I was SO not last!

Here's my medal from the USAF Marathon 5K on September 14th. I registered last January. I've done the 10K at this event and plenty of half marathons and even one full (one was enough!) but of late have not been walking consistently. I strained my psoas muscle over the Memorial Day Weekend which not only limited my activity but made me miss the wedding of one of my favorite people. It was summer and the pool was open so I substituted water aerobics. Then a few weeks ago when I started preparing for the 5K I started having hip pain. This is not the first difficulty I've had with my hips but in the past managed to work through it. Not this time! I was discouraged but kept looking for a solution and found one. I had an appointment with body worker Linda Vanarsdall and she determined that I had a couple of compressed vertebrae. Linda is a beautiful, kind, compassionate, woman with fantastic healing abilities but fingers of steel! The difference between when I laid down on the table and when I got up was profound. No. More. Pain. 

So it was just a few days until the 5K and I had done almost no preparation. The most I had walked was my daily mile with my Yorkie, Buddy. I did not want to miss this event. I decided to just go and walk at my own pace. The goal was to finish. It would not matter if I finished last, I just wanted to cross the finish lane. 

I remember my first 5K. I walked with two girlfriends and my then husband. I had never walked that far. Our little group was indeed last but my husband was courteous enough to allow me to cross the line before he did, thus keeping me from finishing last. The irony was that he received a trophy because although he was numerically last, he was the only male walker so he was first and got the award.  

In this race, at mile one, I felt pretty good and was walking a steady pace. I had decided if I finished before 70 minutes I'd call it a win. At the mile two water stop, the woman who handed me my cup of water looked me in the eye and said, "You're walking strong." She had no way of knowing what that meant to me; it reminded me of Lori's mantra, "I don't exercise to be skinny; I exercise to be strong."  There was a man and woman with a karaoke mic just past mile two playing LMFAO's I'm Sexy and I Know It. I think the young woman with the mic was fairly surprised that I knew all the words. It's a favorite of my son's and we sing it in the car all the time so it not only brought a smile to my face but more energy to my steps. 

A bit after this a young woman, early 20's maybe, ran by me. Then I walked past her as she had slowed down to catch her breath. She was heavy but I know heavy people can be quite fit. What concerned me more was her lack of muscle tone and the erratic way she was taking this on. I engaged her in a bit of conversation and she shared she had not trained and that her younger brother was ahead of her. As I kept my pace she lagged behind me, struggling to breathe. Yet, just a bit away from the finish line she ran past me again, heavy footed and gasping for breath. This broke my heart. I hope she finds her way to better self-acceptance and better self-care. 

My friend Lori volunteered to greet me at the finish. I cautioned her that I was out of shape and would finish late, maybe even last. But I didn't! I walked my pace, and felt stronger and faster as the race progressed. When I saw Lori I yelled, "I am SO not last!" She yelled back, "Look at your time, under 56 minutes!" I was walking strong and felt fabulous. Here's the glamour shot.

Lori is a yoga teacher extraordinaire. Post race she lead me through some stretches to baby my hips a bit. I'm in the white shoes and socks; she is rocking it in the black shoes and fabulous polka dot socks.

Race results don't get posted until September 17th but I already know I'm a winner. There were plenty of people behind me and many, many ahead of me but this wasn't about them, it was about me. It was about being happy with who I am and proud of my own tenacity. It was knowing I can set physical goals and master, even surpass, them. It was about the sensuousness of being at home in my body and at peace with myself.

Rethinking Depression by Eric Maisel

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  PTSD can be the result of one dramatic trauma episode or a prolonged period of trauma. In my case, during the prolonged stress I really, really struggled. During that time we talked about depression in two ways, Depression with a Big D and depression with a little d. The Big D version evidenced during the acute trauma period by my considering a day a success if I could put both feet on the floor and eventually get out of bed, at least for a few minutes. To survive that I needed the big three: medication, talk therapy, and body work. Think critical care, emergency treatment, stabilize the patient!

PTSD is the gift that keeps on giving. Even after doing lots and lots of gut wrenching work and believing I am okay, something can happen that will trigger the PTSD. This results in what I used to call depression with a little d. I feel really, really unhappy, really sad. The good news is that it is more manageable because I have learned how to cope.  In Eric Maisel's latest book, Rethinking Depression, he dismisses depression as a mental disorder and instead identifies it as a meaning crisis and gives the tools needed to cope. Here's some context to understand what he is proposing.

Eric is well known as America's foremost creativity coach. He is also a died-in-the-wool existentialist. I asked Eric to define existentialism and here is his response. "Existentialism is the first philosophy to demand that the individual take personal responsibility for his or her thoughts, actions, and life and further demands that we look the facts of existence squarely in the eye and deal with existence-as-it-is and not how, through wishful thinking, we had hoped it would be." What I think of as little d depression might just be the meaning crisis state Eric refers to in this book. And taking an existentialist position and employing the techniques and strategies he proposes offers a solution.

Rethinking Depression is a lovely play on words. Eric is asking us to rethink what depression is or isn't. He is also suggesting that re-thinking, that is taking an existentialist viewpoint and thinking differently about sadness when struggling, is the way to living well. He is NOT promising every moment will be happy, happy, happy. He is saying that unhappiness is part of the human condition and making meaning is the way to cope with the unhappy times. He is saying we are happier when we are making meaning. He is also suggesting we pay attention to the happy or at least neutral times as well, looking existence squarely in the eye.

