Simple Pleasures: Going Up North

Wildflowers picked from the ditches beside the dirt road leading to the cabin. 

Minnesotans may love summer but they love their cabins even more. Eric and I joke that we really messed up when we married one another since neither one of us has a cabin in the family. Luckily, some good friends invited us to join them up north recently.

It was an idyllic weekend on a lake with only seven homes on it. It was so quiet that when a car pulled up across the way, you could hear the gravel crunching beneath the tires. There were two loons nesting on the lake, and they had a tiny baby just a week old. Stasha and I stole across the glassy water in a canoe and got close enough to see the mother's ox blood red eyes.

On the drive up, we stopped at Lavaliers farm and picked hundreds of strawberries that were shiny jewels of perfect juice. Our fingers and mouths were stained pink all weekend. We cooked some incredible meals- is there anything more summery than grilled sweet corn, burgers and watermelon?

We slept underneath taxidermy dear heads in a genuine log cabin that has been in her family for three generations. In fact, her grandfather told us that he first visited when he was just a few weeks old. There were no passable roads to the lake, so the only way in was by canoe, and that very canoe served as his crib that first summer.

Besides the complete stillness, the lovely company, and jumping off the dock into the icy cold water, I loved picking wildflowers with my friend. The boys joined us and we all picked tiny, delicious wild raspberries. We had fun turning the flowers into arrangements in whatever containers we could find in her grandmother's cupboards, jelly jars, bowls and an old tin camp cup.

After two days of slow and quiet, it felt so good to get back to my life in the city. I can see the magic of a going up north- it's just far enough that your mind can get quiet and not long enough to set your expectations impossibly high like you would with a vacation in the Carribean. And going up north isn't necessarily about packing in a million adrenaline packed highs- it's more about slowing down and appreciating what's already there; people you love, the beauty of the natural world and the way even mundane tasks can be pleasurable when you aren't rushing.

What has rejuvenated you this summer? Have you taken time for a vacation?

I filled an old tin camp cup with odds and ends found in the woods. 

Water the Flowers, Not the Weeds.

Quillebeuf, at the Mouth of Seine by William Turner

Moving back to Minnesota has inspired me to put down roots, metaphorically and physically. Having an investment in a place means a lot to me after our nomadic lifestyle. I've planted a garden for the first time this year, and I enjoyed including perennials that will take years to become truly established. My grandmother and aunt gave me transplants from their gardens, including a peony bush, a rhubarb plant that came from my great grandmother's farm in Austin Minnesota, and a pretty wisp of a white bleeding heart for the shade garden out front.

We've been here for about two years now, and I've enjoyed creating a life in Minneapolis far more than I expected. The satisfaction I feel has many sources, but one of the most enduring was a decision to focus on the positive and avoid complaints. It's that old saying- water the flowers, not the weeds.

I first learned to direct my thinking in Bikram class, where Mark, my teacher,  urged me to smile when I felt discomfort or frustration. He suggested breathing deeply and avoiding making grunting or groaning noises, which send the message from your mind to your body that you can't handle what you are experiencing. "Your mind gives up WAY before your body does," he said. I was amazed that I could stop grunting easily and that smiling really did make the postures more bearable- even fun. I became curious about other ways to create endurance and resilience in my mind and body.

Laughter Yoga embodies much of the same philosophy, but without the physical demands. Instead, you just need to a willingness to fake it, whether you feel like laughing or not. Mary, my teacher, says the idea is to practice making laughter your first response to frustration and discomfort to see how that shifts things.

When we moved back to Minnesota from Hawaii, I made a conscious choice to avoid complaining about the weather. Since griping about the weather is Minnesota's official state sport, it isn't always easy. But for me, complaining is not as innocuous as it might appear. It actually puts my brain in a groove where I'm actually seeking out other things to be grumpy about. And believe me, there is never a shortage of things to be grumpy about.

The weather is one area where I most definitely have no control at all. So I chose not to complain about it, doing my best to accept whatever comes and be prepared for it. I have begun to extend this no complaining philosophy to other, far more important, things in my life too. I'm prone to ruminating on people and situations in my life, forming judgments about their choices and how they affect me and expressing mystification at their motivations.

I'm making an effort to change the stories I tell myself about other people, and especially what I saw out loud about others. It's way harder than not complaining about the weather, because it feels far more personal. But in the relationships where I have been able to change my story about what is going on, I've seen huge shifts. A relationship that felt tense and uncomfortable has become relaxed and friendly in the course of a year. I suspect the major change was my effort to suspend judgement and be kind in my thoughts and words. If only I could do that in every relationship!

Yesterday, a storm rolled across the sky. I could have felt discouraged at a rainy day in our precariously short summer, but instead I was transfixed by the sky. It was a breathtaking study of light and shadow, roiling blue black clouds mixing with brilliant sunlight and shimmering white wisps of fog. William Turner would have had a field day painting the scene. What beauty.

Learning from The Peony.

These beauties came from Sevald Nursery at Mill City Farmer's Market in Minneapolis.

Peonies are my favorite flower, and have been since I was twelve years old. In Minnesota, peonies bloom for two to three weeks from early to mid June, in a glorious explosion of color ranging from satiny ballet slipper pink to the deep fuschia of a fine Cabernet. As June deepens, the blossoms swell, burst and begin to hang heavily from their skinny green stems. After a rainstorm, their ruffly layers of petals fill with condensation and their massive heads sink deeply into the damp lawns.

