The October Dress Project

Life really is simple. We just insist on making it complicated. ~ Confucius

For those kind Preppy Yogini followers, who may have wondered if I've:

• Dropped off the face of the Earth, to find myself in Yogic Purgatory, where nothing but Bikram Yoga is taught, and the only food available is from McDonald's....or
• Have been swallowed by a giant whale, spit out on the shores of Ninevah (or in my personal version, Siberia), and told to teach Yoga to the unruly citizens...or
• Went on a cross country camping trip, hiking the Appalachian Trail (which sounds like paradise to some, but in actuality, is terrifying to me)...or
• Took a vow of silence. Those who know me understand this would have lasted a miraculous 12 minutes and 19 seconds. I've tried.

The answer is 'none of the above'. I do plan to resume writing on this blog regularly when I'm finished with my current undertaking. I wrote about The October Dress Project about a year ago in Project Dress. It's a fascinating concept, and one that has weighed heavily on my mind ever since. Therefore, I took it upon myself to try this endeavor on my own...one dress, for one month. I can accessorize to heart's content, and obviously, I can wash the dress as needed. But, it's been a wonderful learning experience for me. I tend to be attracted to whatever is new. This project is teaching me to be content with what I have, to live as simply as possible, and to have great fun in learning to become more creative. I hope you will check out Ellen's October Dress Project and visit how my journey is proceeding thus far. 

By November 1st, I'll be back as your humble, goofy, preppy yogini.

The Robin Hood legend lives on within us all

How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world. ~Anne Frank

I have to admit something. I'm a Robin Hood fanatic. Ever since I saw the Errol Flynn version on television, lying in bed, home sick from school, I've been hooked. I went back and discovered the Douglas Fairbanks rendering. Despite poor reviews, I enjoyed the Kevin Costner "Prince of Thieves" (despite the film being dubbed "Robin of North Dakota" by critics, who panned Costner's lack of any kind of an English accent) during the early 1990's. I laughed hysterically, with my children, for Mel Brooks' satire of "Men in Tights". I became an avid watcher of the BBC television series, and loved the newest adaptation of the legend, starring Russell Crowe. Already a fan of Alexandre Dumas' Count of Monte Cristo, and The Three Musketeers, I ravenously read Robin Hood le proscrit. Whether or not Robin Hood is a person based on historical fact, a purely invented character, or a folk hero lying somewhere in between, the ideals, values, romance and inspiration never fail to capture my own imagination. Based on the legend's popularity, I can only fathom that I'm not alone in this fascination.

What is it about the Robin Hood legend that inspires us? Of course, Robin's skill with a bow & arrow, his love for Maid Marian and his loyal band of Merry Men are the stuff of dreams. But, I believe what remains enthralling about the legend is the philosophy of helping those who can't help themselves. The Robin Hood ballads, which became popular in England by the 14th century, had their basis in fact; a time of misery, disease, poverty, starvation and over-taxation to support the Crusades had left England depleted financially, morally and spiritually. That a figure, real or metaphorical, would arise to help isn't surprising. How many people, in modern times, find comfort and excitement with more contemporary superheroes, like Batman or Superman? Just like these comic book champions, Robin Hood bravely protected the weak from the strong, the poor from the greedy, the persecuted from the tormentors. I believe there lies within each us a grand desire to have this kind of loving protection. The thought that there is a person, out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to spring forward to keep evil at bay, is both comforting and reassuring. We want to know that, even if we don't see our protector, he is out there, simply gazing over our lives and will be called to action if we are being subjected to tyranny.

Of course, there are brave men and women who do just this...in the Armed Forced, as Firefighters, Police Officers and Teachers. And yet, we know, as much as we'd love for there to be a REAL Robin Hood out there in the Sherwood Forests of our daily lives, the chances aren't great that this magical champion will hear our cries and come running if we're in trouble. The fact is, we must all learn to be our own hero or heroine. When life is unfair, when we're filled with doubts and low self-esteem, when we are overwhelmed by fear, we need to tap into our own inner Robin Hoods, draw our bows and shoot the metaphorical arrow into the source of our pain. Does this mean that we'll never be afraid again? Definitely not. We will be frightened, we will be lonely, we will feel burdened, hurt and in anguish. Those feelings will all be valid and understandable. But, true strength lies in knowing that we can experience pain in our lives, and still be able to face our disquieting situations with a 'due sense of right purpose'. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "A hero is no braver than an ordinary man. But, he is braver five minutes longer."

