i am the water

More Delights for the Caffeine Sensitive and Menopause-Afflicted

2011-02-15T12:16:00.000-05:00

Always on the search for divine, but caffeine-free beverages (as opposed to decaffeinated which usually have a tiny amount of caffeine—enough, sadly, to set me off), I have happily found my replacement for chai tea, a particular favorite of mine.

As I have been working on my new Green Travel App for Vermont foods and eateries I have found some wonderful products, including much to my delight, Chai Wallah. Tucked away in southern Vermont, Neil Harley uses his experiences as a chef and world traveler to create authentic chai teas and spices. Chai Wallah is certified as an organic processor, since they use only certified organic and fair-trade spices and teas grown by indigenous farmers around the world. Without Neil and his expert blending, my chai would not be the same.

The recipe is simple—brew up a pot of Rooibos tea (pronounced roy-bus), a South African legume tea. My favorite brands are Equal Exchange and Chai-Wallah, both organic and fair-trade.

To the Rooibos tea add 1 teaspoon of Chi-Wallah's Chai Spice-Only (sans organic teas).

I let it steep and then, hmmm…. enjoy with no ill-effects. Thank you Neil for making a tremendous chai-spice blend for those of us who need to (regrettably) abstain from caffeine.

If you are on the road and want to enjoy some of Chai-Wallah's offerings you can find their products at the Brattleboro Food Co-op in Brattleboro, Vermont, where they sell the dry mixes in the bulk department and serve freshly made Chai-Wallah at the deli, available with soy or cow's milk.

Banning Reincarnation

2011-02-14T16:46:00.004-05:00

I have a stack of work sitting next to me at my desk, but I can't help but let the headline from The Times of India distract me from my pile, "New Chinese Law Banning Dalai Lama Reincarnation."

Really?

You can "ban" reincarnation? Isn't that a little like saying you are banning death? I guess you can ban the belief in reincarnation, but the practice of it? I mean let's face it, it either happens or it doesn't. Can you really ban it?

This is the Chinese government's latest attempt to eradicate a millennium of Tibetan culture, identity, and philosophy, and to dominate a people, so the Chinese government can control its land and resources. Sounds so painfully close to what the United States did to Native Americans, to what the Spaniards did to the South American natives, to what European colonists did to almost every corner of Africa, and what white Australians did to the Aborigines. And sadly this is just to name the atrocities that have been perpetrated in the last six hundred years.

Why do we as humans continue this habitual dysfunctional behavior fueled by greed for power, control and riches? As Daniel Quinn says in his classic book Ishmael, herein lies the basic difference between the “Leavers” and the “Takers”. The “Takers” world-view is that “the world belongs to man” and the “Leavers” is that “man belongs to the world.” We are in the middle of the “Taker” conundrum, where we rape the world for the use of man and then have nothing left. It doesn’t sound like a very logical strategy, even though it seems to be currently employed by every country in the world, China being one of the most fervent participants.

The Tibetan Plateau is called the "Roof of the World" or the "Third Pole". The Plateau is currently home to over 36 million acres of forest, countless wildlife, and extensive reserves of gold, copper, zinc, iron, oil and other precious minerals that lie under the ground awaiting exploitation. In addition to tangible resources, the Plateau offers space, a necessary component for a country with four times the population of the United States but with roughly the same geographic area. In today's BBC News, China is reported as being the second largest economy in the world, second only to the United States, and on a fast-track to first place within the decade. Between land capacity needs for a huge and growing population, as well as a thriving and quickly expanding economy dependent on untapped mineral and fuel supplies, China would seemingly have plenty of reasons to flex its muscle and move into Tibet.

However, that is merely the tip of the glacier. The single greatest resource in Tibet is not the tremendous mineral deposits, but the truly invaluable, colossal supply of fresh water from its 14 million acres of glaciers. Something in the order of forty percent of the world's population (2.6 billion people) relies on the waters stemming from the Tibetan Plateau. These water resources not only provide drinking water for billions of people, but the Asian rivers that are fed by the Tibetan Plateau watershed are what sustain Asia's rice crops, accounting for a staggering 72% of the world rice production.

Fresh, potable water is the dwindling resource of the future. As Robin Williams jokes in his Live on Broadway show, "This shit is going to be more precious than oil"…"people are going to be going, pssst…yo, I got water and if you want it cold, I got ice, m--f--."

So the most populated country on earth is making a calculated and critical decision to lay siege on a generally peaceful, self-sufficient culture for the sake of land mass, minerals and, for what next to oxygen is the single most important life-giving substance on the planet, pure water. So critical is water to all known forms of life, it is what is looked for when searching for signs of life on other planets. Put that way it almost sounds like fair game. But what the Chinese have not factored into their territory grab is that the Tibetans have been doing a pretty good job of keeping Tibet in a state of ecosystem balance. While glaciers are retreating due to the onslaught of global industrial pollution and mismanagement, Tibetans have, as much as is in their control, kept the region, and therefore the watershed, intact. What will it look like after Chinese mining, urbanization, dam building and population migration, not to mention the increasing pollution coming from China's current factories and industries?

Hmm….how to control the water and all those other riches? Ban reincarnation!—sounds like a plan. I am sure the Chinese are hoping that in doing so they will not only crush the will of the Tibetan people, but also save themselves from an eternity of bad karma for their rape of the earth and Tibetan genocide.

I have some bad news for them. Bad karma or the effects of a “Taker” mentality are already evident. The astonishing levels of pollution from almost a century of earth-abuse are shrinking the glaciers that are integral to the watershed and the climate. The Himalayan glaciers are diminishing and the temperatures are increasing in the region at twice the global average. Carbon dioxide and Black Carbon (BC)—literally soot in the atmosphere—both products of China's massive use of coal, and other global pollutants—are affecting the dwindling, long-term, critical water storage. Instead of managing what resources and technologies they have within China, the Chinese are expanding to greener pastures. What will they do once they have exhausted the Tibetan Plateau? Where will clean, plentiful water come from then? What will become of those billions and billions of people unable to grow rice or drink fresh water?