Yes, but how do we do that? How do we make meaning? Rethinking Depression is the complete meaning making tool box. Eric takes us from deciding how and what matters, to creating a Life-Purpose Vision, to negotiating meaning daily, to how to handle meaning crises. I particularly enjoyed the chapters on existential, cognitive, and behavioral self-care. This is fun, engaging reading because Eric has a droll way of explaining and a knack for providing a large variety of examples to reach almost every reader.

He boils it down to three questions to orient your life.

1. What matters to me?
2. Are my thoughts aligned to what matters to me?
3. Are my actions aligned to what matters to me?

That's a pretty good check list for living!

I recommend Eric's book to anyone who wants a meaning-full life.

Sensuously Sixty

I began this blog one year ago today, my birthday, with the express purpose of exploring how to reconnect with my body, to learn to live sensuously.  To celebrate I scheduled a Harmony Farm Ritual. Harmony Farm is a magical place. The beautiful buildings are nestled into a small hill overlooking a pond and open fields. When you enter the front door, the first sensual treat is the smell, eucalyptus, lavender, perhaps mint? Instantly soothing. I usually pause for a moment and breathe deeply, letting myself relax into the atmosphere. 

A soothing waterfall greets and welcomes.

The massage rooms are gorgeous, natural light and nature views. These windows overlook a sloping field and a copse of trees that shelter the labyrinth.





This is the back side of the complex. The massage rooms are on the left side, top floor.







A Harmony Farm Ritual consists of a one hour massage, a one hour facial, and organic sugar scrub treatments for hands and feet. After a lovely Reiki enhanced massage on a heated table, I was already feeling relaxed and centered in my body. Linda Blackburn, my healing practitioner for this experience, describes her skill and the setting perfectly on the website, “I believe massage can take you to a deep level of healing. It can help you reach into your soul and allow you to physically and mentally heal. When your body reaches that level, the muscles begin to relax and respond to the work the therapist is doing. Harmony Farm with its peaceful surroundings, adds a wonderful experience of relaxation and healing to your massage.” 

I never had either a facial or sugar scrub treatments. I loved both! By the time Linda was finished my skin was smooth and, well, glowing.  This truly was a sensuous experience and a perfect way to celebrate all I have learned about connecting with my body. This was a year well spent. Thanks for joining me on the journey.

My Merry Mom Made Marmelade

Progress! I just had my third voice rehabilitation session. I am pleased to report that my voice is... improving! Jennifer Keyges, my therapist, noted that my voice is less scratchy and I am able to sustain notes longer and with better quality. She deemed me ready to go to the next level. This is the tool to help me get there.

Yes,  a kazoo!

The exercises I have been doing thus far centered around the middle of the body stack that we use to speak and sing.  At the bottom is respiration (diaphragm and lungs). In the middle is phonation (the vocal folds)  and at the top is resonance (mouth, nose).

We've been mostly working on phonation because of the damage to my vocal chords. As I've been working to sustain sounds, there has been some breath work involved and there will be more as I progress.  But now I am ready for resonance work.

Which brings me to the kazoo. As I was focused on taking a deep breath to sustain the sounds in the first set of exercises, I had some trouble switching from the gentle expelling of air to the "hum" necessary now. To play a kazoo, you don't blow, you hum. So these exercises start with a hum of the sound on the kazoo for about two or three seconds and then flow into chanting voiced "m" or "n" exercises. It begins with molm, molm, molm and goes to meem, meem, meem, and then moom, moom, moom. If I didn't feel silly enough doing that... we moved to sentences.

Like:

Mary made me mad.
My mom may marry Marv.
My merry mom made marmalade.

None know nothing now.
Nine knew nothing.
Name nine new names now.

I am becoming more and more aware of how I produce sound and where in my body the sound travels.

My assignment for the next few weeks is to continue the original exercises and add resonance chanting three to five times a day. I am happy to do this. My voice feels stronger and I find myself singing in the car a bit. I'm not ready for singing publicly but now believe it will happen one day. I'm so grateful.

I Just Wanna Go to Rehab

I said, “Yes, yes, yes!” 

I used to sing well. And, I loved to sing. But chronic, allergy-related coughing and misuse of my voice left me with more of a croak than a singing voice. It got to the point where I would not even sing when I was in the car, alone!

I tried throat lozenges, allergy medication, cough suppressants and resting my voice. Nothing helped, I felt discouraged and, well, sad. I finally found my way to The Blaine Block Institute for Voice Analysis and Rehabilitation.

After an endoscopy to examine my larynx and esophagus (my vocal chords), I got the good news. There is no permanent damage, just severe bruising. The even better news is that, with therapy, I should be able to recover my singing voice. It was amazing to look at the photographs of my vocal chords. This is a whole new level of getting in touch with my body!

