to proclaim it for myself. He taught me to work as hard as I possibly can and to learn as much as I could throughout my life. He taught me to take chances, that it's never too late to try something new and to be brave in the face of my many fears. He also taught me to stand up for injustice and strive for peace in all areas of life.

I miss you, Dad. I love you always. And every time I see an "X" in the sky, or a heart shaped rock on the beach, I think of you. You were the best.

The Bohemian Sloth

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.  ~Victor Frankl


I first began taking Yoga classes on a bit of a dare. My friend, Tammie, begged me to go with her. I was an aerobics junkie at the time. I loved going to step aerobics and even wore the (now foolish looking) leotards that Jane Fonda made so popular. At a dinner party at Tammie's beautiful Victorian home, she urged me to come with her. She wasn't sure if she even liked Yoga herself and had only been a few times. A long distance runner, Tammie was looking for something to help her stretch out and relax. She'd found a teacher she really liked, but the Yoga itself presented more of a challenge for her; like me, Tam had a hard time turning off her thoughts and mind. So with her lovingly finagling me to come and see what I thought (and promising me that we could laugh together), I committed I'd join her for the Monday morning class. We'd drop the children off at the day care at the health club so they'd all be together. We even toasted our new adventure with an excellent bottle of red wine.


By Monday, I had no idea why I'd agreed to go. I looked in my drawers and in my closet and had absolutely nothing suitable for a Yoga class. I knew my pink paisley leotards would be inappropriate, as would running shorts. With two young children needing a quick breakfast before we left, I had very little time to think about wardrobe. I literally threw on a pair of  navy blue leggings and a white Polo and hoped it would all be okay. I kicked on a pair of Sperry Topsiders, threw on an L.L Bean fleece and called it good. It was raining. I was dragging two exhausted, cranky preschoolers out of the door before 8 am and I was regretting my decision to go. All in all, the gloomy weather fit my mood.


Once the kids greeted their friends at day care, once my own friend had helped me find a mat and a blanket, and once I felt slightly settled in place, I met the teacher. She was lovely and so down to Earth I couldn't help but adore her immediately. She put my fears at ease and urged me to take 'my practice at my own pace' and just to do the asanas that made me feel comfortable. If I didn't like something, I didn't have to do it. This wasn't a competition. I remember letting out a sigh of relief as the class began.


Little did I know that that one class would change the course of my life. I began to loosen up for the first time ever...both physically and mentally. I became stronger than I had ever been, in body, mind and spirit. I began seeing the links between thoughts and reality. I opened my very closed mind to an entirely new way of experiencing the world. It was, in short, miraculous. After fighting cancer the first time, I became a yoga instructor. It was a great challenge for me because I had to further expand my practice and knowledge beyond the styles of yoga with which I was comfortable. In a sense, it was as if I'd began anew, as there is a great difference between being a student and becoming a teacher. My voracious appetite for knowledge was a boon as I memorized endless terms in Hindi and studied every muscle group in the body.


My moniker actually was given to me, at this time, by an obnoxious master teacher whose class became the bane of my existence. I couldn't stand his preening, self-aggrandizing manner, the way he berated and degraded his students or the inferior way, I'd felt, he explained the poses. Because I needed to become proficient in all forms of yoga before earning my R.Y.T. (Registered Yoga Instructor), I was stuck with Master Contemptible Crabby Pants for at least three months. When Yogi Beastly made one too many objectionable remarks to me, I snapped at him. I reminded him that a good teacher instructs and helps students to perfect a lesson and that a bad teacher belittles to massage his own ego. He erupted in a stream of nasty comments to me, which ended with "You're nothing but a silly little preppy yogini." I smiled. I honestly liked that. Why? It was the first time I'd ever heard him refer to me as a Yogini. 


And so a name was born. What the Gloating Guru bestowed as an insult, I took to heart as a badge of honor.