I think the Chinese had better rethink their stance on reincarnation. Let those monks and lamas continue to reincarnate. It may be prove to be the Chinese only salvation.

Lessons on the Menopausal Trail.....

2011-02-08T17:54:00.000-05:00

I had a whole day symptom-free—like a divine, luxurious treat from a long forgotten time. It has been so long since I have felt comfortable in my own body that my new default is a day with symptoms, not without. So this day was refreshing and of note—I had more energy, and had for me what felt like a normal day, without the edginess and uneasiness.

My question to myself as I sigh with satisfaction at my day, is if this is how I were to feel from now on would I slide back into some of my unhealthy habits that probably landed me with my extreme perimenopausal symptoms to begin with—pushing myself, not taking care of myself, putting others needs always before my own, getting on adrenaline or caffeine jags, feeling like I have to do more and more and more. It is somewhat like an addict waiting for the next fix—obviously not sustainable.

Can I stay wise and sage-like, balancing my energy, caring for myself, making space and time?
I had a flash this evening thinking, "Whew, maybe that's the end of it and I can get back to normal"......here in lies my danger zone. I need to combine my old normalcy of energy and lack of uncomfortable and debilitating symptoms, with my new normalcy of watching out for myself, remembering to write and dance and sit on the couch with my children undistracted by my to-do list, mindful of eating and of managing my energy reserves.

While I fear that this day just happened to be a bizarre hormonal blip in my march on the menopausal trail, I am trying to envision it as a sighting of times ahead where I feel like I have my life back, but this time on my terms, showering myself with the same attention and care I would my children.

So I end this lovely day, not with trying to push it out and working extra late, but with deep deep gratitude for a delicious, comfortable, hope-giving, jewel of a day.....
deep gratitude for the window into the possibility of my life.

Recipes for the Caffeine Sensitive and Menopause-Afflicted

2011-01-24T13:21:00.002-05:00

One of the less fortunate effects of perimenopause (I really dislike that word speaking of cranky) for me is that my usual sensitivity to caffeine has skyrocketed making it absolutely impossible for my body to tolerate even microscopic amounts of caffeine, no matter how beneficial the supposed source (so no green tea, dark chocolate, or "decaf" items). This to me is actually a tragedy, not just an annoyance. During the periods (no pun intended) I want or need caffeine and chocolate the most, I am not able to partake—a cruel twist. So I have come up with my own substitutes. I hope those of you similarly afflicted will find some solace in these recipes.

I need to preface the following by saying that I am not a huge soy-food fan. I do like tofu if it is fresh, especially when it is combined with pesto (just about anything mixed with pesto is delicious in my book), and I like fresh miso, but that is about it. Most other soy products make me gag. So my concoction below was a happy discovery since I seem to benefit from the mild suppression of excess estrogen which soy milk offers.

My Cup o'Joe

1) In a French Press Coffee Maker (about 1 Qt size) put in 3 small scoops (about 3 Tablespoons) of Orzo (see more on Orzo below)*
2) Fill the Press with just-boiled water, place the cover on but do not press, rather let it sit
3) Separately grind cardamon, cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg (sometimes ginger, fennel and/or black pepper too as to mood and preference) in a mortar & pestle
4) Mix the spices with 1 cup of soy milk—not just any soy milk, but Vermont Soy Plain soy milk which is prepared from Vermont-grown, organic and GMO-free soy beans. The Unsweetened "flavor" has no sweeteners or flavors and has the highest protein content so also the highest isoflavone content—phytonutrients which some women find helpful with their menopausal symptoms.
(For some more information about soy and menopause see Women to Women)
5) Press the orzo and add about half of it to the soy milk and spice mixture. Pour into a mug and enjoy.
(Save the other half for a cold Orzo-latte or drink plain—it is delicious and reminiscent of black-coffee)

*For more information about Orzo/Caffe Orzo, see Orzo You Say?

Orzo—finding the good stuff in the U.S.: Fortunately for those of us who do not find ourselves in Italy, Two Leaves and a Bud, purveyors of fine teas, imports what I found to be one of the best Orzos in Italy from Alce Nero. You can order it online or find it at local stores. It is available locally in the Upper Valley at the Upper Valley Food Coop, 185 North Main St., White River Jct, VT 05001; Tel: 802-295-5804

I have recently found that I can tolerate very small amounts of raw cocoa nibs and raw cocoa, although even these I must limit. Raw cocoa is not stimulant-free, it contains theobromine, a compound similar to caffeine. Raw cocoa can also contribute to excess estrogen so moderation is extremely recommended if you suffer from caffeine-sensitivity and excess estrogen. I find that if I stick to moderation, for some reason also easier to do with raw rather than regular cocoa, I can be satiated with something relatively healthy when I am having a wild chocolate craving.

Chocolate Truffle Fix

6 whole dates- soaked for 30 to 60 minutes
1 Tablespoon Raw Agave nectar
1 Tablespoon Raw Coconut Oil
1/3 cup raw, dried shredded coconut
1/6 cup raw cocoa powder
1-2 Tablespoons water from the soaked dates
Optional: 1 teaspoon organic peppermint extract (for those that like mint-chocolate (guilty)

Pit the dates and throw all the ingredients into a food processor. Blend until a thick paste.

Place 1/4-1/2 cup of raw cocoa nibs on a plate and roll teaspoonfuls of the paste into balls in the nibs. I recommend making small balls so that you protect yourself from eating more than might be tolerable.