Can we do this? Can we stand up for our beliefs and not allow the maltreatment of others, or ourselves, for five minutes longer? Can we face down the beastly Sheriff of Nottinghams in our lives with a certain strength in our eyes? I believe we can. I believe that, lying inside each one of us, however dormant, rests a Robin Hood. I rest assured that we can each become empowered to protect others. I place my confidence in the goodness in mankind triumphing over the evil. I maintain that we each contain the tools, the skills and the aptitude for making the world a better place...even if it's only own our small corner.

The Robin Hood legend is fascinating. It's powerfully captivating, it's deliciously romantic and it's strikingly relevant today. But, we must always remember not to wait for Robin to come save us. Conversely, we must take up the mantle and be Robin Hood for others.

Whatever happened to customer service?

You’ll never have a product or price advantage again. They can be easily duplicated, but a strong customer service culture can’t be copied. ~ Jerry Fritz

Despite the fact that I'm a yoga instructor, a bibliophile, a blogger, a wife and mother, a frequent traveler, a daughter, a friend and a dog owner, I'm also a customer. I have various needs (and wants) that I shop for...and like most people, I would like to go to those places in which my needs can met for the best prices.We're on a strict budget, as just about every other family is these days. Why overpay if I can purchase a gallon of milk at half the price? Why go somewhere out of my way, if I can save a few pennies closer by? What's the point of frequenting a series of tiny, "Mom and Pop" stores, if I can do all my shopping in one place? The answer is simple: customer service. The smaller Main Street stores, for the most part, tend to honestly care about what the consumer's experience is when she walks into their stores.

This subject, which is not a typical Preppy Yogini inspirational sermonette, is an important one: smaller stores, whose owners truly have a personal interest in each of their customers, are being forced out of business. I have always believed in healthy competition in the business world. Despite my love for excellence, I have always held with a belief in the freedom of choice in the marketplace, a "laissez-faire" attitude in business and the survival of the economic fittest. I never understood why folks would picket and protest when a Home Depot was going to go into town, or why a K-Mart would hurt Main Street shops. Having recently experienced, by far, the worst shopping experience of my life at Wal-Mart yesterday, I now understand the cause for concern. Having been met with empty shelves, a surly and bitter staff and immovable lines to pay, I realized that my choices for finding decent bath towels are now almost gone. The nice home goods store in my small town has vanished, simply sliding out of existence in the presence of the big box stores' shiny beckoning packaging. But once the luster of having everything from athletic socks to window cleaner in one place wears off, we are left with no other choice but to remain hostage to an apathetic, unpredictable and inferior place to shop. And, that's our only option.

Customer service, in everything from large stores to postal shipping, has taken a downturn. It's hard to get anyone to answer the phone when you call a consumer hotline. After meandering through a maze of non-applicable numerical choices, we're still left with our problems regarding a broken dishwasher we've only just purchased. At some point, the bottom line of saving money became more urgent than accountability in service. As such, the market responded, and we, as the public, are left without help, without caring and without the ability to buy bath towels when we need them. And, we really only have ourselves to blame, since we, ourselves, showered the consumer market with our response to "Low, low prices". Sadly, with those rock bottom deals, comes rock bottom attitudes. We can't get the manager behind the service desk to make eye contact, while she's on a personal phone call, we can't figure out why our television cable won't work because the local office no longer accepts incoming calls and we can't understand the reason our gas card has stopped working, even though the payment is up to date.

