All my mom friends are tired right now! The end of school activities are about to do us in, we need summer to be here. We need less time in the mini-van and more time at home (preferably with the kids playing outside). Remember when you were a kid and your mom started hollering “go play outside!”, or my favorite, “in or out!” We are at the end. We need no more activities or recitals or soccer games.
Today I went to get some plastic “glad”ware out of the cupboard to put away the pasta salad I had made. I found no plastic containers. Where are all the plastic containers, I pondered? Then I looked over at the fridge and realized…I’ve been so busy that I hadn’t done THE PURGE. You know - the refrigerator purge.
I’m embarrassed to say that I hadn’t purged in a long time, and well, it was pretty disgusting. I guess I just quit seeing it when I opened the fridge (where was Slim?). Luckily my kids are old enough I don’t have to worry about anyone actually trying to eat anything out of there! There comes a time in every girl’s life when she must learn from her mother those household tasks that she will be expected to do someday as a mother herself, because NO ONE ELSE will do them. This includes among other things: cleaning up puke, removing lice from hair, cutting someone else’s finger nails, putting away the clean laundry, changing the toilet paper rolls, and purging the fridge.
I called the girls in and began directing the purge. “Take out all the old plastic containers that look like they have dead food in them, and put them on the kitchen table.” You would have thought I’d asked them to clean up dog poop off the carpet or something like that (another task reserved for mothers). Then they started giving me lip, “Mom, we ate this spaghetti and bean balls for supper like 4 weeks ago!” or “I can’t even tell what this was!” and my favorite from Hermoine, “I think the swine flu actually started in our refrigerator.” When it came time to open the containers, the real fun began. Some seriously gross stuff was in there, and they just flat out refused to dump the contents into the trash. I used an old carrot to scrape out the molded contents, as Taz screamed, “it smells awful in here!” She ran and got a handkerchief, wrapped it around her face for what she called “maximum defensive from stinkiness.” I didn’t think it was that bad, really. I’d seen worse. It didn’t really help that Slim had just finished putting some fresh “organic” mulch in the yard, which smelled like chicken poop.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Father Dave
I grew up in a college town with my mother taking me and my brother to the Episcopalian Church. Church was a place where I felt I belonged. I believed that the people there really cared about me, and I think for the most part they did. They all knew my name, they complimented my little outfits, and they taught me Sunday school. I learned about this guy named Jesus. He was a guy or maybe a God, or maybe a guy/god. I couldn’t really figure it out. But he had been really nice to the children and tried to teach all people to be nice to each other. It seemed like a good thing in my 8 year-old mind. Besides, I liked how the nice people gave me donuts and juice. The Sunday school teacher made me memorize the Lord’s Prayer. She also taught me to cross myself after I prayed. And so at night I would kneel next to my bed, put my hands together, and pray to Jesus quietly to myself. It would go something like this, “Dear Jesus, I had a good day today, except when we came home and mom found dog poop in the living room. It really stank, and she threw TomDog out the back. I hope she will let him back in tomorrow. If I promise to be really good, would you please see if you can get her to let him back in?”
The Episcopal Church was full of academics and university people, the kind of smart, artsy people who liked to question their faith and argue about everything. Wherever people gather, there will of course be politics. As a kid, though, I was totally unaware of most of the adult soap operas going on around me. A really crazy guy would show up and argue with all of the academics during the adult Sunday school. He didn’t make any sense at all and was quite annoying. No one threw him out because it was church. You are supposed to be nice at church.
It was the 70s, and it was only later, when I got older, that I heard about the divorces and drug use that had gone on in this quiet college town. When I was in high school I discovered certain people’s mothers were now married to other people’s fathers, but it hadn’t all started out that way. Somehow the priests and ministers had made it through the 70s. But I’d say they probably still hold a few secrets.
As a young teen, I became an acolyte in the Episcopal Church. In the late seventies the church was just beginning to let girls be acolytes, as the argument over female priests was raging. I really enjoyed being an acolyte. It was kind of like putting on a play every Sunday. There were many details to remember…the Episcopal service included a procession, candle lighting, and communion. As I got older I would carry the First Cross at the front of the procession, flanked by two little boys carrying candle holders on sticks. At the back of the sanctuary I was to instruct the boys as to when to light the candles and before that time keep them quiet. They were rowdy. The cross was this huge, heavy, brass contraption. I would hold on with one hand, resting it on my right shoulder while I flicked the little boys heads with my left fingers.
After a time I got promoted to Second cross. We walked at the back of the procession, followed by the priests. The second cross led the priests to the altar and then walked into the room to the right of the altar. Second cross also helped with communion. It was quite a lot of choreography to remember. I loved all the ritual and formality; somehow in all of this I felt the spirit with me. The quiet stillness would find me as I was sitting motionless, just left of the altar. I had to pay attention to the service and listen for my “cues,” but otherwise I was to sit still and focus forward. For large sections of the service, I was left to quietly deal with myself. I would sit there and breathe and think about my life. Sometimes I would pray. Other times I would work out a solution to some teenage social conundrum. Boredom would set in, and I would listen to myself breathe. After church I usually felt better emotionally, with a sense of calmness and groundedness. In hindsight, I believe it was the structured quiet time that I liked, where I just had to stop doing.