Now, comes the rehab part. My speech and language therapist gave me a series of exercises to rehabilitate my voice. The first round of exercises (they’ll change as I make progress) takes about ten minutes, twice a day. After sounding a note on a pitch pipe, she had me repeat and sustain that note for as long as possible while singing "eeee." Then I do the same exercise, on the same note, while buzzing the lips. The second exercise is to go from my comfortable low note to my comfortable high note. The third is the reverse, to go from my comfortable high to my comfortable low. The final exercise is a series of notes (G A B C) where I sustain the note for as long as possible to "oooo." I immediately noticed I was having trouble with the breath necessary to sustain a note so next time we'll work on that.

To assist my practice, she provided a CD with all the exercises including the sounding pitches. Most of the time I do these in the car. The first time I did them, my son asked, "Is that you or is that the CD?" I told him it was both. On the next set, I heard a third voice, his! Now the joke around our house is to let loose with some "eee's," "ooo's," or lip trills to locate one another! Our two Yorkies are quite amused!

I'm grateful to have this opportunity to reclaim my voice. I'm looking forward to relearning how to effectively use my breath. Last December, at my Solstice Celebration, my chosen word for the year was "breathe." Lovely how its significance is affirmed in this rehabilitation process.

Yoga From the Inside Out

Because cultural messages about our bodies are so strong and the forces that work to destroy our self-image are so pervasive, having others in our life to mirror to us acceptance and encouragement is crucial.


Christina Sell, Yoga From the Inside Out

I've had an off again, on again relationship with yoga. I first tried it in 1974. I knew nothing about yoga, was just curious. I was new to Dayton and had not yet found a job or made friends and my then husband was completely self absorbed in his first year of law school. I was lonely and thought maybe I'd make some new friends. I found it, well, embarrassing. Way too much attention to the body for me. I felt exposed. I was thin so it was not about the size of my body. It was about not feeling comfortable with my body. As I knew no one in the class or for that matter anyone else doing yoga it felt even more isolating than being alone. So I dropped out. End of yoga

Then, in 1985, after having my first ever massage with a very lovely woman who was also a yoga instructor and was looking for a place to hold a class in my part of town; I volunteered to host a yoga class in my home. This time I made it through all the sessions. It would have been awkward to not participate when it was in my house! The teacher had been trained in Yoga for Round Bodies but I did not know how to ask for help. I was kind of getting the hang of it when she found another, more public, location and I did not move on with the group. I believed I was not a physical person; I did not yet realize that yoga is a spiritual practice too.

In 2002 a friend's daughter was working toward her yoga teacher certification and needed a class to garner teaching hours. This time it was three couples doing downward dog in my living room.  By then I was embarassed by my size so I always took a place behind the others. I found the poses too revealing. Again, once the class was finished, so was I.

Then in 2005 I went to Kripalu in Massachusetts for a weekend class on animal communication. There were free yoga classes every morning so I thought I'd give it another try. The instructor, a normal sized person, said something that stopped me in my tracks. We were doing a twist in a seated position and she said, "Now gently move your tummy to the side and deepen your pose." What? Move your tummy? She did not appear to have a tummy to move! One of the reasons I did not persevere with yoga was because I always felt my stomach got in the way. I had never heard of someone "moving their tummy." This was a revelation. I could adjust my body and do the pose comfortably! It never occurred to me that a normal weight person had to adjust her tummy to do a pose. I thought it was a problem for me because I was overweight and I just had to feel terribly squished to even attempt the pose. Another example of the bad body messages I carried around; since I am heavy, I will suffer. The realization that even thin people might have a tummy to move and that adjusting the pose is normal made me weep with insight and relief.

Now, in 2011, I have another friend doing her yoga teacher training. Lori has taught me that yoga is for everyone and the emphasis is on you and your body, not on doing the perfect pose. And, that yoga is as much a spiritual practice as it is a physical practice. She also keeps reminding me that it is about practice, not perfection. Lori is teaching me to be fully present in my body. I do not think I have ever really done this before.  She introduced me to the book, Yoga From the Inside Out, quoted at the start of this post.

Lori

And that brings me to a sunny day in Dayton, Ohio. I'm sitting on my deck after my morning yoga, savoring some fresh fruit, and writing some notes from Yoga From the Inside Out into my journal. Now that I understand that yoga is both a spiritual and physical practice, with emphasis on the word practice, and that I can adapt that practice to me and my body; yoga feels right for me.

While in Florida recently, my goddaughter Kate and I went to  Yoga On the Beach,  morning yoga classes on beautiful Siesta Key Beach. She, and Lori, are part of my tribe who offer the acceptance and encouragement every woman needs about her body. And I am so grateful...

A rainbow backdrop for yoga on Siesta Key

Hello Beautiful!

August 1, 2010

The Story Circle Network invites women to write for their blog One Woman's Day. They describe the blog this way:
Today a woman somewhere is laughing, weeping, grieving, or celebrating. Someone is giving birth; someone is losing a loved one to death. Relationships are forming, others are ending. For some this will be an ordinary day filled with many of the same activities as yesterday. For others, something unexpected will suddenly make this day unforgettable, one that they may tell their children and grandchildren about in the future. In the same way that we are curious about how our grandmothers lived, future generations will be interested in learning about what an ordinary day was like in our lives.

One year ago I was visiting Siesta Key Florida and had one of those days. I wrote the blog post, submitted it,  and pretty much forgot about it. I was surprised and delighted to start receiving responses to that post while I am again in Siesta Key. Please click on this link to read my post at One Woman's Day.