After 7 years of my own teaching students to appreciate and love Yoga, I now find myself at an impasse. I am, thankfully, able to take classes once again. But, I can no longer work as I once had teaching Yoga. My latest bout of cancer rested in my lower abdominal muscles, necessitating their removal along with the tumor. My strength and ability simply isn't what it once was. Additionally, my sense of style has evolved over the years. I can't imagine wearing a Polo anymore. Long flowing dresses are more my style, as well as chunky necklaces and an arm full of bracelets. My energy level has been quite low since the surgery. I now feel more like The Bohemian Sloth than I do the Preppy Yogini. I'm in search of my next adventure. Wishing for a life I once had is an understandable sentiment. But, I can't allow myself to wallow in regret. I need to move forward towards an unknown destination.


I just will have exchanged my Penny Loafers for Turquoise laden sandals for the walk.

At Loose Ends

Emma...my new walking partner

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


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


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


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


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


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

The 30 Day Book Challenge

A house without books is like a room without windows.  ~Heinrich Mann

When my friend, Jocelyn, first began writing about her Book Challenge on Facebook, I was immediately intrigued. Reading is one of the greatest passions of my life! Having also completed the October Dress Project last Autumn, I was up for another 30 day challenge. Given that we've just completed National Library Week, I decided that this was as good a time as any to begin a new endeavor. Finally, having just come out of my head being in a fog from battling Leiomyosarcoma, a rare form of cancer that struck my abdominal muscles, I believed that an intellectual challenge would be just what I needed to get my mind thinking about the books that have shaped my life.

Does this sound interesting? I hope so, and I hope that you will join me in my latest quest: Ellen's 30 Day Book Challenge

Below are the directions for completing a 30 day book challenge of your own:

Create a photo album and use Photobucket, Amazon, or Shelfari (or some other site with pictures of books) to share pictures of the books on this list day by day. Day 1: Favorite book Day 2: Least favorite book Day 3: Book that makes you laugh out loud Day 4: Book that makes you cry Day 5: Book you wish you could live in Day 6: Favorite young adult book Day 7: Book that you can quote/recite Day 8: Book that scares you Day 9: Book that makes you sick Day 10: Book that changed your life Day 11: Book from your favorite author Day 12: Book that is most like your life Day 13: Book whose main character is most like you Day 14: Book whose main character you want to marry Day 15: First “chapter book” you can remember reading as a child Day 16: Longest book you’ve read Day 17: Shortest book you’ve read Day 18: Book you’re most embarrassed to say you like Day 19: Book that turned you on Day 20: Book you’ve read the most number of times Day 21: Favorite picture book from childhood Day 22: Book you plan to read next Day 23: Book you tell people you’ve read, but haven’t (or haven’t actually finished) Day 24: Book that contains your favorite scene Day 25: Favorite book you read in school Day 26: Favorite nonfiction book Day 27: Favorite fiction book Day 28: Last book you read Day 29: Book you’re currently reading Day 30: Favorite Coffee Table book

Mother's Day advice from a Veteran Child Wrangler.

Any mother could perform the jobs of several air traffic controllers with ease. ~ Lisa Alther  


When I became a mother for the first time, in 1992, I approached this job as I would any other new challenge: I read every book ever written on the subject. I struggled to rationalize the Sears' attachment childrearing method with that of authors who believed that strict structure was fundamental to a smoothly running home. I read about the merits of cloth vs. disposable diapers, breastfeeding vs. bottle feeding and whether or not to return to work shortly after my son was born. I made sure that my baby's room was neither too dull (so as not to diminish his brain capacity) nor too overstimulating (so as not to overwhelm him). I tried incredibly hard to give myself a crash course in motherhood before my baby's birth. I did everything in my power to create a network of support, a plan of action for each eventuality and a determination to be the best mother ever. 


I failed. Nothing one reads about motherhood can prepare you for having a Lego stuck in your child's nose on Christmas Eve or for the times your dog stands in the middle of your dining room table, at your child's request,  to eat her vegetables.  What I did learn was that sometimes, to quote that infamous movie from the '80's, you just have to say "What the f***."  