As I got into my late teens my parents lost interest in church, and I started driving myself. They got frustrated with the politics and the realization that many of the people attending church didn’t really want to “do” anything for the less fortunate. It was as if church had turned into a clubhouse. I had become friends with the priests I served with as an acolyte and didn’t want to walk away from them. At 16, I would get into my folks’ little Honda civic and actually drive myself to church. My teenage mind didn’t see anything odd about this at all, but at the same time I didn’t tell any of my friends at school.
As a senior acolyte I served at the 8am morning service every fourth Sunday. The service was a slightly shorter version of the 11am service, with just one priest and one acolyte. The architecture was set up like many Episcopal churches; the altar was in the middle, and it had a room on either side. When I walked up to the altar I was taught to genuflect, and then usually I walked to the right into the side door of the priests’ room. This priests’ room is where the acolytes met the priests and prepared for the service. It was a small room with ornate wooden decorations, various priests’ robes and sashes, brass candle sticks and candles, and a large wooden door at the back. This door was where the priests entered before the service. No one would see them coming into the building before the service. It was sort of like they arrived by magic.
The priests took turns; I don’t think it was anyone’s first choice to do this service. My favorite priest, Father Dave, would occasionally be there at the same time as me. Although I was young, even I knew that his personal life was a struggle. When I got into high school, I began to understand why the people at church were always gossiping about him. He had been divorced a couple times. Dave was kind of a mess, and at times was a complete space cadet. He couldn’t remember his schedule, nor could he always remember what he said he would do. To me, it just didn’t matter. I realized as a teenager that this priest was not a perfect person, and I really liked him for it. When you talked to Father Dave, he gave you his total attention. He was completely present in the moment, actually listening. It was obvious that he deeply cared for others. This is why everyone liked him so much, and probably why he was still around regardless of his reputation. So despite his brokenness, he was a great priest. I saw myself in Dave. Despite my continually trying, I realized I wasn’t ever going to be perfect either.
Maybe it was just Dave’s nature to be late all the time, or maybe it was a reflection of his inner turmoil, but whatever the cause, his proclivity for tardiness had attracted the attention of the “church ladies”. The church ladies, as my teenage mind called them, were the women who had to be in everyone’s business and thought they ran the place (and they probably did). They knew that Dave and all the other priests came in that secret back door to the priests’ room. The ladies also knew when the priests arrived, because the Acolytes were supposed to leave the door from the altar to the room open, until the priest arrived. The priest would then close the altar door and put his robes over his slacks and dress shirt. Usually there would be a quiet moment of prayer in preparation for the service. Sometimes if something special was going on, the priest would remind the acolytes of their extra duties.
When Father Dave was the 8am priest, the “church ladies” would begin to wander up to the altar and then peer into the room. His tardiness was just another piece of gossip that added to the dysfunction. But as always, Father Dave would turn up at the last minute, throw on his robes, pray quickly, and we’d march on out to the altar. I found the whole scene really amusing. Looking back now, I wonder if this whole drama was part of why I liked to sign up for the service. As a teenager a lot of adults just act like you’re not even there. In my teenage mind the church ladies just wanted to spy on Dave; they hardly took notice of me, when they peered in, sitting there in my red and white robes, holding the big brass cross, waiting. I figured Dave would show up eventually. I mean, we couldn’t do it without him. Did God really care if we started a minute late?
In my late teens my confidence level with the job had really grown, I knew the services so well, I probably could have done the Eucharist myself. I had also gotten tired of the church ladies. Some of them really had it in for Father Dave. I overheard adults talking and complaining. As I got a little older, he just got a little later, which didn’t help. Of course we are only talking about 3 or 4 minutes late, mind you. So I’m sitting there in my red and whites holding my big brass cross, waiting. This one lady kept poking about for Dave. Then I saw her talking to another lady, eyes rolling, hands waving around. Out of nowhere this idea just pops in my head. Just close the door. It wasn’t supposed to be closed until the priest arrived, but I was getting tired of all the drama. So in full teenager fashion, I got up, waited for the church ladies to turn their backs, and closed the door. I smiled to myself, grabbed my big brass cross, and then checked the time. It was exactly 8am. My impulsive idea had been in fact a leap of faith, not in God, but in Dave. He always showed up. Why waste energy worrying about it?
I went to the back door and opened it. It was a gorgeous fall morning and the smell of freshly fallen leaves filled the room. Some red leaves blew in with the breeze, and I stood there holding the cross, silently. I said the prayer in preparation for the service. It was 8:03. I leaned out over the step and heard footsteps; Dave was running down the alley. He was always doing that park-and-run thing. As he careened around the corner and found me standing there, he stopped for half a second and stared blankly. The back door was open, the side door to the altar closed. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. I simply looked at my watch and made a face at him. He threw on his robes like a tornado, getting sort of tangled and spinning around a bit. At the door we both crossed ourselves in unison, now grinning ear to ear at each other, and then we walked out to do the show. I saw God in Dave, and I learned that year that sometimes we have to like people just how they are, and accept them in their brokenness. It’s a lesson I’ve had to relearn every decade of my life.
The Episcopal Church was full of academics and university people, the kind of smart, artsy people who liked to question their faith and argue about everything. Wherever people gather, there will of course be politics. As a kid, though, I was totally unaware of most of the adult soap operas going on around me. A really crazy guy would show up and argue with all of the academics during the adult Sunday school. He didn’t make any sense at all and was quite annoying. No one threw him out because it was church. You are supposed to be nice at church.
It was the 70s, and it was only later, when I got older, that I heard about the divorces and drug use that had gone on in this quiet college town. When I was in high school I discovered certain people’s mothers were now married to other people’s fathers, but it hadn’t all started out that way. Somehow the priests and ministers had made it through the 70s. But I’d say they probably still hold a few secrets.