Cut a few to bring inside while the heads are still the size of a kumquat, and they will open. At first, it's slow and lazy, but suddenly the blossom unfurls into a glorious dish of velvety petals almost five inches wide, revealing a fringe of feathery yellow stamens. It feels almost indecent to look deeply into their centers, as though one is considering the depths of the finely ruffled tulle petticoats of the Moulin Rouge dancers in the days of Toulouse-Lautrec.

And then, spent from the effort of this decadent display, the petals will begin to slip off, in a dramatic pile of plumage, like a tropical bird molting. The pile of soft, perfect petals in a spectacular mound of color and texture is so beautiful, I hesitate to discard them right away, instead, leaving them scattered on the tabletop like precious confetti.

What is it that makes a peony so delightful? You will rarely find them in supermarket bouquets, since they are so delicate and short lived, but here in Minnesota, people plant them in their yards with abandon. They are plants that offer little in the way of daily or immediate reward. The flowering season is perilously short- two to three weeks in early to mid June is the longest one can expect. The rest of the year, they aren't particularly lovely as a shrub- just a lot of scraggly green leaves. A sturdy perennial, peonies take several years to get established, sending thick, strong roots, deep, deep into the earth. A peony bush may take as long as five years to begin producing flowers prodigiously, but once they get going, they can be exceptionally long lived plants, lasting forty to fifty years.

For me, each of these details is worth considering. The peony's enduring appeal lies particularly with it's fleeting but unfettered flowering. You must wait, and wait and wait. The buds are tight and compact, with the diligence and dignity of internal work being done. The anticipation and enchantment only grows as you watch the bud slowly begin to swell and ripen. And then, in an instant, they give every last ounce of beauty they can muster, withholding nothing of their full, rich and complete abandon. There is nothing shy about a peony in full bloom.

It's a short season, but it comes back every year, without fail. I'd like to live my life that way. I'd like to prepare with a deep inner concentration and focus. Slowly, I will build momentum. Then, when the moment arrives, I'll let all the beauty I've known flood through me in a display so ostentatious and un-self conscious that even the denouement is beautiful.

The Big Reveal: What Scares Me About Motherhood

The Venus of Willendorf, a paleolithic image of motherhood. 

If you want people to reveal themselves to you in surprising ways, I highly recommend pregnancy. A telltale belly brings a steady stream of people sharing their labor stories, offering snippets of parenting wisdom and unloading their fears and anxieties. It's fascinating.

Pregnancy in Conversation 

"How are you feeling?" is a common question, clearly meant as a friendly gesture. The truth is that my body has very much enjoyed pregnancy so far. I'm in my 19th week, and I've been quite comfortable- no morning sickness, no swelling, no aches or pains. Just breasts that have ripened to four times their normal size- perhaps the size of smallish cantaloupe. What I've discovered is that this question is often an opportunity for the asker to delve into the trials and tribulations of their own pregnancy, highlighting each and every moment of suffering. Sometimes people even seem slightly disappointed when I answer that I feel marvelous.

Another thing that happens when you're pregnant is that people start to tell you all the things you won't ever do again. Now that you're an expectant parent, heels are apparently out, (too hard on your back) as is jewelry that baby may want to grab and cling to. Going to the theater will never happen again because finding a babysitter is nearly impossible, and besides, you'll never want to leave your baby for a single instant.

What Scares Me about Motherhood

I hesitate to even go on the record with these observations, since I concede the possibility that this advice is all true. I know that having a child will change my life in ways I cannot forsee. But to me, that's the adventure of the thing. I'd like to let it unfold without preconceptions.

The thing I fear most about parenthood is a condition of overwhelmed frumpiness. In our culture, the stressed out mom who tries to do it all is both celebrated and vilified. There are at least two prototypes.

The All Star Mom

She's a PTA leading, cupcake baking, designer diaper bag wielding cliche. Her google calendar is overflowing with band practices, birthday parties and horseback riding lessons but she still finds time to have her hair blown out, pull together a chic outfit and run a lifestyle business empire on the side. Let's call Gwyneth Paltrow a prototypical example. Our culture would have us believe that this woman is the ideal who we should all aspire to emulate. If we can't be her, we are doomed to hate her because she appears to succeed where we fail.

The Mom Who Laughs It Off

She has given up totally on herself in order to meet the extraordinary demands of parenthood. She hasn't bothered to find a bra that fits after giving birth and is still running around in a sagging nursing bra with frayed elastic. She hasn't had a haircut in years. Every ounce of energy goes into catering to her family. It's all about feeding them, getting them where they need to be and then collapsing in a heap whenever possible, heaving deep sighs and making humorous, self deprecating comments about how little she's managed to accomplish. Our culture idealizes and condemns this mom too. There is a special kind of adoration  for her self sacrifice and willingness to become small in the service of others. And yet, we also wish she could just get it together.

And then, There's Parenthood. 

I feel convinced that there is an experience of parenthood that exists beyond these dualities. What babies do is simple: they exist in the present moment. That's what makes them such holy beings. We look at them and recognize how special it is to live in a sensory world without judgement. We marvel at their life of unknowable possibility.

I believe the job of parenthood is to observe the unfolding of a child's life as it happens across many years. You are a witness as they develop into unique beings with their own curious habits, personalities and talents. I believe that holding to that sacred duty should make you more of what you are. Being a parent isn't about making your child the center of your universe at the expense of all else. It's about bearing witness to their remarkable process of discovery, growth and self actualization. Of course, that means finding new depths within yourself, not giving up on high heels or the theater.