Is it too late to feel valued as a customer? Have the times progressed beyond helpfulness, cheerfulness and problem solving? Are we willing to live with substandard responses to our queries just to save a dollar? I don't believe so. It is my opinion that people are fed up with a lack of appreciation and choice. People inherently want to feel enthusiastically welcomed and esteemed. Consumers want to know that they are highly respected for choosing to shop in any one store. I'm not a businesswoman. I don't have an MBA from Harvard Business School. Yet, I know that, as I talk to people who come to my own yoga classes, they understand there are many choices in yoga teachers, and I make certain that each student feels cherished when she comes to class. Additionally, I feel the same way when I make my purchasing decisions. Do I want to be insulted and left to fend for myself at an immense concrete city block of a store, or do I want to have a positive experience...even if it's slightly more expensive? The place that I have arrived to, in my own consumerism, is that I'd rather have better quality, a more positive experience, and fewer "things".

Many years ago, my father, Jim Lavenson, wrote a speech called Think Strawberries. In it, he movingly tells the story of his own career in the hotel industry, and how powerfully exceptional customer service can make, or break, a business. Because I grew up with my dad's philosophy, not just at work, but at home, the ideals of friendliness, hospitality, helpfulness and going 'above and beyond' for those with you, became second nature to me. Dad was lauded for this spech, and it went on to be published in several magazines, as well as included in most college Hotel & Restaurant Management courses. I grew up immersed in "quality over quantity", with the belief that caring about other people really does make a difference and customer appreciation makes an enormous difference. My own inability to pass up a 'bargain' here and there led to my own discount shopping. Sadly, this decision by me, and by thousands of other shoppers like me, has led to fewer choices for us.

So, what do we do now? We make a point of shopping at the remaining, or newly opened, stores in which we feel valued. We take the time to go to a variety of stores, rather than 'one stop shopping', in order to support small businesses. We seek out locally grown, locally made and locally sold products. We thank the companies that *do* appreciate us, and let them who, on their staff, was especially helpful. Above all, we tell the larger companies exactly *why* they are losing our business. We even drive a little out of our way to frequent stores that fit our standards.

This will not change the world. It will not end wars, famine or disease. But, it will be bring striving for premium services back into vogue, and give rise to a movement towards higher standards in our shopping. As the notable Bill and Ted have said "Be excellent to each other". I believe this applies to customer service too...even if strange things are not afoot at the Circle K.

Empty Nest Without a Map

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end..." From "Closing Time" by Semisonic

The house is incredibly quiet. There aren't two rooms, both with loud music competing for attention...as if the ever rising volumes will somehow win a contest of wills. The pantry is fully stocked....and there are no crumpled potato chip bags, soda cans, empty boxes that once contained Hot Pockets or half finished milk glasses sitting on all surfaces. Laundry doesn't meander about the house, leading me like a trail of bread crumbs to the end point where a mountain has developed. There is nobody yelling "She started it!" and then stomping off in a huff. I am sitting, completely at peace in the blissful cacophony of birds chirping outside. And yet, I find that I miss the ever present beckon of "MOOOOOOOOOOOM!". I have discovered I'm not sure how to cook for just two people. Most of all, I simply miss my kids.

And yet, I'm so proud of both of them. They are each living out their dreams and destinies. This was my hope for motherhood for the past 18 years; to show how much I love them, and to equip them to do the best they possibly can in reaching their goals. I have long despaired of mothers who, when their children leave to go away to school, crumple up in a ball of self-pity. I see it not only as weakness, but honestly as a dependence on one's children. I do not believe it sets a good example for either of them. I would like my children to view me not only as a mother who did a decent job (I don't believe they've turned out too badly), but also as one who is strong and courageous. I've begun to see missing my son and daughter, not as a lack of self-awareness, but rather that I truly *like* them and enjoy being with them. No one makes me laugh the way my son does. He has a wicked, dry sense of humor that I find both delightful and hysterical. My daughter is the best companion I've ever had. She is adventurous and is always up for new experiences.

Therefore, I find myself coming back to the age old questions of: "What is next?", "Where do I go from here?", "What do I want for the coming years?" and "Where do I want to be?". It's as if I have had a clear road map for the past 18 years. Each direction, every turn and all the routes were planned out for me. I had highlighted roads, such as schools and driving to the hockey rink, which were easy to follow. I had taken some detours when I was very ill, when I went back to work part time and when the unexpected descended like a thunder cloud. But, the highlighted route always veered back in my direction. Just as in the board game, "Life", I spun the wheel, I added a wonderful blue figure for my husband, squeezed in a couple of kids later, went from the good squares (on which I was rewarded) to the bad ones (that always came with a cost)...and have ended up at the end of the game. There is no map ahead. There are no more spins left on this particular wheel. The little car I'm driving has gone off the board.