Yesterday I did a yoga class on the beach with my god daughter. The sun was warm on my skin, the sand was soft under my mat, and the waves and sea birds provided mood music. I felt comfortable and confident in my body and, yes, beautiful.

Siesta Key Beach 2011

Thank You Betty Ford

Official White House Photo 1974

I celebrate the life of Betty Ford and send a kiss of gratitude to her as she begins the next stage of her journey. I remember when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1974. I was twenty-three years old and already badly disconnected from my body.  I was uncomfortable with the open way she discussed her cancer and her mastectomy. I wondered how she would be with her husband afterward. And I wondered if he would still want her. 

My father had colon cancer when I was thirteen. He had surgery and survived. I knew he was sick and I knew he had an operation but I was never told, and was too well conditioned to secrets to ask, what the surgery was. It was months later when my brother-in-law mentioned my father's cancer and saw my shock that anyone realized I did not know it was cancer. Cancer was a shameful secret and colon cancer even more so. Breast cancer was talked about in whispers and with more sorrowful shame. It was a "female problem" and not for public, or for that matter private, discourse. Betty Ford just blew the doors off that. Not only did she say she had breast cancer; she said the "m" word, mastectomy. It was the first time I heard that spoken aloud. She even allowed her picture to be taken while still in the hospital. This all made me terribly uneasy, somewhat embarrassed, and confused. Then she did the most surprising thing; she recovered! Not only did she not die, she thrived. And her husband seemed as devoted to her as ever. 

Thirty-five years later, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, it is a different world. People wear pink ribbons, walk and run to raise money, have support groups, and talk openly about breast replacement, scars, treatment, everything! Yet, I still felt vaguely ashamed of having a problem with a "female” part. I wondered if I would be considered defective, less than desirable, or damaged goods. Those early imprinted messages run deep. But I blogged about it, joined support groups, and talked with other women, lots and lots of other women. I am just realizing now that I have not talked with men very much. I was in the middle of an ugly divorce and did not get the kind of support Betty Ford got from her husband. I am just now realizing the example he set. He clearly still loved her and stood by her. She was what was important, not her body, not her breasts. He loved her. I mourn that I did not have that and that rejection there wounded me further. Gerald Ford was President of the United Sates of America and did not feel he needed a perfect, two-breasted wife to complete his image.

What I did have, and celebrate to this day, was a legion of women. Not just friends and family but strangers met through various support groups. For the first time in my life I talked about my body and a struggle I was having about my body with other human beings. I had been silenced early on, programmed to not mention anything to do with my body or sexuality or even sensuality. I have a male therapist I trust and he was magnificent in his understanding and encouragement. A few friends’ husbands were sympathetic, and while I appreciated their sympathy it made me realize more acutely the lack in my life. It was the women who understood and saw me through to the other side. And Betty Ford, by her brave example, was first in line. 

Maria Shriver & Transitions

I recently watched this YouTube video of Maria Shriver. It was posted on AOL before her divorce plans were in the news. I was struck by how desperate she seemed. I admire this woman, especially the work she has done since leaving television to be the First Lady of California. Her women's project is inspiring and far reaching. She always seemed so fearless, so self-assured, so centered. Yet in this clip she looks frail, her luxurious hair seems thin, her shoulders rounded. She looks lost. Even her smile at the end seemed more like a grimace. I wondered why this transition out of government life would be so difficult. She's doing incredible, important work; is loved and admired by many, has so many talents and strengths.

Then I heard the news, not only had her husband been unfaithful but it was with a family staff member and he has a thirteen year old son from the relationship. Blam! Now I understood completely. That transition. Life as she knew it, is over. The man she loved best in the world, the person she trusted above all others, the man she had devoted her life to, made sacrifices for, fathered her children... is a liar and a cheat. She is in shock and the repercussions from this shock will take her years, maybe the rest of her life, to recover from. I have complete faith in her ability to do this. But my heart breaks for her, aches for her.

I know that no matter how hard she tries to not have it so, those newly faced horrors are hammering in her mind every waking moment. He cheated. He lied. I know this woman. There is a child. Approximate age of my youngest. He's known for ten years and kept it from me while he cared for her and her son. What else don't I know? How could he? Why would he? He's hurt me. He's hurt my children. I have slept next to and with a man who is a stranger. Who is he? Worse, who am I?  How did I not know? I am so humiliated. I have wasted my love on a liar and a cheat. What else has he lied about?

And then, when she gets past those big questions, she'll start examining the details. She'll realize more and more how deep the deception runs. How he has looked her in the eye for years and told her he loves her while he was having an affair and has another child. She'll start looking around her home, wondering. How could this woman be in my home and sleeping with my husband? She'll start piecing together the times she trusted and was deceived. She'll look at family photos from the past and wonder how he could do that. How he could pose as a devoted husband and father while he was committing adultery? She'll be haunted by what else she doesn't know.

But eventually, and for her sake I hope it does not take her as long as it took me, she'll realize what he did is on him. She did nothing to deserve that level of betrayal. No matter what difficulties there may or may not have been in their relationship, there is no right in his wrongs. If your needs aren't being met in your marriage, tell your partner. Love is a verb. Love and respect your partner enough to be honest and get help. If the problem is unresolvable, end the marriage with grace and dignity and respect. Only then look elsewhere.