Eat plain, or with sliced bananas, and serve with an orzo Cup o'Joe. Enjoy!

The Checklist Manifesto and the Buddha

2011-01-23T16:06:00.000-05:00

In the Checklist Manifesto, author Atul Gawande writes how most professionals adhere to a spoken or unspoken code of ethics and expectations which include selflessness (especially doctors, teachers, soldiers, and pilots); skill and striving towards excellence; and trustworthiness—in some professions this includes honoring confidentiality.

Gawande notes that pilots and airline personnel add a fourth to the list—discipline, including the discipline and criticalness of working with others. As he has detailed in his book (an interesting and excellent read) one of the most event-altering aspects of successful checklists is taking a few moments to set the teamwork tone—acknowledging the importance of all the players in reaching beneficial outcomes whether in surgeries, flights, investments, construction, or classrooms.

While Gawande provides remarkable stories and statistics illuminating the benefits of the seemingly humble checklist, it is the subject of teamwork that I found most profound. I noticed myself getting choked up (not that difficult in this hormonally-charged act of my life) whenever his stories covered the life-saving results of teamwork—when people connecting with a common mission, even when they do not know each other, make the professional as well as psychic commitment to work together.

So here in this well-written, fairly brief book, is a fundamental message about honoring our connection to each other and in fact all things. As human beings when we truly work collectively, cooperatively and collaboratively, we are capable of extraordinary tasks—even miracles.

I hear the Buddha... recognizing our interdependency, seeing ourselves in others, understanding that we are not separate.

Namaste.

Zumba....yummmba....

2011-01-21T19:25:00.000-05:00

Oxygen mask deployed!

I have found zumba!

It brought me back to my dancing days which were what feels like centuries ago, but actually merely decades ago. There is something about skipping and leaping that ignite the cellular memories of being a child with no concerns other than the moment. The minutiae of a child’s focus on hopscotch or jacks or roller skating or jumping-rope or dancing....the all-that-matters-in-that-moment activities that captivate the mind of a child with the concomitant concerns of not falling or missing the ball. This is what often eludes adults and we quest for in meditation and stress-relieving pursuits. For children it comes naturally. When do we lose that? and why? And does it get lost in all cultures or just ours?

I tasted it last night. At the beginning of the class, my friend and I looked at each other after the initial two minutes of class and thought we would never make it the whole hour. My friend said, “I’ll meet you in the lobby”, which made me snort with laughter.

Next thing we knew we were craning our necks to follow the muscular, toned teacher, working up our own sweat and the hour had zumbaed by.

Our minds were empty, our bodies stretched and maneuvered in ways very dimly remembered as possible, and we were energized. Does the Buddha zumba? In his/its own way, I believe so. Boogie on.

Clip art courtesy of www.free-clipart-pictures.net

Buddha and Mother Earth on Day 4

2011-01-19T17:19:00.000-05:00

An old friend wrote me today, someone with whom my life was inextricably linked many years ago, but whom I rarely see or communicate with now. We were exchanging a bit of news about the greening of everything and she wrote,

“....some other things going on around here remind me of how ahead of your time you were, Dorian! Throwing out all things plastic, as radical as it appeared, was right on. You also introduced me to organic food in 1984—light years ahead of the mainstream. Such a trendsetter, you are!”

I had not thought of my plastic purging for years. Funny to think of it now since then it was all pre-blog, pre-life-as-we-know-it, certainly as our kids know it. What would I have blogged then? Possibly how everyone, even our dearest friends, thought we (read me) were nuts. Some tried to hide it, but most thinly veiled their horror at my purging.

In many ways it was very Buddha-like. I was removing items that in their manufacture harmed people. I was happily letting go of these possessions even though some were special to me. I did not want to contribute to the suffering of others, even if peripherally. I as the consumer could be held responsible for their suffering, and the earth’s, the same as Dow Chemical since I had participated in the demand for synthetic products. I wanted no part in that. Nor do I now. But plastics and electronics have seeped back in my life—far less than most people—but still there.

When I read about the mountains of electronic waste in Africa and Asia filled with toxic heavy metals and see pictures of children digging in the piles to make some money from our discarded computers and cell phones, I wonder how as a world community we can make this work so that we don’t ruin the planet and innocent lives.

Will it all merely implode and the world will start afresh? Do greed and the dark side win as it were? Is that inevitable? Do we, like Sisyphus, keep dealing with the same issue over and over—handle one toxin as we create another? Conquer one illness only to be besieged by even worse ones? Defeat one dictator, to be ruled by another more insidious one?

Can we accept our humanness, but proceed creatively with concern for all sentient beings rather than just the wealthiest 10-20%? It seems to me that nature can not be inherently so inequitable as to only cater to the wealthiest even though statistics show that the world’s wealthiest 20% consume over 75% of its resources, leaving trashed electronics and other waste products for the remaining 80%.

I would like to think that we humans can harness our minds so we can consciously aspire to act in ways that will benefit all sentient beings—all living creatures—and level the playing field without the field being a toxic waste landfill.

Considering it is so difficult for even one person as willing as I am to truly practice some basic Buddhist teachings, maybe in fact, it is not possible. But the alternative of not trying seems inconceivable. So I am doing my daily part, writing on my computer which is destined someday to be e-waste, focusing on love and compassion for myself faced with this incongruity, as well as all sentient beings and for mother earth, who seems to be the most taken advantage of, misunderstood, overworked, stressed-out, ravaged and abused single parent in the world.