As a young teen, I became an acolyte in the Episcopal Church. In the late seventies the church was just beginning to let girls be acolytes, as the argument over female priests was raging. I really enjoyed being an acolyte. It was kind of like putting on a play every Sunday. There were many details to remember…the Episcopal service included a procession, candle lighting, and communion. As I got older I would carry the First Cross at the front of the procession, flanked by two little boys carrying candle holders on sticks. At the back of the sanctuary I was to instruct the boys as to when to light the candles and before that time keep them quiet. They were rowdy. The cross was this huge, heavy, brass contraption. I would hold on with one hand, resting it on my right shoulder while I flicked the little boys heads with my left fingers.
After a time I got promoted to Second cross. We walked at the back of the procession, followed by the priests. The second cross led the priests to the altar and then walked into the room to the right of the altar. Second cross also helped with communion. It was quite a lot of choreography to remember. I loved all the ritual and formality; somehow in all of this I felt the spirit with me. The quiet stillness would find me as I was sitting motionless, just left of the altar. I had to pay attention to the service and listen for my “cues,” but otherwise I was to sit still and focus forward. For large sections of the service, I was left to quietly deal with myself. I would sit there and breathe and think about my life. Sometimes I would pray. Other times I would work out a solution to some teenage social conundrum. Boredom would set in, and I would listen to myself breathe. After church I usually felt better emotionally, with a sense of calmness and groundedness. In hindsight, I believe it was the structured quiet time that I liked, where I just had to stop doing.
As I got into my late teens my parents lost interest in church, and I started driving myself. They got frustrated with the politics and the realization that many of the people attending church didn’t really want to “do” anything for the less fortunate. It was as if church had turned into a clubhouse. I had become friends with the priests I served with as an acolyte and didn’t want to walk away from them. At 16, I would get into my folks’ little Honda civic and actually drive myself to church. My teenage mind didn’t see anything odd about this at all, but at the same time I didn’t tell any of my friends at school.
As a senior acolyte I served at the 8am morning service every fourth Sunday. The service was a slightly shorter version of the 11am service, with just one priest and one acolyte. The architecture was set up like many Episcopal churches; the altar was in the middle, and it had a room on either side. When I walked up to the altar I was taught to genuflect, and then usually I walked to the right into the side door of the priests’ room. This priests’ room is where the acolytes met the priests and prepared for the service. It was a small room with ornate wooden decorations, various priests’ robes and sashes, brass candle sticks and candles, and a large wooden door at the back. This door was where the priests entered before the service. No one would see them coming into the building before the service. It was sort of like they arrived by magic.
The priests took turns; I don’t think it was anyone’s first choice to do this service. My favorite priest, Father Dave, would occasionally be there at the same time as me. Although I was young, even I knew that his personal life was a struggle. When I got into high school, I began to understand why the people at church were always gossiping about him. He had been divorced a couple times. Dave was kind of a mess, and at times was a complete space cadet. He couldn’t remember his schedule, nor could he always remember what he said he would do. To me, it just didn’t matter. I realized as a teenager that this priest was not a perfect person, and I really liked him for it. When you talked to Father Dave, he gave you his total attention. He was completely present in the moment, actually listening. It was obvious that he deeply cared for others. This is why everyone liked him so much, and probably why he was still around regardless of his reputation. So despite his brokenness, he was a great priest. I saw myself in Dave. Despite my continually trying, I realized I wasn’t ever going to be perfect either.
Maybe it was just Dave’s nature to be late all the time, or maybe it was a reflection of his inner turmoil, but whatever the cause, his proclivity for tardiness had attracted the attention of the “church ladies”. The church ladies, as my teenage mind called them, were the women who had to be in everyone’s business and thought they ran the place (and they probably did). They knew that Dave and all the other priests came in that secret back door to the priests’ room. The ladies also knew when the priests arrived, because the Acolytes were supposed to leave the door from the altar to the room open, until the priest arrived. The priest would then close the altar door and put his robes over his slacks and dress shirt. Usually there would be a quiet moment of prayer in preparation for the service. Sometimes if something special was going on, the priest would remind the acolytes of their extra duties.
When Father Dave was the 8am priest, the “church ladies” would begin to wander up to the altar and then peer into the room. His tardiness was just another piece of gossip that added to the dysfunction. But as always, Father Dave would turn up at the last minute, throw on his robes, pray quickly, and we’d march on out to the altar. I found the whole scene really amusing. Looking back now, I wonder if this whole drama was part of why I liked to sign up for the service. As a teenager a lot of adults just act like you’re not even there. In my teenage mind the church ladies just wanted to spy on Dave; they hardly took notice of me, when they peered in, sitting there in my red and white robes, holding the big brass cross, waiting. I figured Dave would show up eventually. I mean, we couldn’t do it without him. Did God really care if we started a minute late?
In my late teens my confidence level with the job had really grown, I knew the services so well, I probably could have done the Eucharist myself. I had also gotten tired of the church ladies. Some of them really had it in for Father Dave. I overheard adults talking and complaining. As I got a little older, he just got a little later, which didn’t help. Of course we are only talking about 3 or 4 minutes late, mind you. So I’m sitting there in my red and whites holding my big brass cross, waiting. This one lady kept poking about for Dave. Then I saw her talking to another lady, eyes rolling, hands waving around. Out of nowhere this idea just pops in my head. Just close the door. It wasn’t supposed to be closed until the priest arrived, but I was getting tired of all the drama. So in full teenager fashion, I got up, waited for the church ladies to turn their backs, and closed the door. I smiled to myself, grabbed my big brass cross, and then checked the time. It was exactly 8am. My impulsive idea had been in fact a leap of faith, not in God, but in Dave. He always showed up. Why waste energy worrying about it?