Book Report: The Unsettling of America

Wendell Berry has been calling me for many years. His thoughts glowed like gems in Michael Pollan's books and I've heard his poems from time to time on The Writer's Almanac. But, my illuminated path brought me to him now, at this moment, after about a year of settling into the Waldorf approach to education, and family life.

The Unsettling of Americais about farming, but it's author argues that this subject touches all others. His central argument is that the Industrial Revolution was dedicated to specialization and expertise, which eventually lead to isolation. Modern life has applied specialization and the rule of experts to every aspect of human existence; in farms, factories, schools, hospitals, churches and banks. The trouble is that isolation is deadly to a human being. We thrive on making connections, on our sense of being part of a whole, and on working jointly. 

Though this title was first published in 1975, many of the problems he described  have become further exaggerated. For an example, look at our increased reliance on technology that insists that we connect to each other by being alone in a room sitting before a screen. Consider the way consumerism has become the supreme method of personal expression and goods have become cheap in both senses- inexpensive, yes, but shoddy and disposable too. 

This dislocation and constant striving to separate systems into finer and finer parts, is what I find so deeply appealing about the Waldorf approach. At it's best, it is rooted firmly in holism.

I am not a machine that can be separated into parts and then reassembled, made to run quicker, faster, and more efficiently. Instead, I am a creature with parts that all function differently, but rely on complex integration to work with greater depth and wisdom over time, as I develop my capacities.

I have a spirit, which can experience things my mind and body cannot. It can sense elation, freedom and despair. It knows things my mind and body don't- it has foresight, and the power to restore. It relishes mystery, beauty and the unknowable.

I have a body, which gives physical sensation to my existence- it gives me access to the bounty of sensual experience, the delight of a ripe cherry- perhaps too many, like Zorba the Greek. My body knows the pleasure of sinking into my bed after a long day of hard work, the smell of my husband's unwashed hair, or the texture of his beard on the soft skin of my neck.

I have a mind which relishes the task of absorbing new information, then analyzing it's strengths and weaknesses, then synthesizing it into something that belongs to me because I have applied myself to it and created my own thought from it. My mind enjoys a puzzle, a challenge, sorting, organizing and solving.

But none of these parts of my being can function totally independently of one another. My body must be fed and well for my mind to be engaged. My spirit must be willing, even delighted, for my mind to take on the task of learning with sustained effort. My body's sensations are what help me feel the existence of my spirit- the soaring feeling in my chest that echoes and thrums in the soaring arches of St. Peter's Basillica- that is my spirit stirring restlessly, but it was my body that let me feel it's existence, and my mind that helped me name and reflect on it.

The point is that for me as a human being, these complex systems must interact and work together. They can't be singled out or walled off from one another and still allow me to grow and change- which is what all healthy living things must do.

Here is one particularly eloquent passage about unity. He quotes Sir Albert Howard's words: "Real organization always involves real responsibility," and describes how this man went from the laboratory to the fields to stop studying and start knowing.

"He unspecialized his vision, so as to see the necessary unity of the concerns of agriculture, as well as the convergence of these concerns with concerns of other kinds: biological, historical, medical, moral  and so on. He sought to establish upon agriculture the same kind of unifying cycle that preserves health, fertility and renewal in nature: The Wheel of Life, by which death supersedes life and rises again from what is dying and decayed.

It remains to be said only what has often been said before, that the best human cultures also have this unity. Their concerns and enterprises are not fragmented, scattered out,  at variance or in contention with one another...If a culture is to hope for any considerable longevity, then the relationships within it must, in recognition of their interdependence, be predominantly cooperative, rather than competitive.

A people cannot live long at each other's expense or at the expense of their cultural birthright-just as an agriculture cannot live long at the expense of it's soil or it's workforce, just as in a natural system the competitions among species must be limited if all are to survive...

The definitive relationships in the universe are thus not competitive, but interdependent...Under the discipline of unity, knowledge and morality come together...To know anything at all becomes a moral predicament. Aware that there is no such thing as a specialized- or even an entirely limitable or controllable-effect, one becomes responsible for judgments as well as facts. Aware that as an agricultural scientist he had 'one great subject' Sir Albert Howard could no longer ask What can I do with what I know? without also asking How can I be responsible for what I know? "

Unity offers the sense of purpose and responsibility that is so woefully absent from the culture I live in. If I can see myself as part of the place I live in, with other people who depend on me and on whom I depend, then the decisions I make have a greater weight, because they are not contained to my life alone.

When I am responsible only for myself, I don't always make healthy or conscientious decisions. (Like, eating PopTarts for dinner with the T.V on.) But when I am responsible to those around me, I am motivated to do my best. (Cooking for days to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for our community of transplanted friends in Hawaii.) Simplistic examples, to be sure, but tangible ones.

Escape from the Internet: A Digital Diet for Creativity

Escape Key by Elhorno

Being submerged in the internet for work each day means that managing my screen time has become a central issue in my life. I'm developing tricks for limiting technology use so I can stay present in my life. One is the digital diet outlined here. I like the simple metaphor of food he uses, because we all have to eat, but what, how much and when, all need to be tailored to our own bodies. 

I've personalized my digital diet by staying offline before and after work, (including my smartphone). For me, the five to eight hour window at work to check and reply to emails and get updated on Facebook is more than sufficient. I've also begun using mindfulness practices, list making and task batching to keep focused- a huge challenge since managing social media is my job! The cyclops we know as television is still part of my life, though I like to keep it at less than one hour per day, preferably none. 