Photo courtesy of NASA: http://visibleearth.nasa.gov/view_rec.php?id=2429

Day 3 on the Buddha Trail

2011-01-18T14:21:00.000-05:00

Just saw Fela, a performance about the Nigerian musician and human rights activist Fela Anikulapo Kuti. He was a man of genius and passion—a crazy person who suffered great losses and horrors. The story is a chilling reminder of the recurring cycle of war and the heinous crimes humans inflict on one another.

It is late and cold. I am lying in a hot bath warming and relaxing. You would think this would be the perfect venue for peaceful and loving feelings but lying quietly after the stirring performance, thoughts about a former boss and a former husband bubble up and churn a bit. I have plenty of acrimony and disrespect treading water inside of me that, while dormant most of the time, are clearly lurking around the dark edges waiting for moments to surface and pounce. It is only day 3 and I am failing miserably at my aspiring buddaness.

Here is a looming question:
How do we feel compassion for and forgive our “enemies” or those who have betrayed or hurt us, while still protecting ourselves so we do not fall prey to it again? This is my question large and small—regarding horrible wars and crimes, as well as seemingly small (compared to war) personal traumas. How does the Buddha deal with this, short of meditating in a cave for twenty years?

As the thoughts twirl in my brain I notice a difference in my response to the long-ago injuries. My mature personality, if that is what you can call it, emerging a bit. Is that what we call this menopausal act of our lives? And I never get that correct either—are we perimenopausal? Who on earth came up with such an awkward name to describe what is rather like hell on a bad day. A euphemism for ripping cranky and borderline nuts? All I know is that I look forward to the passing of this stage with great anticipation.

That said, whether it is turning fifty or the process of perimenopause, I have certainly turned my outlook around in a not very Buddhist way. Man, do I have less tolerance about any number of things. Most especially I seem to have completely lost my tolerance for succumbing to playing the role of the one who must be at fault. That seems a very old and musty pattern from childhood. This is what I ask, please do not make it about me when it is about you. (I am fully willing to take responsibility if it is truly about me). Have you noticed how many times people make something about you when it is about them? I am so over that. Maybe that is a gift of this menopausal moment. Own it and move on.

So day 3 is ending up with awareness but not so much buddhaness....I will keep trying.

Day 2 postscript: Put Our Oxygen Mask on Ourselves First, Not Last

2011-01-18T14:17:00.000-05:00

Posting something I tried to do as a comment last night in response to the Day Two post that I found helpful. Now I have a visual so I am posting here and then will add my Day 3 post.

A friend who read this post wrote me that where she got stuck was wondering how does it look to give to yourself in meaningful and supportive ways?
It is such an important question. I am groping with this for sure. The most obvious, but I for one let it slide almost every day, is setting aside space and time for myself. That is if I am looking at my calendar and either work or family stuff comes up, my first reaction is not, "oh no I can't do that then because I must exercise/meditate/write/read/paint/dance/sing"...(whatever it is that FEEDS us), but rather that space/time is the FIRST thing to go to make space and time for what others need or want or for what feeds them.
As mothers it is easy to get locked in that pattern since when our children are small there needs often must take precedence, but somehow as they grow we forget to shift our default mode back to feeding ourselves first instead of last. You know how when you are on an airplane and the stewardess is reviewing the emergency directions and she says to put the oxygen mask on your own face FIRST before your children's? Well, we need to do that everyday—put our oxygen mask on ourselves first, not last.

Answering this has helped me clarify this for myself. I am going to dig out that darn oxygen mask before tomorrow!

Day Two on the Buddha Path

2011-01-17T13:04:00.000-05:00

Part of my mid-life conundrum is that of work and career. A dear friend who is also a professional individual and organizational coach has been helping me with skill and personality assessments. A very interesting thing emerged in the process. I can’t say it was a surprise and yet as it unfolded, was most illuminating.

It was in the realm of Self-Regard and specifically making sure achievements are properly celebrated and rewarded. I received a flunking grade in this area—actually below flunking if that is possible. A discussion ensued to flush this out. The dominant example was that I have had three books published and never had a book party. As I stuttered and stammered to make excuses for never having organized a book event, my coach turned the tables and asked me what I would say to someone who found it almost impossible to celebrate and reward themselves. I answered that I would counsel my friend, massage client, professional colleague, or just about anyone, to honor themselves, nurture and nourish themselves, validate themselves.

She then said something that could have knocked me over with a feather....”imagine the possibilities of doing that to yourself—loving and caring for yourself the way you do others”.

Wow, what a thought. How powerful, how liberating. And also a bit terrifying. I am very good at loving and caring, that is toward others, most definitely not myself.

And yet in Buddhism self-love comes first. The Buddha wisely observed that someone who can practice “Metta” (loving kindness) towards themselves is much better able to share and radiate Metta to others.

Imagine...

Imagine...

1-11-11 A Day of Beginnings and Letting Go

2011-01-16T20:41:00.000-05:00

(apologies I wrote this on 1-11-11 and am just starting the posting process now)

1-11-11 seems auspicious,
since it happens only once a century. But after three people said that to me, it occurred to me that every date happens only once every century and that even in this technical age we still search endlessly, and possibly hopelessly, for meaning.

Nevertheless 1-11-11 seems like a good day to begin something new since I am already half way through my fiftieth year and had meant to start something new at the start of 50. I am not a big fan of the genre where you write about the top five or ten whatever, nor like in the Julie and Julia book/movie where she cooks a new recipe every day.

But I am going to broaden my approach and embark on just such an endeavor.

Having just finished another book about Tibetan culture and wisdom, a subject that has fascinated me for close to twenty-five years, I have decided to start practicing Buddhism on a deeper level—or at least trying to in earnest—exploring the depths of Buddhist attitudes and philosophies much more seriously than previous attempts.

