Bouncing

Life is not about how fast you run or how high you climb but how well you bounce. ~Vivian Komori


Blue jeans. Shorts. Bathing suits. My sense of balance. My energy level. My personal idea of self-worth. My health. My job. My fear factor and anxiety level. These are all areas that I've discovered are completely different than they were six months ago. My cancer surgery, to remove the Leiomyosarcoma tumor from my abdominal wall along with a good portion of muscle tissue, was half a year ago. And yet, those ripples of interwoven effect are still very much flowing through my life.  


Six months used to sound like a long time to me. I remember saying to a friend, who was an incredible scheduler and planner, than it was hard for me to look a week ahead, let alone six months. This pal was amazing! She'd have a calender of events for her family's life booked anywhere from six months to a year in advance. I was awed by her foresight. In my own life, six months was much too far in the future to fathom. During that time, my children might almost finish a school year, we might get a new car, we might take a trip...it was just a distant horizon. Given the nature of unpredictable, extenuating circumstances, I had an impossible time picturing what might happen half a year away.


The past six months, however, have moved along at a snail's pace. Even after I'd had my surgery, it never even crossed my mind that I'd still be recovering six months later. In my ignorance, I believed that I'd bounce back immediately. I thought my energy level would jump out and greet me with the enthusiasm of a Labrador puppy. I was confident that my body would retain its pre-surgical form. I not only thought I'd be back at work as a yoga instructor, but that I'd be an even better one. How foolish I was! I had no clue that six months is a drop in the grand bucket of time from cancer recovery. Every step, every time I'd sit up, every motion I'd make has been an arduous, laborous endeavor. Simple actions that I could have done blindfolded, such as moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer, have taken me intense concentration, followed by rest. Each improvement I've made has been the result of deliberate conquest.


Because so many of these achievements have been 'behind the scenes' ones, just like the laundry, I've felt guilty for not being 'back to my old self'. When my former boss was kind, but clearly frustrated, with my inability to be back to work in February, she hired another teacher. It was understandable. It was necessary. But, my feelings were hurt all the same. If I couldn't push a vacuum cleaner around without causing myself further injury and pain, I clearly couldn't teach the five intense yoga classes per week that I had taught up until my illness and surgery. I wanted to give myself a parade for being able to sit up in a theater. What an accomplishment! But, to the rest of the world, it simply wasn't a big deal. Everyone can sit up! Why was it a cause for celebration to me?


When I read today's quote by Vivian Komori, I felt as if I could breathe a sigh of sweet peaceful relief. I am bouncing! I may not be holding a Warrior pose for 20 minutes with ease. I might not be climbing Mount Katahdin. I'm still not back to my former career. But, I'm bouncing. I'm doing laundry. I'm traveling with my children. I'm cooking dinner for my family. I'm walking my dogs. I'm enjoying the beautiful sunshine. I'm not where I'd like to be, but I'm on my way there, bouncing as I go.


I've always loved water, and when I was a very little girl, my mom was concerned that my lack of fear about our swimming pool overstepped my swimming ability for a time. Rather than ban me from the pool, she taught me a practical skill: if I ever feel as if I can't swim any further, I need only bounce. I'd push myself down to the bottom of the pool and spring up forward all along the way back to the shallow end. It was invaluable. A few times I really did tire in the deep end. I'd hold my breath, propel myself down and then, pushing off the pool floor, hurtle forward always making progress as I ricocheted along. 


Life has been a bit like that for the last six months. I'll go down a bit and wrestle in the deep end of an area in my life and then hurdle upwards with a new spring in my step. Six months have come and gone. I'm not in the shallow end yet. I still have lots of areas that need attention and work. But, I'm bouncing. It may not be far with each upward movement, but I'm bouncing all the same.

Falling in love

" Falling in love with someone isn't always going to be easy... Anger... tears... laughter.. It's when you want to be together despite it all. That's when you truly love another. I'm sure of it."  ~ Helen Rowland I'm in the midst of falling in love. The moment I saw the photo of my beloved, having never met, I knew it was meant to be. My heart beat a little faster. My eyes misted up with tears. My soul cried out "This is the one!". It was an extraordinary experience. I knew that we were meant to be together, regardless of how difficult the path might be. I was willing to take on any difficulties so that the object of my affection and I could share as many years as possible together. It's a wonderful feeling. I feel more alive. The air smells sweeter. Food tastes more delicious. My senses are more heightened.  And, I'm utterly and completely exhausted. Why? If I'm in love, for what reason could I possibly be this tired? Because my new love is young Shiloh Shepherd dog. I first saw her picture on the Shepherd Rescue organization's rescue page. I am on every possible animal rescue list. I am generous to a fault when it comes to the welfare of animals who are in desperate need of help. My mother has rescued countless dogs over the years. We even rescued some horses in dire straights. If I could adopt every one who needed a home, I'm afraid we'd be out of a place to live. So, I've learned to be sympathetic, to work hard to help animals who are at great risk, but understanding that I can't save them all. Yet, when I saw Dakota's face, I knew she was 'the one'. It was a spiritual experience. Dakota's eyes literally told me that we were meant to be a family. After applying for adoption, and being selected, we had to figure out how best to get this Virginia native up to Maine. This ended up involving a bleary eyed trip to New Jersey and back. Getting new a dog, even a young one as Dakota, who has already had one home isn't like bringing home a  puppy, who has just left her Mama. A dog who has had a home before knows her routine, she knows her 'pack' and she knows her life where she has lived all of her life. Uprooting her, even for the best of intentions, is a tough business.  There is a commitment and determination to love someone who isn't quite sure of her new life yet. There is a balance of affection, exercise, routine and gentle discipline so that she knows her new life. It's not a path to be undertaken by someone who just thinks having a new dog would be fun. There is a lot of work to be done. And yet, it's unbelievably wonderful. I have fallen completely in love with this beautiful girl. I know that she is still getting to know me. I understand that she's spent the first year of her life with someone else. I am teaching her not to bark at new people in the house. I'm helping her to get to know our daily schedule. I'm giving her as much snuggling as I can, while still instructing her that my word is the law. I'm playing with her. I'm brushing her. I'm feeding her, letting her get on my bed, walking her, laughing at her goofy antics and generally getting to know her. Most of all, I'm letting her fall in love with me. That's as much a part of falling in love...since true love is never one sided. I'm still awfully tired. But, it's a good tired.

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