I went to the back door and opened it. It was a gorgeous fall morning and the smell of freshly fallen leaves filled the room. Some red leaves blew in with the breeze, and I stood there holding the cross, silently. I said the prayer in preparation for the service. It was 8:03. I leaned out over the step and heard footsteps; Dave was running down the alley. He was always doing that park-and-run thing. As he careened around the corner and found me standing there, he stopped for half a second and stared blankly. The back door was open, the side door to the altar closed. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. I simply looked at my watch and made a face at him. He threw on his robes like a tornado, getting sort of tangled and spinning around a bit. At the door we both crossed ourselves in unison, now grinning ear to ear at each other, and then we walked out to do the show. I saw God in Dave, and I learned that year that sometimes we have to like people just how they are, and accept them in their brokenness. It’s a lesson I’ve had to relearn every decade of my life.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Coming Home to the Breath
This time of the year, as the weather warms and the trees start to bloom, everyone in my neighborhood begins to come outside and putter around their yards. It’s like a big neighborhood community stretch after the dark cold retreat of winter. We are talking over the fences or sometimes in the middle of the street, exchanging gardening and yard care advice, petting dogs, and looking at the new babies. The ice storm this year took out a few of our trees, and we’ve all watched with regret as some of the rest have had to come down.
I’ve been getting out in the yard myself, helping Slim plant some more seeds in his garden extravaganza, and I’ve been considering starting in on trimming the holly bushes, but I’m not in a big hurry. In the early spring, I feel like a big bear that is coming out of hibernation. Or in my case, I am a small mama bear. I’m slow to start, but by mid April I’ll be going strong. Winter has always been difficult for me. The lack of sunlight and the cold just puts me in a funk, and I lose my motivation to do much. Most winters I function just fine doing my yoga and meditation and making myself go outside and walk the dogs. This winter, however, has been particularly hard as I got into a bad virus cycle. You moms reading this know what I am talking about! The kids give you a virus, and then you push through it, and then just when you are over it, they give you another one, and on and on. Once my immune system gets taxed, then it’s hard to get out of the cycle, and I just pray for spring to come.
This winter I found myself in a real funk. I think the official term is “seasonal depression.” Nobody likes to talk about this or admit that they might have it, but I’ve found lately through conversations with my friends that lots of people struggle in the winter. It is incredibly common. The best words I can find to describe it, is that it felt like somehow my internal fire was flickering on and off. Somewhere deep inside me the energy and light that usually bursts out of me (often driving others crazy with a lot of bubbly talk) was on hiatus. I found myself watching TV, which I usually don’t do much, and I was watching stuff like reruns of Heat of the Night. You know it is always the same thing on Heat of the Night: Someone gets killed and then Chief sends out Mr. Tibbs and the officers to investigate. After not solving the crime for awhile, Bubba goes and talks to Mrs. Tibbs, and she helps figure it out.
I knew I needed to get moving, get back on my mat, and back sitting in meditation, but I was struggling to do it. I’ve got two people in my head, the grounded inner voice that knows what needs to happen, and another surly girl I call “bad bec.” They have arguments.
Inner voice: “Get up and walk the dogs.”
Bad Bec: “Too cold.”
Inner voice: “Go find your mat and do some sun salutations you’ll feel better”
Bad Bec: “Whatever.”
Inner voice: “Let’s go sit and meditate”
Bad Bec: “Let’s watch Matlock.”
I’ve found through my yoga practice that the only way to balance out this internal argument is to focus on my breathing – by meditating on my breath. For some reason just sitting, even for ten minutes, and attempting to focus on my breathing will send Bad Bec somewhere deeper into my mind. I don’t want to get rid of her entirely, because she is a pretty funny girl, but she cannot be in charge.
Each of us has within us a voice of groundedness, a place of inner peace, that when we quiet our minds long enough to hear, will lead us through anything our lives bring. The other day a student of mine came out of shavasana (the ending meditation in a yoga practice) and blurted out, “wow, after that maybe I won’t have to yell at my kids today.” In the end, this is what the practice is about; learning to find a place of internal eternal quiet, learning to feel the constant comforting inner fire, and then learning to live your life from that place. This is what I wake up every day and try to teach people, but I sometimes derail for a bit and forget to stop and practice myself. Wherever I find myself, wherever I wake up, I can find my breath and make my way home.
One of my yoga teacher friends sent me this quote:
"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." -Albert Camus
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Family Gardening
We are beginning to see the first flowers of spring. They are mostly tough Oklahoma weeds that send up little purple flowers. Taz has been collecting them from yards on the way home for me and presenting them with much enthusiasm. Before the warm up we had our last ice storm for the year – which shut down school for about 3 days until it all melted. A little snow came down too and Taz tried to make a snow man out of it. It was a little mini-man. My friends from Minnesota will crack up over the picture! She got so into “sculpting” the little mini-man that she laid down on the front porch on her belly while the melting ice from the roof dripped onto her.
Once the ice broke Slim started into the vegetable garden project. He built a huge raised garden box and then got a friend to help him haul in some top soil and compost. We relied quite a bit on Mike McGrath and his You Bet Your Garden series on NPR, http://www.whyy.org/91FM/ybyg/. This is definitely the biggest garden project we’ve tried and we’ve got the whole family involved!