Sounds like a good idea when you are somewhere in the middle of your life trying to make sense of why we are here.....to wreak destruction and suffering on each other? If that is the case then bring on the Prozac and the Vicodin, gin and the rest because that is too utterly depressing to contemplate. Being an optimist in my soul, I am opting for Door Number 2, which, I am hoping has hidden behind it something far more kind, peaceful, joyous and sensical.

So here I go on day 1 of feeling love more consciously and fully than normally...and hoping.....

1-11 was the day my father died 44 years ago—a good day to remember and let go all at the same time. A good practice. A good start.

Morning Thoughts on Body and Mind

2010-03-14T09:21:00.000-04:00

The quickest way to ruin any mood, but especially one that is remotely happy, is to go into a dressing room of a clothing store...where do they find those mirrors? They are the MOST unflattering, secret-revealing reflections known to woman.

How is it that no other mirrors divulge the same horrors? And why would stores employ such cruel betrayers, since I for one always end up leaving without making any purchase having been sufficiently dispirited by the image before me.

In the morning I face my middle age self in the bathroom mirror reflecting more than my body and age, but my mood and my perimenopausal state...at what age do we lock our mind's eye about ourselves? Surely not this one.....and yet there is wisdom and strength looking back me...would I trade that for a slim, taught, youthful figure? Tempting for sure, but interestingly I am not sure I would.

My Turning 50 Privilege

2010-01-25T05:14:00.000-05:00

In this year that I turn fifty I have taken it upon myself to identify the things that I dislike. I hope to sift them out of my life to the best of my ability. At the same time I hope to encourage and increase things that nourish and nurture me. I have no idea where the notion that I am magically entitled at the age of fifty to no longer have to put up with things that don’t agree with me and can enjoy more of the things that do – but I find the concept liberating.

As I was rudely awakened by my alarm clock from my particularly delicious deep sleep this morning I was reminded of my self-proclaimed prerogative. Here is the truth - and I am not ashamed of it as I might have been at some earlier time in my life – I hate getting up when it is dark. Just hate it. I have not figured out how to purge that from my life as long as I have a school-age child living in my house, but I certainly look forward to the time when it is no longer necessary.

While on this tangent, a few other things I dislike. I don’t like having to put the toilet seat down in my own house nor do I like how gross it gets from living with two men. I can now understand why people who can afford it often choose to have separate bathrooms – or at least have a urinal installed. Since good sleep can be hard to come by in my peri-menopausal stirrings, I sleep much better alone without the snoring and frequent excursions to the bathroom by my husband. I only get to exercise this privilege when he is away, but again now have a clearer appreciation for the seemingly archaic practice of separate bedrooms.

These seem like cranky little annoyances but when I ponder if this is how I want to proceed for the entire second half of my life they take on a larger impact – why in fact should I have to live in my own home with things that bother me multiple times a day? Good question says this menopause-charged woman.

I am also keenly aware of what fills me with joy—baths, warmth, sun, laughing, beauty, cozy yet sparse environs, French doors onto picturesque terraces, reading a book that transports me, the passion of operas even when I don’t understand the words, a conversation or moment deeply shared, my children held lovingly in my arms, feeling invincible especially when walking on a Swiss hill top, being able to walk to a market filled with fresh food, and enjoying the company of great friends.

My Gemini sign of duality haunts me. I want the conveniences of the city while living in the beauty of a rural landscape. I want the calm of the country with the excitement of the city. I want lots of people around and yet require some solitude.

My life in decades: My 20s were about politics and homesteading – passion into practice. My 30s were about family – babies and small children. My 40s were about exploring careers and dealing with health issues. Now I am envisioning my 50s as a decade of great health, happiness and clarity.

So while possibly my growing intolerance allows me to cleanse the things I find irritating from my life and move me towards my decade of clarity, the reality is that I need to work within my family unit since that is what we do as women…so I guess rather than getting into a battle over the politics of whether the toilet seat should be left up or down, a circular argument I am afraid (no pun intended), I will explore having a self-cleaning urinal installed….. and look forward to my ensuing decades of happiness.

My Special Place

2009-12-01T09:13:00.000-05:00

Some people are addicted to eBay, others to Facebook or YouTube, some to Internet news, others to online shopping. For me, it is property searching in Europe. I could spend hours skimming sites with glorious landscapes, covered terraces, and my weak spot - old stone houses, particularly with blue shutters.

I find in this time of my life, unsettled as I am, like a teenager squirming with unknown anticipation and desire, that I am craving my perfect spot, my dream home to live in happily ever after. My artist studio and terraces on which to eat, work or lounge, with gardens in which to putter, and space allowing new creations. A house I feel comfortable and content in, and one that is within walking or bicycling distance to a village or town. A home that is easy to have friends and family visit. A place where I feel the joys of community. Price is no object since in fact the entire pursuit is fantasy.

The other week I found it. A magnificent set of two stone houses, one set up as a gite (a weekly, vacation rental home in France), with an artists studio, gardens and lovely grounds set in the Pays-de-la-Loire region of France. I bookmarked the page and every day visited “my” place, fantasizing about how it might be possible to own such a delightful spot. A mere $750,000 (the price looked better in euros at 510,000), I was pondering how much the gite could realistically earn in a year, or possibly if a friend would consider buying the second house and become our neighbors. I actually managed to travel far into this fantasy, imagining that I could happily keep my hopeful vision going for months.

Last weekend, when I was in France, I thought how fun it might be to explore the area near and around the property. I had not brought the information with me, but found the Web site and searched for the property. No matter what parameters I entered I could not find it. I was certain I was doing something wrong. Time ran out, and I had to continue with my brief trip to France without an excursion to Pays-de-la-Loire.