However, none of this addresses the issue of finding time to be creative outside of work. Brene Brown says, "Unused creativity is not benign. It metastasizes." This haunts me, and I feel it with increasing urgency being back in a city so devoted to the arts. 

I've been trying to see a live arts performance at least once a month, since the Twin Cities is second only to New York City in theater seats per capita. The quality is impressive, and it's quite affordable if we see something edgy. During each of these performances, I feel that pang Brown spoke of. It's a squeeze of admiration, awe and jealousy for the people up on stage who are living their dream so fearlessly. It's not that I want to be a great actor. It's that I am an artist and I am not practicing my art. 

In the film Pollock, Lee Krasner says, "You are Jackson Pollock and you don't paint!", and it is her deepest recrimination. He's also a womanizer, and an alcoholic, but she can't forgive how he has turned his back on his talent. 

When I had the luxury of more time to pursue my creative work, I often wasted it on household tasks. I love to potter around my house, baking, organizing, crafting and sometimes, blogging about it. But do those things develop me as an artist? They are creative, but are they art? Are they the one, unique song of my soul? 

I don't think so. They are things I do to feel productive, without actually tackling the work. Artistic work is internal, it means peering into your own soul and seeing what bubbles up from that dark, deep, mysterious well. The housework is tangible, I can see the result when I sort my underwear drawer or mop the floor. Art  sometimes has a physical result, a drawing, an essay, but that isn't the reason for it. That is just an after image, a footprint, a shadow. The real thing art does is to fills you up, in an invisible way, with satisfaction at the effort of looking, taking, and making. It also fills you with a yearning for more of that. 

So how can it be that something so good for me can be so hard to do? So hard to make time for? What is stopping me? My jobs aren't stopping me. My housework isn't stopping me. The internet isn't stopping me. It's me stopping me. But why? Where does fear come from when only good things have ever come from practicing art? 

Do you wrestle with finding time to be creative? Do you want to take the time to listen to the song of your heart, but also feel afraid to listen? 

How to Choose a Yoga Studio

"Shoulder Stand" Original Drawing by Becky Kazana. Please do no reproduce without permission.  

Finding the right yoga studio is like choosing a church. You are looking for something intangible, a mood, a vibe. All of these places are pretty similar; usually clean, bare rooms with polished wood floors, maybe a wall of mirrors, maybe plants, maybe candles, maybe a singing bowl. Some use music, some don't. Some are hot, some warm, some cool. The teachers are important, but you will learn something from every person you take class with. The style of yoga is part of it- but you will learn something from every practice, from Hatha to Bikram.

Since arriving in Minneapolis, I'd gone the Groupon route, trying out Heat Yoga, Core Power, Minnehaha Yoga, Your Yoga, and Yoga Studio. I've barely scratched the surface of studios in my area- there is Life Power, Iyengar Yoga and a Bikram studio, all within easy walking distance of my apartment.

So far, One Yoga has definitely been my favorite. They offer a wide variety of classes in many styles, almost every hour, so there is always a class that is convenient. But the intangible something is in the air. Bold letters on the door announce "YOU ARE ENTERING A CALM PLACE." and it's true. You can feel it when you walk in. The rush and bustle drain away as you pull off your wet boots and hang your coat on a peg, find a spot to unfurl your mat and go inward, slowly and deeply.

During practice recently, I had an idea to make this drawing. I love looking at my legs and feet in shoulder stand- they always look so tiny and far off up there, and it's nice to send all the blood flowing in the opposite direction from feet to head for a change. I often have a dream that I am looking at my hands, feet or body from a distance as they slowly swell gigantic and then shrink back down to teeny tiny, and somehow this pose reminds me of that. Everything in your life is a matter of perspective, plain and simple.

Do you practice yoga? What's your favorite pose right now? What do you look for in a teacher? A studio? Do tell!

Soaking in Winter with Old Friends

Soaking in Winter original illustration by Becky Kazana. Email me to purchase. Do not reproduce without permission. 

A few weeks back, Prem invited us for roll your own sushi night- we had fun making rice, chopping fish, frying tempura, making a huge mess in the kitchen and getting full of tastes of this and that long before we ever sat down at the table to eat properly.

Afterwards, we went out into the moonlit snow, bravely stripped down to our swimsuits in the freezing air and climbed into the steaming hot tub.We four sat there talking about nothing, huddled close together, knees and feet bumping into each other from time to time in a kind of intimacy that is rare in my life here. It comes in part from having grown up together, then watching each other's lives unfold from afar. I know and love these people, and have for a long time.

The tub overlooks a pond on a golf course, frozen solid, lined with bare trees silhouetted against the clouded sky, perfectly still. For a moment, the moon passed out from under the clouds, glowing white, round and huge through the veils of cloud and we all looked up at it in silence. There was the gurgling of the water around us, the crackle and ping of the ice, the gentle flutter of the snow settling over the ground and steam rising up around our faces, turned up towards the sky.

Our New Year's Gratitude Tree

 The trauma that happened this Fall prevented me from making a Thanksgiving Day gratitude tree, and I'm glad. The idea was postponed for a few months until there was room for reflection again.

On walking back from yoga in late December, I came across a huge tree limb that had been torn off during a winter storm and smashed into the street. I paused for a moment to consider, and then slung one of the smaller branches over my shoulder and carried it a few blocks home. Eric laughed when he saw me parading down the street with a tree branch taller than I am, but he helped me wrestle it inside and fill a pot of dirt to keep it upright.