My mom always had vegetable gardens when I was a kid, and I remember the fun of planting the seeds in a long row. She’d tell me how far apart to plant the seeds and I’d dutifully use my finger trying to estimate 1 inch or a ¼ inch. It seemed
really important at the time. When I got older dad taught me to use the big tiller. At 5 foot tall my mom really couldn’t handle the beast, so I’d be out there wrestling with it in February trying to break the ground. I must have looked pretty funny out there with my rail like tom-boy body wresting with this huge tiller. Inevitably I’d get the machine stuck deep into the dirt in the middle of the garden. I’d start swearing and kicking it, and then finally give up. I would have to wait for my dad or my brother to show up. This always frustrated me.
Dad would question how in the world I got the tiller that deep and stuck, and then he would demonstrate the proper tiller operation. I think the tiller might have weighed as much as I did.
Dad’s family had always gardened too. My grandmother had studied botany and human anatomy at the University of Minnesota, back when girls didn’t go to college. She liked doing technical science drawings including botany drawings. Gramma and Grampa’s backyard was a wonderful place if you were a kid. They had a screened in porch with a little electric fountain that I would beg Grampa to turn on. Gramma grew many beautiful flowers and plants, all sorts of interesting varieties. In my childhood memory it was a big house with a huge backyard, a wonderful and special place. When I was in my hometown recently I drove by and laughed as it was just a standard little middle class split level from the 70s era, with a very small yard! Although it was a small yard much of it was under cultivation of some kind, and ever year Grampa grew the most amazing tomatoes. He was proud of his tomatoes and he would bend down and hand me some to take inside to Gramma. I would stand on a stool next to her in the kitchen and wash the mud off.
Once we got all the backyard chores done, Grampa and I would go hang out in his big leather chair in the living room, while Gramma and my mom would work on dinner. I’d sit on his lap and watch him put tobacco in his pipe. He’d light the pipe and give me a butterscotch candy and we would watch the Lawrence Welk Show together. The pipe smoke never bothered me, in fact I liked the way it smelled, it was kind of sweet. Plus I’d get the butterscotch…. When a funny skit would come on the show he’d start belly laughing, his whole body would shake. I didn’t always understand what the joke was on the TV, but I’d start laughing too, because he was laughing.
Once the ice broke Slim started into the vegetable garden project. He built a huge raised garden box and then got a friend to help him haul in some top soil and compost. We relied quite a bit on Mike McGrath and his You Bet Your Garden series on NPR, http://www.whyy.org/91FM/ybyg/. This is definitely the biggest garden project we’ve tried and we’ve got the whole family involved!
My mom always had vegetable gardens when I was a kid, and I remember the fun of planting the seeds in a long row. She’d tell me how far apart to plant the seeds and I’d dutifully use my finger trying to estimate 1 inch or a ¼ inch. It seemed
really important at the time. When I got older dad taught me to use the big tiller. At 5 foot tall my mom really couldn’t handle the beast, so I’d be out there wrestling with it in February trying to break the ground. I must have looked pretty funny out there with my rail like tom-boy body wresting with this huge tiller. Inevitably I’d get the machine stuck deep into the dirt in the middle of the garden. I’d start swearing and kicking it, and then finally give up. I would have to wait for my dad or my brother to show up. This always frustrated me.Dad would question how in the world I got the tiller that deep and stuck, and then he would demonstrate the proper tiller operation. I think the tiller might have weighed as much as I did.
Dad’s family had always gardened too. My grandmother had studied botany and human anatomy at the University of Minnesota, back when girls didn’t go to college. She liked doing technical science drawings including botany drawings. Gramma and Grampa’s backyard was a wonderful place if you were a kid. They had a screened in porch with a little electric fountain that I would beg Grampa to turn on. Gramma grew many beautiful flowers and plants, all sorts of interesting varieties. In my childhood memory it was a big house with a huge backyard, a wonderful and special place. When I was in my hometown recently I drove by and laughed as it was just a standard little middle class split level from the 70s era, with a very small yard! Although it was a small yard much of it was under cultivation of some kind, and ever year Grampa grew the most amazing tomatoes. He was proud of his tomatoes and he would bend down and hand me some to take inside to Gramma. I would stand on a stool next to her in the kitchen and wash the mud off.
Once we got all the backyard chores done, Grampa and I would go hang out in his big leather chair in the living room, while Gramma and my mom would work on dinner. I’d sit on his lap and watch him put tobacco in his pipe. He’d light the pipe and give me a butterscotch candy and we would watch the Lawrence Welk Show together. The pipe smoke never bothered me, in fact I liked the way it smelled, it was kind of sweet. Plus I’d get the butterscotch…. When a funny skit would come on the show he’d start belly laughing, his whole body would shake. I didn’t always understand what the joke was on the TV, but I’d start laughing too, because he was laughing.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Breath Meditation
Over the last year I’ve gotten quite a few inquires about meditation classes. Although there are many great groups and teachers in the OKC area, I hadn’t found a teacher I felt fit with our community. I’ve asked my friend Erik Braun to teach a beginning meditation class in April. The class will meet on a Sunday afternoon in April, date tba. The event will be free, and those who want to will go to dinner afterwards. Erik is an Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at OU. He has been meditating for many years, attending workshops and retreats, and is a student of Thanissaro Bhikkhu.