Uncharted territory lies ahead. How will I fare? What will I do? Will I discover yet another map to follow, or will I travel recklessly from spot to spot? I don't have any idea to the answers to these questions. And yet, I love the anticipation of it all. I am delighting in the lack of predictability that my days once held. I am discovering a surge of energy when staring out in the abyss of the unknown future. As Oscar Wilde wrote (and 'Willy Wonka' quoted), "The suspense is terrible. I hope it will last..."

So, if you see me out on the highway, give a wave. I may not know where I'm going, but I am determined it will be fabulous.

Inspiration and Travel

"The world is a book, and those who don't travel only read one page." ~ St. Augustine

In the next six weeks, I am going to be traveling to 5 different states. My schedule is daunting and each destination will require a high level of energy from me. I am going to moving my teenagers into two different (and new) spaces 1800 miles apart from one another. I'm going to visit with dear friends and family. I'm going have the chance to visit many new places to which I've never traveled before. I will have a tight schedule, and each piece of the itinerary is going to have to line up perfectly in order for me to accomplish each key mission. At the same time, I don't want to visit each of these unfamiliar destinations with my head buried in a day planner. My hope is to a bang up job for the crucial reasons I'm in each place, but I also have faith that I'll have enough time, each in every location, for wonder, for daydreaming, for unplanned exploration and for discovery.

My first mission will be going to Florida to help find my son an apartment, to furnish it and to get him ready to move in later in August. Because I'm from the west coast, my family tends to go west on our vacations, rather than south from New England. Florida is a completely new expedition for us, and I'm incredibly proud of my son for forging off on his own in this way. In moving to Florida from Maine, Joshua is being quite intrepid....he is moving away from everything that's familiar and comforting. Because of his move, I get the pleasure in learning about a new place along with him. My hope is that we'll get to know the area extremely well. I don't want to just walk into national chain stores. Rather, I want to discover the offbeat places, the ones that locals know about, as we set up his new home. We can remain within our comfort zone, or we can expand upon it, and hopefully, achieve something beyond our limitations. Having the chance to set up a place to live for Josh will be the most important piece of this trip. However, I'm also excited about the chance to meet new people, eat in new restaurants, learn about a part of our nation with which I'm completely unfamiliar and to practice patience when things will, inevitably, not go as planned.

After Florida, my daughter and I are traveling to Del Mar, California, where we'll spend a week on the beach with family and friends. Although I was born in San Francisco, and spent much of my growing up life in Santa Barbara, I've never been to Del Mar. I've seen pictures. I've heard wonderful stories. I've seen scenic locations in movies. But, I've never actually been there myself. It has been too many years since my toes wriggled in the Pacific Ocean. It's been an eternity since I've had nothing to do but lie on a beach and soak up the sun. As much of an art lover as I am, it's felt like centuries since I've been immersed in an artists' community. I have missed eating fresh avocados, tasting perfect Mahi-Mahi and picking lemons right from the tree. I look forward to exploring every one of my senses in this enchanting, radiant Shangri-La.

Finally, after returning to the Northeast, I'll bring my daughter back to her beautiful prep school in western Massachusetts. After visiting family in New Hampshire, we'll move through our routine of setting up Caroline's room in record time. Despite our prodigious efforts and efficiency, there is something bittersweet about moving her into her dorm room each year. We have our systems down to a science now, and we pack our car in reverse order of how we plan on unloading. We know just what to bring in first, and can quickly create order from chaos. At the same time, with every poster I hang on the wall, or with each sweater I fold, I realize that my little girl is that much more independent from me. I am thrilled with her success and determination, and I feel blessed that her school is a perfect match. And yet, as I unpack the car, I'm letting go of her, item by item. Still, I have been fortunate to learn the area around her school very well. I have restaurants that I just love returning to, and people I enjoy seeing when I'm there. I feel a sense of loving community in a place that doesn't even 'belong' to me. It's always a joy to return, to see familiar faces and to feel at home in a place that is wonderfully welcoming.