The damage from this level of betrayal runs deep, right down to the cellular level, and requires so much work to heal. And she'll have to try and heal herself while also tending to her wounded children. Everywhere she looks her life is enmeshed with his and now she has to decide what life will look like from here on out. No wonder the poor woman is fumbling with questions about transitions.

I realize now that what I recognized in this video is her vulnerability, bewilderment, and pain. I recognized it because I have been there. She is lost. She is hurting. She is reaching out. She is also a survivor. She'll work her way through this. She'll do what is right for her children. Something he clearly gave little thought to as he took care of his own ego and needs. And she'll do it with as much dignity and grace as she can muster.

She is grieving the loss of her parents, her family of origin, and now she has to deal with the end of a marriage that was never what she thought it was or wanted it to be. When she most needs him, most needs to be loved and cherished, she has been disrespected. She now has to grieve the loss of her created family. She thought her family was a mother, a father, and four children. Now she knows there was at least one mistress and one other child. Who knows what else is hidden.

It does not matter how beautiful, intelligent, talented, generous you are. For some men, nothing is ever enough. They foolishly believe that if the wife doesn't know there will be no harm. The lie is the harm. And it will come out. What may have been a delicious affair for him is really just a pathetic secret. And as the saying goes, you're as sick as your secrets.

At the time of the video above, she knew the secret and was playing it close to the vest. Which brings me to my suggestions for how to handle the transition. First, no secrets. Face what you know. Just name the truth, no matter how painful. Walk right through that fire because the only healthy way out is through. Know that you will lose some friends, especially if you refuse to offer excuses or minimize the reality. There will be people who do not find it convenient to see the wrong. Most people will just want you to move on and pretend everything is fine. Get divorced, play nice, pretend. Don't do it! It is soul sucking. There is a huge difference between dealing with the truth and staying stuck or bitter. Get professional help. Friends are wonderful but will not be around for the length of time it takes to heal this. If you are doing all the work necessary people will think you are just not letting go and moving on. If he has power, and her husband certainly does, some people will not want to endanger their connection to that power.  Take good care of yourself. Take all the time you need to fully heal. Be very, very kind to yourself. Practice good self-care. Review the people in your life. Ferret out all the folks you thought were trustworthy and you now see are moral relativists. Let go of the toxic relationships. Treasure the people who understand and are supportive. Find some more new supportive friends. When you are able to stand again, follow your passion. You no longer have to make all your life decisions based on what he needs. Take care of you. Eventually you will forgive but it takes time. And it is not a single act but rather an ongoing process. Know you are beautiful and strong and will get through this. And know that you can take as long as it takes to do so. You're worth it.

Storm Body

Judy Abrahamson (writing)

Hurricane Faye

Wind
Refreshing, caressing
Blowing acceptance over naked skin
Lightning overhead, surf below
Healing coolness all around
I am at peace
My body is my own.

Judy Abrahamson

I met this poet several years ago when she shared Hurricane Faye at a writing workshop. I was just beginning this journey to connect with my body and her poem struck a deep chord. It made me cry. I loved it so much that I asked her to submit it to Story Circle Network's annual anthology True Words from Real Women, 2008. I was editor that year with my dear friend and fellow writer Becca Taylor.

What resonated most was the line, "My body is my own." I was feeling so bad about myself and my body. So unloved, so rejected, and so disconnected. That wild hurricane, her oneness with it, the peace of laying claim to her own body made me aware of what I didn't have and what I both want and need. It is a long journey from living and being mostly for someone else to recognizing and honoring myself. To knowing my own beauty and value. To claiming my own power. It is not an easy journey. It is not quick. It is not finished. But words like these heal and encourage and inspire.

When ever a storm rolls through Ohio, accompanied by thunder and lightning and wind, I remember this poem. And I take time to connect with my own storm body, to appreciate who I am and who I am becoming.

Cheat Sheet for Life

 Katrina Kittle is one of my favorite authors. She has four published novels thus far, each one taking a "big" issue and skillfully weaving together a story with vivid characters and poignant subplots that deepens understanding and evokes reflection.  She had me with her first book,  Traveling Light, about a woman, her much-loved dying brother, AIDS, and the question of who we are and why we make the choices we do. Over an eighteen month period, I'd lost a brother-in-law, a teaching partner, and a fellow doctoral student to AIDS. Katrina got it all exactly right: the frustration with the disease, the disheartening lack of compassion juxtaposed with the extreme kindness of others, the pain and heartache, the grief, and the lessons experienced.

Her latest book The Blessings of the Animals is about the end of a marriage, grief, healing, family, and the powerful role animals can play in our lives. Having recently experienced extreme betrayal and divorce... this one hit home too. A dear friend invited me to her book club meeting where Katrina was the guest author while we discussed this book. The facilitator had unique discussion starters. Katrina's books are laden with rich nuggets that inspire mind forays out of the current story. This passage, about an interaction between the protagonist's teacher brother and one of his students, is one of them.