I decided this would be a gratitude tree for the New Year instead. We had a brunch on New Year's day, and I asked each of our guests to write down one thing they were grateful for in 2012, and one thing they wished for in 2013. Then everyone tied those little hopes and thanks to the dry bare branches. Whenever anyone comes inside, I've asked them to do the same.

I love walking past those fluttering slips of white paper, covered with handwriting; spidery curls, tidy printing, or bold block letters. Some thoughts are short and others detailed. Some are lofty, ("No more hungry children in 2013!") some outlandish, ("I hope the Vikings win the Superbowl ..in my lifetime anyway.") some just simple pleasures, ("2013: The perfect Old Fashioned.")

I've enjoyed it as a reminder of what good things we've had already as we go on hoping for more. newer, better too. I don't know if this wobbly shard of a branch will last an entire year in our apartment, but I love the idea of saving him till 2014 and using him as kindling for a giant bonfire to ring in another New Year.

Tell me gentle readers, what are you grateful for in 2012? What are your wishes for 2013?

What I've learned in Thirty Trips Around the Sun.

These flowers were my birthday gift to myself and my Arrangement of the Month for October.

On Sunday, I turned thirty. I had the pleasure of spending this birthday with four people I've loved for more than half my life, and one little man whose life has just begun.  Eric made a Greek inspired build-your-own falafel dinner (we had lots of Greek flavors in the fridge after the housewarming party!) and a champagne toast. Afterward, we all lounged around on pillows enjoying baklava with ice cream and coffee.

The conversation turned to what thirty years teaches you.

Thirty is a nice place to be. At thirty, you have some life under your belt. You are no longer wide eyed, you are less worried about the shoulds, you've already made some choices and had time to see what they bring. You have charted a course, but it's not too late to change directions. But the common thread that ran through the conversation was this: To thine own self be true.

There are many ways to say this. Sarah put it as "I have learned to love myself", while my mantra has been "I can only control myself" but it comes down to the same thing. The idea is that the best way to love other people truly and without selfishness is to become full of yourself so that you don't approach life with a gaping hole in your soul begging to be filled with external things. This makes you dependent on affirmations that you are good and worthwhile from other people, what you can by, how hard you can work, how much you can give. If you can do that for yourself then you are free.

I am still learning how best to do this, and it's surprisingly difficult for such a simple lesson. Why is it so hard to do the things we know are good for us? Why is it so hard to say no? Why is it so hard to drag myself to yoga class, when I know how much better I always feel afterwards? Why is it so hard to tell my husband that I need a few hours to myself?

I hope to come to a point where refueling myself with myself will no longer be struggle, but habit. But until then, I know that centering my life with myself as the top priority makes me more capable of handling challenges that come up in my life, better at creating boundaries that foster healthy relationships instead of soul sucking ones, and means that I have a deeper capacity for facing the problems that come up in every human life. I have confidence in myself. What a perfect gift as I enter my thirtieth journey around the sun.

Accident

Resting Lion by Rembrandt

October has been jam packed with non-stop action. We moved from Hawaii to Minnesota. We celebrated our sixth year of marriage. We had a family reunion with all Eric's clan. I started an internship at a bridal magazine and landed a job at a school here in Minneapolis. Our new life was busy, but unpacking nicely. 

Then, on Wednesday, E's Dad had a bicycle accident that put him in intensive care. He had brain surgery around 4:30 p.m. to remove blood and bruising from his brain. The surgeon left part of the skull out so that his brain would have room to swell without a buildup of pressure in his brain. 

Since the surgery, he has been in a medically induced coma to help him keep still and rest. His bed is a rat's nest of tubes and wires. His face and eyes are bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition. The surgeon's incision on his head is a slithering rail road track of staples across his puckered and yellow skin. 

I can't say that I am shocked by what has happened. I thought I felt hopeful and optimistic at first, but now, I am not so sure. Recovery from brain injury is measured in months and years, not weeks. 

I watch him lying there, listening to the hum of the machines, and the clicks of the respirator and the beeping of the monitor, and I can't help but marvel at our glorious bodies, and how much they do on their own when they are healthy. I look at all these tubes snaking their way around his frail body, and they all have a purpose: they do the work the body normally does without assistance.

The most complicated apparatus helps him breathe. Two giant accordion tubes, one blue, one white, meet in a y at his chest and narrow into one blue tube forced down his throat and make their way to an oxygen tank. Another tube drains blood from the injury these tubes made in the back of his throat. It is clear and I can see that it is full of blood and mucus and air bubbles. One silvery white tube snakes down from a bag on a metal hanger above his head and into his nose, feeding him formula as if he were a tiny baby in a terrible science fiction movie. Another tube is connected to a vein in his arm, and this one supplies saline solution the doctors prescribed to help limit the swelling in his brain and organs. Yet another tube gives him medication to keep him sedated and still, because brain trauma often causes confusion and agitation in patients. Another tube pulls fluids out of his stomach and fills a series of quart sized canisters behind him with foul looking bubbling brown bile. Soft, but heartbreaking restraints bind his wrists to the bed so that he can't try to remove the bewildering jumble of tubes inserted straight into his mouth. Even more tubes are snaking out from underneath his hospital gown, hidden from view. How they are connected, I can only guess. 

I sit there beside him and marvel at how my body is executing all these functions for me without any help at all. My lungs are filling and emptying regularly, by themselves. My stomach is digesting food and moving it through my body to give me strength and energy. The waste is being collected and controlled. All without my asking anything of it, my body does these tasks. I never have to consider it. 