Once home, I immediately went to my bookmark. Devastation. “My” magic place was gone. I could not even see the pictures anymore. Someone had bought it or the owners had let their listing expire - I feared the former, as that was the more likely, and by far the more excruciating. How cruel that I couldn’t even access the photos, to dream, since it was after all, only a dream.

And now, I feel quite sad. As if it had all been more than an illusion, but rather based on some reality. I feel like I have lost something. I spent hours searching listings (when I should have been working) trying to find another magic place. I found some nice places, but none that captured my heart and mind the way my magic spot did. None that make me daydream. None that fill the empty hole hiding deep inside.

But I am not giving up. I am going to trust that a better magic place will emerge, maybe one I can actually afford, maybe one more magical and perfect, maybe......

Powerful Words

2009-10-08T09:15:00.002-04:00

I was riding a bus today and noticed an informational ad - it gave me a double take as it was titled Cancér de Mama......this is breast cancer in Spanish. The Mama is for mammary gland but I find it no coincidence that Mama means mother as well. I suspect that if it was called Cancer of Mama in English that it would get even greater attention, which it deserves.

As I think about it, what we as humans are doing to the world is producing Cancer de Mama Terra - the ultimate Cancer de Mama.

I wish I could just hold the world in my arms and whisper to it that everything will be okay.....

Photo courtesy of NASA: http://visibleearth.nasa.gov/view_rec.php?id=2429

The Power of the People

2009-10-07T09:19:00.000-04:00

A mini-rant for the day :)

Well, it may not seem as if we have much power in the world, but apparently when enough people make noise, motion can happen. And that is what transpired when customers of the popular British grocery chain, Waitrose, made a stink about the Glen Beck Show and Mr. Beck's remarks about President Obama.

Waitrose, who advertises on the British channel airing the Beck show, joined the ranks of other advertisers in the United States- Walmart, Best Buy and Travelocity- and pulled their ads from the channel.

One disgruntled Waitrose customer who had emailed his complaint about what he referred to as "right-wing cant," actually received an apology from the company.

We can only hope that more companies pull their ads as I fear that is the only thing that will stop such venomous programs. Now if we can just get others to follow suit with the Rush Limbaugh and Bill O'Reilly shows we might actually get some appropriate political discussions occurring!

The Heart of Connecting

2009-09-28T08:27:00.001-04:00

One of my favorite and most treasured aspects of traveling are serendipitous connections. While I was out scouting I came upon a store that caught my eye, an herboristeria that had a special sign advertising herbal preparations by Maurice Messegue. It is unusual to see mention of Maurice Messegue so it caught my attention.

Messegue was an herbalist and natural healer from a small village in France who went on to treat famous people and be persecuted by the authorities. He wrote a number of books including Of Men and Plants, (Macmillan, 1973) which has appendices on his herbal preparations and growing tips for herb gardens. Laboratoires Messegue makes herbal preparations based on his work see http://www.messegue.com.

Since it was the traditional siesta time between 2:00 and 5:00 pm the store was closed, but I made note and went back in the evening when I suspected it would be open. Other than my general curiosity, I had a specific herbal tincture I was looking for and had no success at the other stores I had tried. So I went in asking for uno extracto de Artemisia. The very nice storekeeper explained (all in Spanish) that she had no extractos, only herbs for infusiones (infusions or teas) and she did not have the kind of Artemisia I wanted. She pulled out one of her many wooden drawers filled with bags of herbs and showed me what she had.

As I was saying no thank you, she was continuing to talk in Spanish about the qualities and uses of the Artemisia she did stock. When I heard something about menopause, my ears perked up. Hmm, maybe I should reconsider. So I said, “Si, por favor”. She noticed my chronic reddish rash around my mouth and nose and was telling me how I should not eat trigo (wheat) or leche de vaca (cow milk). I assured her that I ate neither already.

She mixed up a personal tea blend of Artemisia vulgaris, sage, yarrow and mint with instructions for my daily use. She also handed me a foil sample pack of an aloe vera preparation to use directly on my rashy skin.

Herbolarios and herboristerias are common in Spain and even though what Americans would consider alternative health care has only started to really blossom in Spain in the last few years, these, usually small, stores have been practicing herbal and nutritional medicine for what seems like forever.

Well I left my little herboristeria quite impressed and continued on my errands. Once home, I dutifully made my tea and used the natural aloe vera sample. Well it was all somewhat miraculous, as the aloe vera worked beautifully on my skin, and the tea made me feel better within less than 24 hours.

I went back to the store to see if I could buy a larger container of the aloe vera product. As I was paying for my gel she noticed my change purse, a cloth zippered bag made in Nepal with an Om sign embroidered on it.

Standing behind the counter in her doctor-like white jacket, she became excited and started showing me all of her spiritual pictures and telling me (remember all in Spanish) that she meditates and chants Om. She then showed me a darling little book, El Corazon de Asia (The Heart of Asia) written by writer, painter and traveler Nicolas Roerich (see English version at http://www.roerich.org/nr.html?mid=wrtgs ). She leafed through the pages pointing out the photographs of sacred places in Tibet, Ladakh and other Asian countries where Roerich and his family had traveled almost ninety years ago. She was waxing poetic I am sure although I was only getting the gist of what she was saying about the mysticism, connections and beauty of the places and the quality of the spirit.

Our hearts connected and we held hands. She asked what my name was and when I asked hers this herbalist and light-filled person answered, “Remedias."

Hot Flash Relief

2009-09-24T06:18:00.002-04:00

After a middle of the night hot flash I woke up knowing how I could make my fortune.
All I have to do is invent a remote control window opener and closer.

Sales would be through the roof, as women would buy it so they could relieve their nighttime heat, and men would buy it so that they would minimize the time they were frozen out. I think this is genius! Any engineers out there who could actually design such a beast?