"Nobody gets the good stuff all the time...Remember that." He wished he knew something more comforting to offer. He wished... he could spare them, his students: that he could pass them the cheat sheet for their future lives. 


 The facilitator posed the question, if you could provide a cheat sheet for life, what would you share?

Mine was "Face what you know." I've learned, the hard way, that ignoring the elephant in the room leads to heartache. That while it is difficult to face unpleasant truths, it is better to face them right away as delay increases the cost and wastes precious time. Your body is recording and experiencing the problem even if you are not allowing the thought to surface. I mistakenly thought that focusing on the good meant ignoring the bad. I know now that you can celebrate the good and still name the difficulties and treat them with loving kindness. Problems are not failures, but ignoring them will lead to failure.

Katrina's was, "Always make make new mistakes." As soon as she said it I felt my gut clench. I've been trying to not berate myself for the mistakes I made with my ex, for tolerating too much for too long. For taking care of him and his needs while sacrificing my own. I kept hoping that he would see what he was destroying and join with me to rebuild. And so I became afraid of hope and afraid of making more mistakes that were detrimental to my physical and emotional health and well being. I learned that hope can be life affirming when I hope for myself, for what I can choose. Pinning my hope on someone else is  giving away my strength. Hearing "Always make new mistakes" turned another page. Mistakes are part of life. The trick is to make new mistakes. To be trying new things that may or may not work out perfectly but are still learning experiences. What I was afraid of was making the same mistakes. As I realized that, I felt my gut unclench and my center fill with... hope, peace, possibility. Yep, this definitely goes on my cheat sheet.

The Drinkin' O' the Green

I'm Irish. I have many happy memories of St. Patrick's Day celebrations: Irish step dancing, vibrant Celtic music, shamrock plants, cold beer, Irish soda bread, and always wearing green so as to not get pinched! Post cancer and focusing on caring for my body, I've switched my focus from the "wearin' o' the green" to the "drinkin' o' the green," green tea that is!

I drink about three cups of green tea every day. I prefer either Trader Joe's Organic Green Tea or Tazo Zen tea, a green tea, lemongrass and spearmint mix. I've read that to get the full benefit of the antioxidants in green tea it is necessary to steep the tea for ten minutes. The problem is that in ten minutes the tea is no longer hot. Humph.

Nancy Snyder

The problem was solved for me by my friend and potter Nancy Snyder of 5th St Clayworx. Nancy makes, among other things, beautiful hand thrown mugs with lids. The lid sits on top of the mug while the tea is steeping and keeps in the heat. The lid then makes a handy place to put the bag. The bonus is that this mug is truly beautiful. The shades of brown and touches of green and blue are a visual feast and make the ten minute wait tolerable.

Mug and fitted lid

Gorgeous and functional

Today's breakfast of green tea and Irish Soda bread (recipe below) was good for the soul because I thought of my friend and her passion for her art. All those antioxidants are good for my body. And starting my day with something beautiful sparks my creativity.  Slainte!

Here's an easy recipe for Irish Soda Bread. I used organic sugar, butter, raisins, and milk but couldn't find organic self-rising flour. Next year I'll figure out how to replace the flour as well.

Irish Soda Bread

4 c. self-rising flour
1/2 c. sugar
4 T. butter
8 oz. raisins
2 c. milk

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease and flour two loaf pans.

Mix first three ingredients well. Slowly add in milk. Blend in raisins. Shape into two loaves, place in pans and bake 50-70 minutes until a knife inserted into the loaf comes out clean and the top is beautifully browned. Best served with Irish butter!

In the Middle, I Can't Breathe

I did not intuitively breathe when exercising. Actually, I did the least effective thing possible, I held my breath. It was as if I needed to take in a breath and hold it so I could concentrate on moving. For example, I would hold my breath while climbing stairs. The result? By the time I got to the top of the steps I was lightheaded and completely winded.

When I began to work with a personal trainer, she pointed out the folly of my ways. She taught me to breath in on the relaxation of a movement and to breathe out on the exertion. Weight lifting and exercises like crunches were suddenly so much easier to complete in multiple repetitions.

I cross stitched this sign and hung it in my exercise room to remind me to breathe.

At a recent weekend retreat, the presenter was working with us on using the breath for relaxation. She divided the circle of women in half and indicated that those to the right of her were to inhale while those to the left of her were exhaling. As I was right across from her I quipped, "I'm in the middle, I can't breathe." The next day several women mentioned how true that quip was. They're right. When I was on the fence, trying to decide what to do about my failing marriage and where to go with my life, I often felt I could not breathe. Getting off that fence and on with my life has freed me to take deep, satisfying breaths. Being in the middle is a very uncomfortable place to be. Moving forward is like exercising, breathe out on the relax, breathe in on the exertion, but breathe.

Spice Shopping

I have a cupboard full of spices.

Interesting organizational system!

From my reading, I now know that spices have a shelf life. When I checked these, I was amazed at how long I had some of them. I got this tin of whole nutmeg from my dear friend Jeanette when she was moving from Ohio to Florida in 1978! I know it was hers because I recognize her handwriting on the top.

1978?