Here at the hospital, they can keep Dad alive, but look at the measures they must go to. Look at all the equipment they need, all the needles and tubes and beeping machines. During weekday mornings a team gathers in the ICU to make the rounds with each of the patients here. They give updates and discuss their various duties to collaborate and avoid mix ups. On that first day, when I saw all of them gathered outside of his door, I felt so humbled by the preciousness of life. There were so many of them, all there to help save him. There was the brain surgeon, the trauma doctor, the pharmacist, the breathing therapist, the nurses, the social worker, and others whose jobs I don't even understand. All these people who don't even know Dad, they don't know anything about him at all, but they know that his life is precious and they have gathered around to rescue him from the darkness that wants to swallow him up. 

I have been so angry with him, since before this accident even happened. I was so angry about his lack of dignity, his lack of will to pull himself together and face the problems that he had created by ignoring problems for so many years. I still am angry about all of that. But seeing him in this bed, and knowing that he is alive, I know beyond a doubt that I don't want him to die. I want him alive, I want to see him hold my little babies some day, I want to hear him tell his stories about growing up in Millard, Nebraska. I want to watch him jut out his chin in that pompous and silly way as he and E and I sit around the patio table discussing the universe, travel, the point of art, the meaning of life. I had no idea of the depth of my love until now. I was so blind, I thought a few bad choices could turn it all sour. But what is any of that compared with his one wild and precious life? His life? What is worth more than that? 

How Not to Complain About the Weather; A Handy Thesaurus for Thriving in a Minnesota Winter

Late Fall by Matte Art on Etsy 

Obviously, the hardest part about moving from Hawaii to Minnesota is the change in weather. I've learned a lot about how your attitude affects your experience, and I am taking a solemn vow not to complain about the coming winter. Eric and I had a good laugh yesterday as we discussed just exactly what words are allowed, because obviously, one still needs to describe the weather and frankly, it's already pretty cold. The point is just to withhold judgement of it. This is a great exercise because we can't change it anyway, so it's best not to fight it.

Here are some words to describe cool weather without grumbling:

Brisk
Crisp
Nippy
Zippy
Invigorating!
Zesty

We discovered that words used in gum, mint, mouthwash and toothpaste advertisements are also useful. For example:

Minty
Zingy
Fresh
Clean
Sparkling
Dazzling
Glittery

What would you add to our list? It's not quite winter here yet, and there are some beautiful fall colors on the trees. Our new attic apartment sits right at the tree line and so all our windows are filled with the rustling of vividly glowing lemon yellow leaves. I'm going to enjoy each one until the snowflakes fly.

Living Small

Tiny Terra Cotta Cottage by Meowness on Etsy

When we arrived back to Hawaii on July 23^rd, my number one goal was to empty our storage unit so that all our belongings could comfortably fit inside the tree house. With a floor plan of about 250 square feet, I knew we had to downsize.

We spent ten days in the sweltering hot concrete storage unit among piles of bins, boxes, and garbage bags stuffed with clothes, pots, pans, craft supplies, tennis racquets, beach chairs and snorkel gear. Luckily, letting go of things wasn’t nearly as hard when I knew there was simply no place for them.

After the garage sale, I expected to feel wiped out, exhausted or even a little sad. It was exactly the opposite; letting go of all those things made me feel light and energized.  I wanted company, fun and conversation. We ended up cooking a celebratory meal for Kristin in our new place and toasting to our newly tiny existence.

We’ve been living in this small space for a month now, and the downsizing hasn’t stopped. Extra teacups, plates, placemats, toiletries, and clothes have been steadily trickling out the door. Letting go of these things hasn’t diminished my quality of life at all. In fact, less to manage, sort, clean, and worry about, I’ve felt a surge of creativity that had been absorbed and dampened by managing all those extra things. Who knew that less space could create more space for myself?

I’m reading The Small House Bookby Jay Schaffer of Tumbleweed Homes, and I loved this section on subtractive design:

“ A well designed little house is like an oversized house with the unusable parts removed. Such refinement is achieved through subtractive design... Everything not enhancing the quality of life within a dwelling must go…Extra bathrooms, bedrooms, gables, and extra space require extra money, time and energy from the occupants. Superfluous luxury items are a burden. A simple home, unfettered by extraneous gadgets, is the most effective labor-saving device there is.” Pg 78

It costs an awful lot of money to live large, but you also pay in time and energy. If you live small, you can enhance your life by having more time to yourself because you aren’t slaving away at a job you hate to pay for your massive home, and you won’t spend the weekends mowing and vacuuming acres of extra space.  That sounds worthwhile to me.

Stay Like a Local on the Big Island of Hawaii: Massage and Yoga with Yuki Agoot

Yuki teaches yoga and offers massage services at her beautiful studio in Kailua Kona on The Big Island.

In Shenzhen, there was a culture of massage for health, and it was so affordable that I adopted a monthly massage habit. To keep it affordable when I came back stateside, I started frequenting massage schools, where you can usually get an hour long student massage for around $40.

Then, a friend introduced me to the lovely Yuki Agoot, who was running a special promotion for teachers. I had never had a regular masseuse before, and it completely transformed the experience for me. Suddenly, my massage experience was consistent and I knew what to expect during each visit. Yuki took the time to ask about my body, what areas needed work and what my stress level was like. Her expertise became obvious to me when I arrived with a lingering cold and she gave special attention to releasing muscles around my shoulder blades, lungs and throat that completely cleared my lymphatic system. I could actually feel the drainage happening and could breathe freely for the first time in weeks.