For my readers who live elsewhere, and may not practice yoga at all, you can try just sitting and focus on your breath for awhile and see how it makes you feel! My guess is that if you try it, you will feel a lot better. It doesn’t matter what your religion is – as Thanissaro says below – “the breath is common property.” As a Christian, I have found the Buddhist traditions and teachings quite helpful, and often find similar teachings that I missed before when I return to reading Christian texts.
Erik sent me the following transcript from one of Thanissaro’s teachings. You can find more of his writings at:
http://www.accesstoinsight.org/lib/authors/thanissaro/index.html
Basic Breath Meditation Instructions
By Thanissaro Bhikkhu
The technique I'll be teaching is breath meditation. It's a good topic no matter what your religious background. As my teacher once said, the breath doesn't belong to Buddhism or Christianity or anyone at all. It's common property that anyone can meditate on. At the same time, of all the meditation topics there are, it's probably the most beneficial to the body, for when we're dealing with the breath, we're dealing not only with the air coming in and out of the lungs, but also with all the feelings of energy that course throughout the body with each breath. If you can learn to become sensitive to these feelings, and let them flow smoothly and unobstructed, you can help the body function more easily, and give the mind a handle for dealing with pain.
So let's all meditate for a few minutes. Sit comfortably erect, in a balanced position. You don't have to be ramrod straight like a soldier. Just try not to lean forward or back, to the left or the right. Close your eyes and say to yourself, 'May I be truly happy and free from suffering.' This may sound like a strange, even selfish, way to start meditating, but there are good reasons for it. One, if you can't wish for your own happiness, there is no way that you can honestly wish for the happiness of others. Some people need to remind themselves constantly that they deserve happiness — we all deserve it, but if we don't believe it, we will constantly find ways to punish ourselves, and we will end up punishing others in subtle or blatant ways as well.
Two, it's important to reflect on what true happiness is and where it can be found. A moment's reflection will show that you can't find it in the past or the future. The past is gone and your memory of it is undependable. The future is a blank uncertainty. So the only place we can really find happiness is in the present. But even here you have to know where to look. If you try to base your happiness on things that change — sights, sounds, sensations in general, people and things outside — you're setting yourself up for disappointment, like building your house on a cliff where there have been repeated landslides in the past. So true happiness has to be sought within. Meditation is thus like a treasure hunt: to find what has solid and unchanging worth in the mind, something that even death cannot touch.
To find this treasure we need tools. The first tool is to do what we're doing right now: to develop good will for ourselves. The second is to spread that good will to other living beings. Tell yourself: 'All living beings, no matter who they are, no matter what they have done to you in the past — may they all find true happiness too.' If you don't cultivate this thought, and instead carry grudges into your meditation, that's all you'll be able to see when you look inside.
Only when you have cleared the mind in this way, and set outside matters aside, are you ready to focus on the breath. Bring your attention to the sensation of breathing. Breathe in long and out long for a couple of times, focusing on any spot in the body where the breathing is easy to notice, and your mind feels comfortable focusing. This could be at the nose, at the chest, at the abdomen, or any spot at all. Stay with that spot, noticing how it feels as you breathe in and out. Don't force the breath, or bear down too heavily with your focus. Let the breath flow naturally, and simply keep track of how it feels. Savor it, as if it were an exquisite sensation you wanted to prolong. If your mind wanders off, simply bring it back. Don't get discouraged. If it wanders 100 times, bring it back 100 times. Show it that you mean business, and eventually it will listen to you.
If you want, you can experiment with different kinds of breathing. If long breathing feels comfortable, stick with it. If it doesn't, change it to whatever rhythm feels soothing to the body. You can try short breathing, fast breathing, slow breathing, deep breathing, shallow breathing — whatever feels most comfortable to you right now...
Once you have the breath comfortable at your chosen spot, move your attention to notice how the breathing feels in other parts of the body. Start by focusing on the area just below your navel. Breathe in and out, and notice how that area feels. If you don't feel any motion there, just be aware of the fact that there's no motion. If you do feel motion, notice the quality of the motion, to see if the breathing feels uneven there, or if there's any tension or tightness. If there's tension, think of relaxing it. If the breathing feels jagged or uneven, think of smoothing it out... Now move your attention over to the right of that spot — to the lower right-hand corner of the abdomen — and repeat the same process... Then over to the lower left-hand corner of the abdomen... Then up to the navel... right... left... to the solar plexus... right... left... the middle of the chest... right... left... to the base of the throat... right... left... to the middle of the head...[take several minutes for each spot]
If you were meditating at home, you could continue this process through your entire body — over the head, down the back, out the arms & legs to the tips of your finger & toes — but since our time is limited, I'll ask you to return your focus now to any one of the spots we've already covered. Let your attention settle comfortably there, and then let your conscious awareness spread to fill the entire body, from the head down to the toes, so that you're like a spider sitting in the middle of a web: It's sitting in one spot, but it's sensitive to the entire web. Keep your awareness expanded like this — you have to work at this, for its tendency will be to shrink to a single spot — and think of the breath coming in & out your entire body, through every pore. Let your awareness simply stay right there for a while — there's no where else you have to go, nothing else you have to think about... And then gently come out of meditation.
For my readers who live elsewhere, and may not practice yoga at all, you can try just sitting and focus on your breath for awhile and see how it makes you feel! My guess is that if you try it, you will feel a lot better. It doesn’t matter what your religion is – as Thanissaro says below – “the breath is common property.” As a Christian, I have found the Buddhist traditions and teachings quite helpful, and often find similar teachings that I missed before when I return to reading Christian texts.