I would trade my computer remote (which came with the machine and I have never used) in a heartbeat for my window controller, which I would have truly loved last night as I was so tired but also incredibly hot. I made myself get up to open the window to sweet relief. Once the heat passed, however, I got chilly and delayed getting up until I could bear it no longer. In the morning my husband complained how cold he was in the middle of the night.

Where is that darn controller when you need it!?

A Future Memory

2009-09-20T14:44:00.001-04:00

A Saturday evening in lovely Valencia, warm with a slight breeze. We had strolled around, poking our heads into a few shops before landing at a favorite watering hole that offers free live music on Friday nights. A table outside and a round of agua con gas (sparkling water) and cerveza barril (draft beer) made us happy as we listened to the faint music from inside the café - it was too pleasant an evening to sit inside the smoke-filled bar.

Still adjusting to the time, we tired after a few songs, and ambled home. Once there, my son and I lay on his bed and he read aloud to me from a slim volume of Spanish poems we had purchased the night before at a radical bookstore, Sahiri, in the old part of Valencia.

After only two weeks of living in Spain, and daily Spanish classes at his school, my son spoke the Spanish words as if he understood every one, when in truth he understood only a few. But he picked up the essence of these politically charged poems. And as I lay there with my eyes closed listening to him, I realized that in all the fuss, struggle and stress to get us here, all the going out on a limb had brought me to this perfect moment in time - a moment I could imagine us remembering in the future - a palpable turning point. I smiled at the future memory.

The Haircut

2009-09-15T08:11:00.003-04:00

Leaving for my wild adventure in Spain, I set off six hours earlier than my family to retrieve our passports and my son’s visa from the Spanish consulate in Boston. Once I had, with great relief, gotten our documents from the consulate, I had plenty of time before my bus, so I strolled along, slowly making my way back to the station. I decided to wander down a street that looked like it had fun stores and beautiful old buildings. What I found, much to my surprise, was a hair salon where I had been many years ago to get a haircut – it was in fact the very best haircut of my life.

At the time, I was in the middle of a devastating divorce and was on my way to an application interview for the MBA program at Simmons College, thinking that business was what I wanted to pursue after my seven years struggling with my organic bedding company.

I think it was my Boston friend, Suzie, who steered me to Niki’s Salon. I remember being dressed in a purple silk dress that I had bought for my slimmed down, divorce-diet figure. Niki sat me down in her number one chair and went to work. It was more than a hair cut. This woman really took her time, paid attention to every strand (which is saying a lot as I have very thick hair), and did not stop until she had gotten it just right. I remember feeling nurtured and transformed. I don’t know how long I was in the chair, but it was well over an hour and long enough that I started to look at my watch to make sure I wouldn’t be late for my Simmons appointment (which I wasn’t).

I wish I had a picture from that day, but it was pre-digital and cell phone camera days. I know I drove four hours! out of my way to see the man I was dating at the time to show off my haircut since I knew the next time I would see him my “do” would not be so elegant and fabulous. Can you imagine?

I have thought about that haircut and the salon many times, but had years ago lost or discarded the little business card I had.

And here I was, standing in front of it, amazed at my discovery. I walked in and saw a few people getting their hair done. Niki paused and came over to ask what she could do for me. I blurted out, “I was here years ago and got the best haircut of my life! I don’t suppose you possibly have any openings for this afternoon?”

Niki smiled, and said in her Greek accent, “Well yes, I could squeeze you in– maybe in twenty minutes?”

I couldn’t believe my luck – not just the same hair salon – but the same stylist!

When I returned in twenty minutes, she gave me the same attention as years ago, although this time I was merely there for a cut not a style. As I was sitting in the chair I did the math – sixteen years – so I told her. Well she thought this was the best thing and told everyone that came in that I had been there sixteen years ago and gotten the best cut of my life. One woman, who was sitting nearby waiting for her hair to set, apologized for not getting in sooner (as in months) and Niki laughed and said, “Don’t worry, it took this woman sixteen years!”

I peered through my rapidly shortening hair at the wall-sized mirror and pondered this moment. I looked into my own eyes and very clearly saw that the person in the mirror looking back at me was not the person who sat in that chair sixteen years ago.

It reminded me of something Pema Chodron talked about at a meditation retreat… are you really the same person as you were when you were younger? She was recalling her granddaughter looking at a picture of Pema when she was a child and asking, “Grandma, is that really you? Pema could not honestly answer back, “yes”.

That is what my eyes told me – I was an entirely different person – in physique, in mind, in emotion, in energy, in life.

In those sixteen years I have watched my daughter grow from a baby to a woman, and my son to the beginnings of a man.

As if that weren’t enough, I have gone back to school, worked, traveled, been married again for almost fifteen years, and have entered that time of life, which I remember hearing about but could not believe was real, where I want to focus on what works in my life for me -- is nurturing and healthy, rather than me being in the caretaking mode for everyone but myself. While I feel somewhat vulnerable from the anxiety attacks I have been having as I navigate peri-menopause, I am 100 times, or possibly 1,000 times, the woman I was sixteen years ago.

This is life – all we have - and I want to be here in the fullest, most present of all that I am. And I know it can be, because I have a new haircut and I am in Spain again and have gotten another orange tree!