Yuki's massage methods are also informed by her interest in yoga, which made me curious to try her alignment yoga classes. Listening to her describe mountain pose deepened my understanding of a simple standing posture that I thought I "knew" already. She brought our attention to the four different points of the foot, and encouraged us to balance our weight across each of those points equally while imagining becoming one with the earth beneath you. Try it and see what it does for your awareness and presence in this moment.

Yuki has been my masseuse for over two years now, but more than that, she has come to be a kind of spiritual mentor. She is a living, breathing example of a grounded, centered, open hearted human who gives something back to the world around her.

If you live on Big Island, or are here for vacation, go see her. Her studio is located near Costco above Ceviche Dave's. Inside, there are beautiful dark hardwood floors and a sweeping view of the ocean. Pilates machines and balance balls line the walls. Her private massage space is softly lit, with massage certificates in bamboo frames on one wall, and full color anatomy illustrations on the other. Yuki asks how your body is, and you have a chance to talk about what you would like from the experience. She slips out so you can undress and get on the fancy electric table, which she adjusts depending on what part of your body she is working on. The music is soft and thougtful- never cheesy, just soothing. Yuki's massage is thorough with special attention to tense areas that resist movement. I usually drift in and out, and when it's time to get off the table, I arise feeling revived for whatever is next in my life.

Thanks for all the help staying in the moment,Yuki. Namaste!

A Reminder: Perfection is Now.

photo via Smithsonian Natural History Museum

"The world is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment, every sin already carries grace in it." -Herman Hesse via The Writer's Almanac


What's that? Eleven days since my last post? I haven't written a thing about my visit to New York City yet? Oh dear, I've been in Minneapolis for exactly a week already, and I haven't written about that either? My belly is rolling out from so much eating out and too many cocktails? I'm having trouble staying in my body, living in this moment? I'm trying to manage other people's lives and energies again? 


Here's the lovely thing, I can forgive myself for all these sins, not just because I'm on vacation, but because I am learning to let go and come back to my center whenever I finally notice that I have wandered away from it. 


I made it to yoga at last this morning. And I felt teary eyed more than once as my body continued to remind me how much I had needed to be kind to it and how much sadness I had been storing up needlessly. It felt so good to just let it go, let it go, let it go. My teacher's words of wisdom echoed out again, "The spirit loves it when you care for your body."


Have you had any reminders to savor this exact moment recently? I'd love to hear about them. 

Don't Remake; Just Awake!

It's mid month, but my January magazine subscriptions have just arrived. January issues are never my favorite- they are always skimpy and austere. After all the excesses of the holidays, that feels good and right most of the time. After feasting, buying and celebrating, fasting, saving and quiet feel just right. To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.

But this year as I flipped through the pages, urging me to start a cleanse or rid my life of clutter once and or all, I was shocked at all the striving. Each page reflected a deep belief that only greater and greater effort will make me into a person deserving of love, admiration, success. Yet that endless pushing is what makes life so unbearable at times.

Those pages reinforce the idea that I am not good enough the way I am at this moment. I need to lose weight or find a better career, or learn to speak fluent Spanish first. And oddly enough, believing that I need to become better seems to prevent me from recognizing how beautiful I already am. With no changes. Just as I am. Just as my life is in this moment.

Instead, I am learning to practice just being. I am learning to stop judging, myself and others both. It's about really living in this body I have, and I am starting to see that doesn't mean I have to go sky diving or spend my 30th Birthday in Paris on top of the Eiffel Tower. How well I am living my life has nothing to do with how glamorous my life appears to be.

Really living means being present enough in this moment right now to feel my fingers gently rap on the keys. Hear the delicate clicking noises my keyboard makes as my fingers sail across it. As I concentrate on listening to all that, I suddenly hear the bird song outside too, doves cooing and a wild cacophony of cackling from the Myna birds. I can hear one grounds keeper outside whistling to himself, then stop for a moment to chat with a friend in Filipino. I feel my back against the cushions I am resting on, the blanket touching my skin. I feel my life inside me.

That surrender to the moment is far too rare in my life. Instead, I've been rewarding myself for surviving unpleasantness with tiny pleasures (food! shopping!) or in anticipation of them. I've been surviving. This is a shadow life and I feel as if I am waking up as from a very very deep sleep. In stages, gradually, slowly, inch by inch.

How do you remember to stay present in your life? I am re-reading "The Power of Now" and it serves as a great introduction to these ideas. The first time I read it though, it was like stirring up a hornet's nest. I felt like I was losing my mind! (I'm sure Eckhart Tolle would say that is precisely what happens when you begin to awake because you learn not to give the mind such deference.) Yoga seems to help as well- did you know yoga means "to yoke"? It teaches the practitioner how to yoke the mind and body together so that they act in service of the spirit. What a beautiful lesson!

Book Report: Women, Food & God by Geneen Roth

The beginning of a New Year feels like the perfect time to write about Women, Food and God, because our culture touts January 1st as the time to dive into yet another punishing diet, take up a grueling work out routine and finally transform yourself into A Skinny Person Who Has It All and Is Blissfully Happy.

Geneen Roth calls this Sisyphean. That rock is doomed to roll back down the hill.

I've just finished reading this book for a second time because I wanted to pass it along to a friend and fellow blogger. The first time, I read the entire thing on a plane ride in a few hours. This time, I took my time and read it slowly, a chapter every other night or so. (The difference between inhaling three pieces of sheet cake and savoring one really good piece of chocolate.)

The premise of Women, Food and God is that many of us are disconnected from our bodies, and therefore from our most direct access to our divinity. This book intends to help women come back into their bodies, respect them, listen to them and stop their incessant battle with food.