Some sources say that after a year a spice has lost its potency and should be replaced. Those are probably mostly folks who sell spices! The other rule of thumb is to check for aroma. If the spice still smells, well... spicy, it should be usable. But I think that is the technique when using spice to flavor food. I'm not sure how to gage the potency of spice for health and healing purposes. If any of you have any information or thoughts about that, please share.
Most supermarkets have a good selection of the commonly used spices. There are excellent Internet resources as well. Many of my friends recommend Penzeys but I have never tried them. I wanted to buy fresh spice in small quantities because I am experimenting with new flavors and different heats that I may or may not like. And if I am going to err on the side of freshness, small amounts are better.

I found a perfectly wonderful source right here in Dayton. One of the Five Rivers MetroParks' Urban Parks is the Second Street Market. The market operates in an historic block-long 1911 former B&O railroad building.  It was saved from demolition and renovated in 2001and houses an assortment of vendors for prepared foods, meat and produce, fresh flowers, and arts and crafts. One of the shops is The Spice Rack.

The Spice Rack has a wide assortment of spices in small containers with larger amounts readily available. They also sell organic flours and grains, Amish butter and cheeses, beautiful colored sugars, and honey. I'd stopped here many times to buy local honey to help ward off seasonal allergies but am now a confirmed spice shopper as well. 

I was interested in turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom, and cumin. The shop owner, Homer, and his lovely assistant Shannon helped me find everything I needed. This is definitely my new go-to place for spices!

The atmosphere on Saturdays at Second Street Market is festive and relaxed. I had a delicious Thai omelet for lunch, saw many friends and acquaintances, and in addition to my spices got beautiful artisan bread, fresh kale, and a green plant to take home for a promise of spring.


My next task is to purge my spice cupboard and label my spices with date of purchase. In the meantime, because they are so pretty, my fresh spices are residing on a shelf in my kitchen. They are tucked among some plants and some favorite things, reminding me of the beauty of life and the joy of treating my body well.

Spice of Life

 I am interested in spices and how they can promote health and assist healing. Spice as seasoning is familiar ground but currently the health aspect is a talking point everywhere. Magazines, cooking shows, even Dr. Oz is talking about spices to use to reduce your risk of cancer or high blood pressure or to improve cardiac health. Post cancer, I'm eating foods high in antioxidants to ward off those nasty free radicals. I've  upped my vegetable and fruit intake, switched to whole grains, and eat organic whenever possible. I seek out antibiotic and hormone free meat and poultry. Now I am exploring how using the right spices can further enhance health and healing. Which spices for which reasons and in what amount?

Sterling Publishing 2011

This book was featured in a display at my local library. The sub title, How to Use 50 Everyday and Exotic Spices to Boost Health and Beat Disease promised the information I was seeking.
And it delivered. After eleven pages giving the history of spice use and how to purchase and store spices, the next two hundred and forty five pages are devoted to the fifty spices. Information on each spice begins with the healing and health properties, then history and culture in "getting to know ___," then a "how to buy ___," and finishes with "in the kitchen with ____."  Each spice description includes an ink drawing of the plant, a "use and pairs with" chart, and a recipe.
The book concludes with how to make spice rubs and mixes and a resource list. Especially useful is a fifteen page A-Z list of health conditions, appropriate healing spices, and where available, research-tested therapeutic use dosages.
As a bonus, the book is printed on cream colored paper with sepia ink and sepia and green charts that are easy on the eyes. I love it when I find exactly the right book at exactly the right time.
In tomorrow's post, I'll take you with me on a spice buying excursion to one of my favorite foodie places!

Time In a Bottle

I’m very fond of massage. When several different friends recommended a particular massage therapist, I called and made a Saturday morning appointment. A sense of place is very important to me, as is beauty. When I look for a massage therapist, I seek someone who is centered, fully present, and whose studio space is serene with an underlying sense of peace and joy.

When I parked in front of her home and studio, I spotted some very interesting trees.

 These whimsical bottle trees tickled my fancy and provided a visual treat as I stopped to admire the wide assortment of artistic labels. I have a friend with a bottle tree who has removed all the labels and focused on the colors of the bottles to provide the "fruit." As I tend to pick my wine by the art on the label I enjoyed that this one had the labels intact.

Post massage and in a mellow mood, I lingered to look again at the bottles. Maybe they are a bit like women. We start out with people being attracted to us by our label or our reputation but eventually the bottle is opened and what's inside becomes important. The wine is then consumed. Much like life sometimes turns us upside down and empties us out. But the glass, the vessel, remains. Some bottles are simply discarded. But others are recycled, reborn into something new, perhaps differently beautiful, perhaps more enduring.

These metal branches and glass fruit don't seem to take themselves quite as seriously as a fine bottle of wine in a wine rack waiting to be decanted. They are living life in the now, with a wink and a smile.

Here’s a recent wine I chose by the label. I go cycling and this woman, holding on for a ride in the sky on her winged bicycle, looks like she is at home in her body, experiencing life with joyful abandon. If the wine is half as good as the label, I’ll enjoy it!

Cycles Gladiator Syrah California 2008

Second Anniversary

On January 23, 2009 I was diagnosed with Paget's Disease, a rare form of breast cancer. The Story Circle Network has a new blog called One Woman's Day that asks a woman to select a day that holds special meaning for her and write a post about it for that date. I chose January 23rd. I submitted two posts.  That day was so dense with shock and fear that I had written two extensive journal entries and gleaned my posts from those. You can read  A Harbinger and the First Sign  and The Third Sign's the Charm by clicking on the titles.  