Therefore, it's with a little humor, and a lot of experience over the past 19 years, that I can pass along a few tidbits for the modest edification for new mothers:

• It's pointless to write a birth plan. Don't bother. Babies don't have plans and neither do their births. Some will come so quickly that you will barely have time for the doctor to arrive in time to 'make the catch'. Others will hang onto your intestines rather than give up room service in a cozy spot. Trust me. I had one of each.
• Let your baby sleep in your bed if you want to...especially if you're so tired you are unsteady on your feet. Your son will be cozy, safe and happy snuggled up against you. He will not grow overly dependent on sleeping with you. He will not leave for college still snug in the family bed. If he does? It'll be his roommate's problem.
• When another person says, condescendingly, that it's time for your daughter to be weaned, potty trained, cleaning her own room, doing her own laundry or calculating algebraic equations, smile brightly and say "Thank you so much! That hadn't occurred to me!", while going blithely about your own business.
• Read to your child as much as possible. The days will come in which you will beg your son to read a comic, let alone a classic. So, when he asks you to read "Goodnight Moon" for the 300th time in four days, just smile and read. 
• Expose your children to many different kinds of foods as young as you can. Children who eat nothing but hot dogs and chicken nuggets grow up into adults who eat nothing but hot dogs and chicken nuggets. That being said, you will not be a bad mom if you throw hot dogs in the microwave on busy evenings.
• Allow your daughter to wear whatever she wants. The time will come in which she will want to dress identically to her peers and shop in the exact same stores. When she's 3, if she wants to wear her Barbie Ballerina costume for the other 364 days of the year, in addition to Halloween, let her. You'll just be getting your money's worth. Wearing red flowered tights, a purple paisley dress and pink summer sandals all at once (and in January) shows creativity.
• When your son tells you, in 5th grade, that he wants to be a NFL Quarterback, a rock star or a cowboy, encourage him. When he gets his first job mowing lawns, he'll understand the value of hard work for the rest of us.
• Kiss all boo-boo's, cuts, scrapes, aches and pains. It really does help.
• Macaroni necklaces really do go well with everything, including little black dresses. If someone makes a snarky comment to you about your fashion sense, act as if it's a tremendous compliment.
• Let your kids take all the pillows off the couch to build forts, obstacle courses and secret hideouts. 
• Sometimes eating the cookie dough together is much better than baking the cookies anyway.
• Become an expert cheerer through all Little League games, Pee Wee hockey games, ballet recitals and school plays. Your child won't remember your presence, but she will be note your absence. If it's important to him, it should be important to you.
• When your son's heart is broken the first time, let him cry and understand that his feelings are just as valid as they are for someone twice his age. Just because someone is 15, doesn't mean sorrow doesn't exist.
• "Because I said so" is a perfectly reasonable argument.
• Make picnics, go for hikes, swing in the hammock, catch fireflies and build sandcastles together. Summer is magical when you're small enough to believe those warm days will never end. 
• Additionally, make snowmen, put extra marshmallows in the hot chocolate and go through the trouble of dressing the kids in snowsuits on Snow Days from school. When the weatherman announces that your school district is closed for the day, do the happy dance along with your children.
• When another mother's children are melting down at the library, in the grocery store or in an airport, don't judge. There by the grace of God....and so on. Ask if you can help out, instead of making a face at her.
• Take your kids to Broadway to see a musical at least once. The same goes for museums and professional sports games. Let them experience the world as a much bigger place than their own little realm.
• When the worst happens...when there are more bills than there are dollars to pay them, when you find yourself very sick and are scared about what will happen to your kids, when you have to explain the concept of divorce, death, natural disaster, war or poverty, kiss your children on top of their heads and let them know that, no matter what, it will be okay. Kiss them again for good measure.

Above all, remember that there are no perfect mothers. We are all just trying to do the best we can. 

If fish wore socks

There is no love sincerer than the love of food.  ~George Bernard Shaw


I am a terrible cook. Okay, maybe not terrible. But, I'm certainly not a good one. I can make about ten decent dishes, and if I just cleverly rotate them throughout the weeks of a month, I can get by without anyone saying, "Mom, I guess I wasn't hungry after all", only to sneak a bowl of cereal a bit later. It's a regret of mine, being a terrible cook. I wish, with all my heart, that I was a good one. But, I think that being a great cook is quite a bit like being a great artist. Yes, you can attend school to learn how to refine your techniques and to learn new styles of preparation. However, the gift of being a chef seems to be an innate one; you're either born with that exceptional talent or you're not. Sadly, in the gene pool doling out gifts, that ingredient was missed in my allotment...along with the skill to balance a checkbook and the ability to carry a tune in notes that aren't only understandable to dogs and dolphins.