No small feat.

What I both love and hate about this approach is that it demands that you address the source of the problem. Getting To The Bottom Of It is hugely attractive in theory. Once and for all. But this isn't about getting in touch with your emotions surrounding food so you can untangle every past hurts or your parents' failings. It's about sensing those emotions so you can see that you have attached them to food, and then move beyond them.

In practice however, I find myself deeply inclined to bolt. I have many tactics for this. My personal favorite is "This doesn't really affect me. My problem with food isn't this bad. I've never eaten an entire cake. I don't have fifty pounds to loose." Comparisons keeps me from meeting my issues at the place where I am, and therefore keep me from dealing with them.

Another favorite is to notice how those issues might be showing up in the life of someone close to me. As I re-read, I noticed the notes I had made in the margin the first time around. They were rife with connections between Mrs. Roth's words and other people in my life. Eek. Another way of avoiding my issues.

Then there are the thousand ways I "bolt" in my day to day. So much of it is habitual and totally unconscious. I wake up in the morning and often one of the first things I do is get sucked down the rabbit hole of the internet. Like Alice, I float there in a nether region, totally disembodied, while hours float by. It's far more compelling for me than television. I saw an article on Arianna Huffington in Vogue the other day that said "She has recognized that the entertainment of our times is self expression." That hit home for me. What else am I spending my time on the internet doing than crafting a facsimile of who I'd like to be? It's a way of adopting an identity without really inhabiting it. But it sure looks good. You can start to understand what seduces people into spending 20 hours a day gaming on World of Warcraft. It's a life within a life- but you can turn it into anything you like effortlessly. And yet, it comes at a great cost to your actual life. The one that is sacred.

I also love to bolt by shopping. There again is an element of fantasy for me. Just yesterday I was in Target checking out the after Christmas SALE (my biggest turn on!) and found myself staring longingly at a golden galvanized bin. The sort you would put drinks in at a party. As I size it up, I imagine the party I'd have- it is suddenly filled with ice and Vueve Clicquot. All my friends are gathered around in tuxedos and sequins, popping corks merrily, glasses brimming with foam. Everyone is laughing. Everyone loves me. We are all living to the fullest. Our life is uproariously good. How much is the tub that will bring me all of this? Six dollars? Why, that's my emotional price point!

I'm perfectly willing to pay six dollars to buy a piece of that fantasy. But it disappears immediately. Instead, I come home with a big clunky galvanized tub that I have to make room for- inciting a frenzy of organizing and de-junking (probably more bolting in that compulsion. I am Virtuous and Good when I fill a bag for the thrift shop. I am Not Attached to Earthly Stuff.) There it sits gathering dust. And even if I do someday have the Champagne Party of my Dreams, it can never match up to the fantasy and afterwards I am left feeling slightly empty and deflated.

Have you noticed that I've left food bolting for last? I suppose it's the most embarrassing and perhaps the one I bring the least awareness to. I'll be cleaning up after dinner, and rather than put the last spoonful of pasta or curry into a Tupperware (or the trash) I'll put it in my mouth. Or after I finish tidying the kitchen, I feel as though I deserve a treat, and I'll pop in a chocolate. Sometimes I feel a little twinge of guilt or disgust, but mostly, I feel nothing about it. Numbness.

I am capable of genuinely savoring food, a real gift from my parents to me. But another thing I've noticed is that I will allow myself to become so ravenously hungry that I am unwilling to take the time to prepare food for myself. I often rely on Eric to cook for me. Or, I will raid the cupboards and pull out something that can be ready Right. This. Second. Chips and Salsa. A sleeve or Oreos. Crackers and Cheese. A bowl of nuts. Cereal. Can of Soup. Instant. Instant. Instant.

So my job is to bring awareness to those moments. Instead of stuffing, I am learning to pause and think. Notice my body. Notice if I am hungry or not. Notice what my body actually wants to eat, not what my mind tells me I want. It may not be easy at first, but luckily the only tool I need is this body I am learning to live in.

Have you read this book? What did you think of it? Can you offer any ideas on how to inhabit and savor this one wild and precious life?

I am Thankful for Oxygen.

Breathe from joyshoppe

Yesterday at school, I was grading student work. The topic, naturally, was thankfulness.

"I am thankful for earth, shelter, food, water, oxygen, a family, love, freedom, education, and pretty much everything."

Of course, this answer made me laugh. Who is thankful for oxygen?

But later, I thought, he is so right! We should be thankful for oxygen! Without it, life would be pretty bleak. A vacuum. The opposite of life. No-thing-ness.

It's easy enough to set aside one day to pay lip service to all we have. Most of the essays I looked at yesterday held the variation we still regurgitate as adults on such occasions; Family, friends, good food, a nice home.

Sure, we are grateful for those things. They are wonderful and we appreciate them, or at the very least, remember that we are supposed to appreciate them.

But what about just breathing? What about the tremendous and awe inspiring gift of life?

Your life is worth something merely because you exist. There is nothing you can do (or not do!) to make it worth less.

You can screw up the turkey. You can have a shouting match with your father right at the dinner table in front of all your relatives. You can be a Kardashian. You could have failed the bar exam (or passed the bar exam!). You could eat Thanksgiving dinner alone in a booth at Denny's. You could have negative five hundred dollars in your checking account.

Your life could be a failure (or a success) by all the measures of our culture, and you could still have this precious gift of life to be grateful for. Spend a moment basking in the glow of that knowledge on this Thankgiving Day. How tremendous. How humbling.