Erik sent me the following transcript from one of Thanissaro’s teachings. You can find more of his writings at:
http://www.accesstoinsight.org/lib/authors/thanissaro/index.html
Basic Breath Meditation Instructions
By Thanissaro Bhikkhu
The technique I'll be teaching is breath meditation. It's a good topic no matter what your religious background. As my teacher once said, the breath doesn't belong to Buddhism or Christianity or anyone at all. It's common property that anyone can meditate on. At the same time, of all the meditation topics there are, it's probably the most beneficial to the body, for when we're dealing with the breath, we're dealing not only with the air coming in and out of the lungs, but also with all the feelings of energy that course throughout the body with each breath. If you can learn to become sensitive to these feelings, and let them flow smoothly and unobstructed, you can help the body function more easily, and give the mind a handle for dealing with pain.
So let's all meditate for a few minutes. Sit comfortably erect, in a balanced position. You don't have to be ramrod straight like a soldier. Just try not to lean forward or back, to the left or the right. Close your eyes and say to yourself, 'May I be truly happy and free from suffering.' This may sound like a strange, even selfish, way to start meditating, but there are good reasons for it. One, if you can't wish for your own happiness, there is no way that you can honestly wish for the happiness of others. Some people need to remind themselves constantly that they deserve happiness — we all deserve it, but if we don't believe it, we will constantly find ways to punish ourselves, and we will end up punishing others in subtle or blatant ways as well.
Two, it's important to reflect on what true happiness is and where it can be found. A moment's reflection will show that you can't find it in the past or the future. The past is gone and your memory of it is undependable. The future is a blank uncertainty. So the only place we can really find happiness is in the present. But even here you have to know where to look. If you try to base your happiness on things that change — sights, sounds, sensations in general, people and things outside — you're setting yourself up for disappointment, like building your house on a cliff where there have been repeated landslides in the past. So true happiness has to be sought within. Meditation is thus like a treasure hunt: to find what has solid and unchanging worth in the mind, something that even death cannot touch.
To find this treasure we need tools. The first tool is to do what we're doing right now: to develop good will for ourselves. The second is to spread that good will to other living beings. Tell yourself: 'All living beings, no matter who they are, no matter what they have done to you in the past — may they all find true happiness too.' If you don't cultivate this thought, and instead carry grudges into your meditation, that's all you'll be able to see when you look inside.
Only when you have cleared the mind in this way, and set outside matters aside, are you ready to focus on the breath. Bring your attention to the sensation of breathing. Breathe in long and out long for a couple of times, focusing on any spot in the body where the breathing is easy to notice, and your mind feels comfortable focusing. This could be at the nose, at the chest, at the abdomen, or any spot at all. Stay with that spot, noticing how it feels as you breathe in and out. Don't force the breath, or bear down too heavily with your focus. Let the breath flow naturally, and simply keep track of how it feels. Savor it, as if it were an exquisite sensation you wanted to prolong. If your mind wanders off, simply bring it back. Don't get discouraged. If it wanders 100 times, bring it back 100 times. Show it that you mean business, and eventually it will listen to you.
If you want, you can experiment with different kinds of breathing. If long breathing feels comfortable, stick with it. If it doesn't, change it to whatever rhythm feels soothing to the body. You can try short breathing, fast breathing, slow breathing, deep breathing, shallow breathing — whatever feels most comfortable to you right now...
Once you have the breath comfortable at your chosen spot, move your attention to notice how the breathing feels in other parts of the body. Start by focusing on the area just below your navel. Breathe in and out, and notice how that area feels. If you don't feel any motion there, just be aware of the fact that there's no motion. If you do feel motion, notice the quality of the motion, to see if the breathing feels uneven there, or if there's any tension or tightness. If there's tension, think of relaxing it. If the breathing feels jagged or uneven, think of smoothing it out... Now move your attention over to the right of that spot — to the lower right-hand corner of the abdomen — and repeat the same process... Then over to the lower left-hand corner of the abdomen... Then up to the navel... right... left... to the solar plexus... right... left... the middle of the chest... right... left... to the base of the throat... right... left... to the middle of the head...[take several minutes for each spot]
If you were meditating at home, you could continue this process through your entire body — over the head, down the back, out the arms & legs to the tips of your finger & toes — but since our time is limited, I'll ask you to return your focus now to any one of the spots we've already covered. Let your attention settle comfortably there, and then let your conscious awareness spread to fill the entire body, from the head down to the toes, so that you're like a spider sitting in the middle of a web: It's sitting in one spot, but it's sensitive to the entire web. Keep your awareness expanded like this — you have to work at this, for its tendency will be to shrink to a single spot — and think of the breath coming in & out your entire body, through every pore. Let your awareness simply stay right there for a while — there's no where else you have to go, nothing else you have to think about... And then gently come out of meditation.
Friday, January 9, 2009
OU Sooners Go Down
Many fans in Oklahoma are a little sad about the Sooners loss to Florida last night in the BCS Football Championship. There were long faces everywhere I went today.
It's Friday night and I think this song fits the mood best in Norman today:
B double E double R U N, Beer run.
B double E double R U N, Beer run.
All we need is a 10 and a 5,
Or a car and a key and a sober driver.
B double E double R U N, Beer run.