However, just as I wish that I was a wonderful chef, I also wish I had the ability to paint and draw. My stick figures are sadly lacking any kind of aesthetic aptitude. When I expressed this regret to my mother many years ago, she (a talented artist in her own right) said, "Ellen, for every person who creates art, there must be someone else to appreciate it. Appreciation is even more important." So, I set out to be a great appreciator. If I couldn't do something well, I would cultivate enjoyment and admiration for the gifts put before me. I like to say that my gratitude for these beautiful things in life are my own expression of art.


It should come as no surprise that I love wonderful food. I adore restaurants. Having grown up in the hotel and restaurant industry, I think my palate learned, from a very young age, how to truly relish amazing meals. I have had far too many of them to count, or to even have a favorite restaurant. My cousin, Lori, loves to tease me that, wherever I've just had an exceptionally fabulous dish, it becomes my 'favorite'...and that I have a lot of favorites, as a result. She's not far off the point. I really do! It makes it impossible for me to have a favorite food, since whatever is freshest in my mind becomes the prize of that moment.


There have been a few notable exceptions to this; and those glaring, dreadful, disturbing meals have left me shaken afterwards..and not just from food poisoning. My mom and I once had lunch at a cute little Japanese restaurant just off 5th Avenue in New York. We'd both ordered Miso soup to start. Friends, it was not good. It was so awful, in fact, that Mom and I weren't quite sure what to do with it. The gentleman at the next table leaned over to us and said, "If fish wore socks, this would be the water they would use to wash their socks in....". Not only did that comment give us something to laugh about, but decades later, Mom and I still use that expression to describe a particularly horrible meal out. It became our epithet, much like Homer's use of "Laughter Loving Aphrodite" or "Grey Eyed Athena".


My son, Josh, and I just had such a meal. There's a local seafood restaurant that's been a family tradition since I was a little girl. The food has always been excellent, and whenever we eat there now, I remember my father sitting at each table with an enormous smile on his face. Because it was just the two of us for Easter dinner this year, it seemed only fitting that my son and I should go to my late father's "special" destination for the holiday. It was one of the few places I can remember eating with then very young children AND my father, when he was still alive. We'd never had a bad meal there. Until last night. To say that it was horrific would be too kind. Josh's steak resembled a hand grenade. Had we had chosen to bring it home, I believe that he could have easily played street hockey with it. It was more rubbery than any ball we own. And, my friends, we own a lot of street hockey balls. My Coquille St. Jacques was a nightmare. Not only was the topping so hard, I could have driven across it with my SUV without making a dent, but the sauce was so fishy, it was inedible. Once again "If fish wore socks, this would be the water they would use to wash their socks in....". 


Having grown in restaurants, I used to hate it when people would complain about the food. But, because I grew up in restaurants, I knew that sometimes people weren't being difficult...that there might be a problem with a dish that we should be made aware of. When our waitress asked us about our meal, pointedly looking at our barely touched plates, I did explain, nicely, what the issue was. The owner came over and was emphatic that there was NOTHING wrong with our meals...that she prepared the sauces herself and they were FINE. No apology. No "I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it". We were left with the feeling that it was OUR fault for not liking the meal. I can understand completely when a restaurant has an off night. I can also understand if it was really 'us', and not 'them'. But, in this dead age of good customer service, we were treated with no more than a glaring sense of disdain. It was not a pleasant way to conclude an otherwise happy Easter.


So, Josh and I came home, looked in the fridge, and decided that we really weren't hungry after all....only to find ourselves pouring out bowls of cereal later on. Still, "if fish wore socks" left a bad taste in my mouth, and a sense that I had been cheated out of beautiful art.  But, it will give us something to laugh about. Eventually.