Lucius Annaeus Seneca, the great Roman philosopher and dramatist, wrote "Travel and change of place new vigor to the mind." I have resolved to see the next month as a way to accomplish that idea. I hope to re-energize my spirit, to broaden my perspective and to find myself richly renewed in each unfamiliar place. I hope that I can discover something wonderful about every destination, and I hope that I will find myself enlightened by new locales. Ray Bradbury wrote, "Half the fun of the travel is the aesthetic of lostness." While I'd prefer not to get completely lost, I am excited about finding that tingly feeling of not being completely on the map all the time. I hope to accomplish my set tasks, to learn some new skills, and above all, to enjoy this lengthy amount of time out of my routine.

Beyond that, I'm open to new possibilities. I just hope I don't lose my luggage in the process.

If you can't stand the heat....

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it. ~Russel Baker

There is nothing quite like painfully hot summer days to have even the most outdoorsy of folks daydreaming about winter. When the temperatures rise well into the 90's and the humidity is close to 100%, the thought of shoveling snow doesn't seem quite as wretched as it did in reality. Here in Maine, few spaces are air conditioned. We begin to reminisce anything that will bring cooler thoughts to mind. In the old days of life in "Vacationland", entire families would leave their homes in Philadelphia, New York and Boston to move to Maine to escape the heat of even warmer cities. There were entire towns that were summer communities that had their own churches, recreation centers, town halls and post offices. These spots would close down completely from Labor Day until Memorial Day, when they'd be reopened, reawakened and re-energized as city dwellers fled the oppressive, and painful, heat to the fresher air in Maine.

As a summer resident growing up, I vividly remember the long drive up from New York, smack in the middle 'hump' of my mother's car, sandwiched between my cousins. This trip seemed to take forever, as we played endless games of "ABC goes by" and License plate state bingo. The monotony was broken up by midnight stops at the old L.L. Bean building, which was (as it is now) open 24 hours a day, 365 days per year. My cousins and I would run around, trying out every tent, inhaling that particular rubbery smell that would forever associate itself with a hot summer night to each of us. I recall the magic we expected to happen, as we crossed over the Piscataqua River Bridge, just knowing that summer's official start began as we traveled that span of road between New Hampshire and Maine. The rest of the summer would be spent sailing, playing on the beach, exploring islands, going for long walks, stuffing ourselves with seafood and covering our many mosquito bites with pink calamine lotion. I can relive the days of going to drive in movies and trying to find the right balance of staying cool....if we had the windows rolled up, we roasted like a family of lobsters. If we kept them down, we were swarmed by marauding packs of insidious black flies, all of whom had been informed that we were 'from away', and therefore, tastier.

Life takes turns and twists that we could never have predicted in childhood. As a full time Maine resident for almost two decades, I now feel the heat of summer bearing down upon me, heavy and wretched. The humidity saps my strength and makes me forget why I fantasize about July in January. Remembering is a funny thing; we believe that the air was cooler when we were kids, just as we forget how depressing ice storms can be. We seem to remember what we want to recollect when it suits us. We also seem to forget the positives of any situation when our minds are waxing poetic on another train of thought. We find ourselves mired in mental muck, and in doing so, we allow precious moments to slip through our fingers as they are happening.

This summer, I'm trying something a little bit different.I'm attempting to drink in the ever present warmth, as I would a cool drink that will melt if I leave it aside for too long. I'm trying to appreciate even the "dog days", knowing that the heat has the ability to free me from worrying about heating bills, finding warm coats and the size of our wood pile. I'm investigating new recipes for summer meals, and trying them out at dinner time, which I'm serving on the deck. I'm reminding myself how wonderful the humidity is for my skin...which gets so dry in winter. All in all, I've chosen to live by Celia Thaxter's words, "There shall be an eternal summer in a grateful heart". Instead of cursing the heat, I'm embracing it. The fascinating part is that once I've gotten over complaining about how sticky the air is, I discover that I can actually feel a cool breeze.