The rest of the lyrics fit too, but I'm not sure they are really appropriate for my blog :-)
Actually at my house we've made up a tune mimicking the Beer Run song, and we call it "Pie Run." It all started one night when Slim and Gramps were listening to everyone talk after dinner about how we wished someone had made dessert. Their eyes met and one of them said "Pie Run" and they both got up and walked out of the house without saying anything else.
It's Friday night and I think this song fits the mood best in Norman today:
B double E double R U N, Beer run.
B double E double R U N, Beer run.
All we need is a 10 and a 5,
Or a car and a key and a sober driver.
B double E double R U N, Beer run.
The rest of the lyrics fit too, but I'm not sure they are really appropriate for my blog :-)
Actually at my house we've made up a tune mimicking the Beer Run song, and we call it "Pie Run." It all started one night when Slim and Gramps were listening to everyone talk after dinner about how we wished someone had made dessert. Their eyes met and one of them said "Pie Run" and they both got up and walked out of the house without saying anything else.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The New Years Resolution
In my business, teaching yoga, it’s all about the New Years resolution. Everyone calls me wanting to get in shape, lose weight, and feel better. Some people get a jump on it and call in the middle of December. Every year this happens, and I try to do my best to help people help themselves into better health, and I watch as most of them disappear after a few classes. I watch some people give up about 20 minutes into class, when they realize that yoga actually has an exercise component! They start to sweat and breathe heavily and get this look on their face that says, “What the hell was I thinking?” Others get on an exercise binge and go crazy coming to class, and then they just “flame out” as we say in the business. The quiet meditative aspect of yoga will sometimes cause people who are really struggling emotionally or spiritually to totally freak out at the end of class. Just quieting the mind long enough for the unhappiness to surface is upsetting, and they would rather go back to being really busy and not dealing with whatever is going on. Every year there are 3 or 4 people who show up at my studio in January with a resolution to take better care of themselves, and they actually make it and are still around the next year.
So why do some people manage to keep their resolution and finally take better care of themselves, and some people just fall back into their old habits? I have no idea! One thing I’ve learned, though, is that it has nothing to do with me. All I can do is help them to see that they are in charge, and they can choose to help themselves. I can hand them the seed, but they have to plant it and nurture it.
Here are some observations I’ve collected watching people change their lifestyle. Most of them are completely obvious and easier to write or say than to actually do.
1. Go slowly exercising! Set a goal for yourself that is reasonable. That way, you can feel good about yourself. If you haven’t been exercising at all, set a goal to exercise 30 minutes twice a week for the 1st quarter of 2009. Then give yourself credit for meeting that and add on for the 2nd quarter. If you’ve been exercising some, just add one more class on. Going crazy, trying to radically change your lifestyle all at once, almost never works.
2. Go slowly dieting! Again, set a goal for your intake that is small and reasonable. Reducing sodas, chips, and sweets is a good first goal for 2009. Don’t worry about everything else you are eating. Just try to reduce – not deny – the junk you are eating that isn’t healthy.
3. Try your best to focus on how you feel on the inside, rather than on what you look like on the outside. Focusing too much on weight loss just gets the mind in an obsessive state, and brings on negative thoughts and feelings about the body. If you set some reasonable goals for exercising and eating healthier, then you’ll feel better on the inside, and over time you’ll begin to shape up on the outside too.
Exercising is the #1 way to get yourself and your mind out of slump. Here is a great New Years Resolution: I’m going to be happier in 2009!
I found this link to an old Jack Lalanne clip from the 1950s. Jack is the grand daddy of the fitness world. He was one of the first to make a workout TV show about taking care of yourself. This little speech from the 50s is still just as applicable today as it was then, maybe more so. Preach on Jack. I just looked on his site, and found that he is 94 years old and still works out 2 hours a day!
So why do some people manage to keep their resolution and finally take better care of themselves, and some people just fall back into their old habits? I have no idea! One thing I’ve learned, though, is that it has nothing to do with me. All I can do is help them to see that they are in charge, and they can choose to help themselves. I can hand them the seed, but they have to plant it and nurture it.
Here are some observations I’ve collected watching people change their lifestyle. Most of them are completely obvious and easier to write or say than to actually do.
1. Go slowly exercising! Set a goal for yourself that is reasonable. That way, you can feel good about yourself. If you haven’t been exercising at all, set a goal to exercise 30 minutes twice a week for the 1st quarter of 2009. Then give yourself credit for meeting that and add on for the 2nd quarter. If you’ve been exercising some, just add one more class on. Going crazy, trying to radically change your lifestyle all at once, almost never works.
2. Go slowly dieting! Again, set a goal for your intake that is small and reasonable. Reducing sodas, chips, and sweets is a good first goal for 2009. Don’t worry about everything else you are eating. Just try to reduce – not deny – the junk you are eating that isn’t healthy.
3. Try your best to focus on how you feel on the inside, rather than on what you look like on the outside. Focusing too much on weight loss just gets the mind in an obsessive state, and brings on negative thoughts and feelings about the body. If you set some reasonable goals for exercising and eating healthier, then you’ll feel better on the inside, and over time you’ll begin to shape up on the outside too.
Exercising is the #1 way to get yourself and your mind out of slump. Here is a great New Years Resolution: I’m going to be happier in 2009!
I found this link to an old Jack Lalanne clip from the 1950s. Jack is the grand daddy of the fitness world. He was one of the first to make a workout TV show about taking care of yourself. This little speech from the 50s is still just as applicable today as it was then, maybe more so. Preach on Jack. I just looked on his site, and found that he is 94 years old and still works out 2 hours a day!
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