My Orange Tree

2009-01-19T08:21:00.002-05:00

I bought an orange tree today – I have wanted one for years, always hoping that one of my green houses would be warm enough to house it, but alas that has never come to pass and I had let my orange tree dreams wither. Now that I am in Spain, land of oranges, I decided it was time to rekindle my dream. I am the proud custodian of a darling little orange tree with one sole orange hanging from its branches. It may be the only orange I see on my tree, but it doesn’t matter. I have an orange tree. I would like an olive tree and a lemon tree as well, but I don’t have to buy those as most fortunately the house where I am staying has both an olive and lemon tree. I made fresh lemonade yesterday, mixed with local honey, which I must say is the best lemonade I have ever tasted. The lemons are not so sour here and require very little sweetener.
It is a sunny day here, with temperatures in the 50s to 60s. I planted some lavender this afternoon and thought possibly that to plant lavender and buy an orange tree might make for an unparalleled day. I have set my orange tree in full sun on a tiled patio where it is sheltered from the wind and can soak up the golden rays. I am not sure what the orange tree represents to me, except that somehow all along it has held possibility for me. If I could grow an orange tree, then anything is possible. And I feel like the older I become, the more possibility is what is important to me. So it would seem that with my orange tree in view, I have nothing but possibilities on this sunny January day in Spain.

Orange in Spanish and Catalan:
Arancio
Naranja
Taronja

Thoughts While Preparing for Winter...

2008-11-01T10:23:00.002-04:00

The weather these days is like my menopausal moods- constantly changing from moment to moment – first stormy, grey, then calmer, sunnier, then gusty and cold – a reflection of my inner self, a mirror that I maybe want to cover for a while.

It is full on Fall now – many if not most of the leaves have blown down – it is early this year…and the wind and greyness with intermittent sun reminds my body of the impending winter. I have put the garden to bed, fairly easy this year as it was small. I took down the prayer flags guarding the vegetables – to spare them the sad image in my mind of them snow tinged and frozen in the harsh, cold winter. The hammock has been stored in the basement and my Buddha statues have come in for the warmth and dryness of the house and cabin. The hardest thing I had to do was put away my pictures and tools in my absurdly small artists studio that was formerly an underused child’s playhouse.

The tiny, six by eight studio is rough in all ways, but it is a haven for me – a place no one else comes, where I can paint, write, or just sit and ponder life, while birds and bees visit the Rosa Rugosa bushes just outside my window. A garter snake guards my domain, curled up on the “porch” enjoying the warmth of the eastern sun. The shorter, chillier days have sent the snake packing – or slithering as the case may be – to some more reptile friendly habitat. I can hear the geese overhead, making their annual trek to more southerly climes, and wonder if I will be so lucky as the geese this year to escape the ice, darkness and sub-zero temperatures.

My heart is heavy as I put inspiring pictures of Marc Chagall, and a dear, dead friend in a plastic tub to over winter without fear of being chewed by mice and other critters. I have left my paintbrushes out as I can’t bear the thought of shutting them away yet. I have paintings in my eye still to come out and fear that they will not be born before the days are too cold to sit in my little studio with no source of heat or electricity.

It seems just a few weeks ago, I was taking out the lawn furniture, and imagining a summer filled with possibility. It is all about possibility for me – the promise and the lack of it. So now, as the season has changed from summer to Fall – and soon from Fall to winter – I feel my possibilities lessening, and that to me is a whisper away from death. How did I come to live in a place – while beautiful – with such a short annual span of possibility? The growing season is regrettably short, and between the new explosion of ticks in the spring (which I blame on global warming), rain and chilly temperatures, the summer is but a blink. I am looking at a journal entry I wrote on July 26 (2008) which says that it was the first time I had sat on our lawn all summer… July 26th?! This would not surprise me if I lived in Alaska, but that is why I don’t live in Alaska.

I want the expansiveness of longer days, longer non-winter time….more possibility.

I will work on this imagery as I go about my life, picking up children, laundry and meal preparation, all squeezed in between my working hours. Maybe an olive-tree laden hut on the coast of Spain or Southern France? Or maybe simply my daughter’s smile….

2007-10-11T19:39:00.001-04:00

Peace, Prayer of Compassion, Reality

2007-10-04T10:40:00.000-04:00

The Vietnamese monk, Thich Nhat Hahn's book “Being Peace” spoke to me almost 20 years ago - how can we "make" peace if we are not peace. How can we we show compassion and loving kindness to those around us and the world, if we are not compassionate within. Since then I have tried to hold "being peace" in my intention. Regrettably, I am a long way from being peace all the time. I have fleeting moments of it between menopausal hormonal firestorms that leave me feeling like the emotional equivalent of Phyllis Diller’s hair (no offense Phyllis – I think you’re fabulous!)

Two years ago, after one of my dearest friends died suddenly, I was plunged further into my midlife conundrum of why are we here, who are we, what are we, and why are people always warring with one another? I wrote a version of St. Francis' Prayer for Peace, but I call mine a Prayer of Compassion. I offer it here in case it can be helpful to anyone.

Prayer of Compassion

Universe, make me an instrument of your wisdom,
Where I feel self-hatred
let me sow self-love;
Where I feel self-conflict and self-injury, compassion
Where I feel self-doubt, faith;
Where I feel internal despair, hope;
Where I feel internal darkness, light;
Where I feel internal sadness, joy.

Grant that I may not so much seek to correct or control others, but to deeply heal myself
It is in being compassionate and understanding with ourselves, that we can be compassionate and understanding with others
It is in taking personal responsibility, that we can be responsible to others and the earth
It is in being honest with ourselves, that we can be honest with others
It is in truly, deeply loving ourselves, that we can love others
And it is in being inwardly tolerant, that we can be tolerant towards others

In giving we receive, only when we can give as generously to ourselves as to others and allow our hearts to fully open
To open the heart of receiving
Open to Love, Beauty, Peace and Gratitude towards ourselves
We are the water, we respond the same way to the vibrations of the words
We must be the love and peace

For it is in being peace that we spread peace
It is in loving ourselves that we spread love

And it is in remembering and honoring our eternal connection to one another,
the earth and sky,
and spirit
that we are born to Eternal light

Pass it on, Peace.