The Garden

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful. ~Abram L. Urban

As I have written before, I am, sadly, not an adept gardener. My gardening skills (or lack thereof) are legendary. I can manage to kill even the most hardy of plants in a matter of days. I have even tried to grow herbs in pots on a sunny window sill in my kitchen, and still have found my efforts to go unrewarded. I am somehow able to manage to over-water and dry out my flowers simultaneously. I have never figured out where my deficiencies lie. I'm simply content to admit that I am not, and will never be, one of those extraordinary people like my Grandma Rose, who could take a simple cutting and make an entire plant out of it.

What I lack in ability, however, I try to make up for in appreciation. I delight in other people's gardens. I have friends whose gardens are the most tranquil places on Earth, but at the same, a true reflection of their personalities. One friend, who is incredibly orderly and precise, has the most lustrous roses I've ever seen. She has each type of rose down to an exact science. Her beds are labeled with both the common and Latin names for each species. I have another friend who is a designer. Her garden reflects her intuitive and creative nature. She has wildflowers mixed in with annuals, and native perennials side by side with rare Asian flowers. Yet, it all comes together to create a cohesive, elegant design in a seemingly random fashion. I have loved going to visit Botanical gardens in many of the cities I love. I've enjoyed the variety of natural designs in the Arizona, California, Georgia, Rhode Island and New York. I've daydreamed walking through garden paths in France, Germany, Switzerland, Austria and Italy. Each public garden showcased the natural elements native to the region, but did so in such an aesthetically graceful way, it was just like walking through an art museum outdoors. I've never left a garden feeling anything less than serene.

During one of my yoga classes, I began to picture using the image of the garden as a visualization technique. I asked my students to envision themselves in the garden of their dreams. Some pictured the highly manicured gardens of palaces, such as Versailles or Hearst Castle. Others pictured more Zen inspired creations, like Nanzenjii Temple in Kyoto, Japan. Still others thought about the gardens of their childhood, some with vegetables, rather than flowers. Yet more contemplated a strictly imagined place that exists only in their own daydreams. Each one of my students was able to construct the mental image of the garden that best suited their needs, thoughts and ideals. I asked my students to envision these places as ones they could cultivate on their own, returning to them over and over again. I asked every student to conceptualize this peaceful oasis, and to ruminate on the healing properties of their imagined space. During this exercise we began to notice tiny weeds cropping up in our meditative inner yards. These weeds would begin microscopic, and then begin to grow larger, choking off the plants we'd so carefully constructed in our minds. They'd begin to take over the garden if we didn't immediately cut them off, pull them out by the roots and not allow them to grow in that same space.

The weeds, I explained, represented the negative thoughts we have each day. The flowers, shade trees, helpful herbs and lovely plants symbolize the areas of growth, as well as our positive thoughts and personal strengths. The garden itself is our very soul. As we find the way in which we notice how the weeds our growing in our minds, we can discover ways to 'yank them out by the roots'. We can empower ourselves to prune our thoughts regularly, and to allow the flowers we wish to cultivate to flourish. We can do this by identifying the negative thoughts (the weeds themselves) as they occur through practicing yoga, meditation, prayer, exercise, reading, daydreaming and even, yes, actually spending time in a physical garden. We can create the inner garden of our hopes, dreams, wishes and goals. We just need to remember to sort out the weeds that tell us that we're not good enough, we're not smart enough or we simply don't deserve to have beauty in our lives. These weedy thoughts are insidious. They will creep up when we're low and take over our entire oasis if we're not careful...choking out all the goodness and light. So, we need to make time each day, even if it's only for ten minutes to close our eyes, look for the weeds, and get rid of them.

Hanna Roin once wrote "The greatest gift of the garden is the restoration of the five senses". I would take her words one step further. I believe that the greatest gift of the garden includes the five senses, but is actually the restoration of our soul's serenity, creativity and contentment. Ask yourself, what does my garden look like? Where are the weeds choking off my flowers? How can I prune them to allow my garden to become inspirational? I'm sure your own garden will be extraordinary.