The beautiful fiber art below was made by my friend Kate Burch. I keep it in my kitchen where I am reminded daily of the beauty and power of friendship and to take a moment to be thankful for my recovery from breast cancer and to pray for the women facing it today.

Life, Love, Hope

Zen Zentangle Tango

I've had Zentangles on the periphery of my consciousness for a while now. I'd seen some samples and heard a few folks talk about them but was not quite sure what they were. I love Loretta Puncer's Gallery 510 in Dayton's Oregon District and often visit for a visual feast and inspiration. In early January my friend Lori, fellow writer and fiber artist, noticed some Zentangle art for sale and while discussing it with Loretta she mentioned that a Zentangle group meets in her studio once a month for a work session and that there was an introductory class coming up in a few weeks. I signed up with limited information and an open mind.

I confess that if I was on top of my schedule I would have at least googled Zentangle for some prior knowledge. But, I forgot about the class until the day of and had to go cold. This was good! Zentangle is a form of, well, doodling. You can read about the origin here. Many people find it stress-reducing and enter a meditative state while drawing.

Carole Ohl, a certified Zentangle teacher, gave us a little box with all we needed to get started. I love little boxes and containers of all sorts. This one was pristine white cardboard with a pen, a smudge stick, a pencil, and four paper squares. These were not just any pen, pencil and paper. The pen was a Pigma Micron 01 Black. The pencil had soft lead good for smudging and the paper was archival quality. It felt like the first day of elementary school when I always reverently clutched a brand new pencil box, pencil, eraser, and crayons, all ripe with possibility.

Zentangle supply box and an in-process Zentangle

You start by making a dot in each corner of your paper and then connect the dots to make a shape. You can use any kind of lines you want to do this. Then you add a string. This is Zentangle talk for a line that divides your shape into smaller sections. Again, any way you like! Then you begin to fill in the spaces created by the string. There are over a hundred Zentangle designs (tangles) for you to try. And, of course, you can make up your own!

Now, here's the fun part, there is no such thing as a "wrong" Zentangle! There were six of us in this session and using the same prompts and tangles, created six very different finished pieces.

My first Zentangle

Initially, my grip was tight, I was using two much pressure and was over thinking the whole thing. When I relaxed and just played I slipped into a lovely place. Calm. Peaceful. As I finished my first Zentangle,  I shifted into a creative rush and began to think of all the things I wanted to try with these. I was especially enthused about using them within or surrounding letter shapes. I finally got up from my seat and wandered in the gallery for a few minutes to mellow out.

In a one hour session I went from curious, to fascinated, to soothed, to eager, to inspired. Zen to tango to zen again! Engaging my right brain always opens creative thoughts for me and that leads to creative action. I think this will be helpful to my writing practice. It gives me a visually productive way to tap into a sense of well-being, of being at peace within my body. Lovely.

Mammogram Celebration

Today I had my annual mammogram. Since having breast cancer, mammograms create a degree of anxiety for me. I had Paget's Disease (www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/factsheet/sites-types/paget-breast) , a rare form of cancer that was noticed by my gynecologist and diagnosed by my dermatologist just two months after a normal mammogram. After two surgeries and a series of radiation treatments, I was told to get biannual checkups and a diagnostic mammogram yearly. I saw my oncologist in November and he said all looked well and wrote the scrip for this test. Once you have had cancer, the odds of getting a second cancer are higher than the odds of getting your first. So, even though Paget's Disease is not found by mammogram, something else could be. 

The beauty of a diagnostic mammogram is that the doctor reads the test while you wait. A smiling nurse appeared with the good news, all clear!

When I left the hospital I realized what a beautiful sunny day it was. It was just as sunny when I went in but things seem clearer, brighter, more intense when fear is lifted. I decided to go home, get one of my Yorkies, and head out for a walk on this crisp, cold, beautiful day.

I headed to nearby Englewood Reserve, one of our fabulous Metro Parks (www.metroparks.org/Parks/Englewood/Home.aspx). They do an exemplary job clearing the road through the park, including the bike path that runs along side, so I thought it would be easy to find a place to walk.

Englewood Dam, cars traverse the dam on top to the left

Why the dam was built

When I parked in the lot there were two couples entering a snowy path. When a guy exited the same path a few minutes later, he said the snow was packed but not slippery. Being deep in the woods instead of on a road, even one with limited traffic, was enticing so Buddy and I ventured forth.

Buddy leading the way on the snowy trail

Metro Parks signage, we chose the River Trail

The peace and solitude of the woods was blissful. It was so quiet that the birdcall was crystal clear, calling Buddy to attention. I could identify chickadees, cardinals, and finches. If was so good to be in this place, feeling this way, so alive, so fully present in my body.  I was aware of my breath, my heart beat, the sun on my face, my stride. 

Captivated by birdsong

 When I am not seeing everything about my body that needs to be improved, when I step back from judgments imposed by others, when I can see how healthy and fit I am, I glimpse what it is like to be fully at home, at peace, in my own skin.

Self portrait of one grateful woman