Counting My Blessings

There's a list somewhere of the things Ghandi possessed when he died. I've found different accounts but some of the items include a pair of glasses, a bowl, a book, sandals, a simple piece of clothing ... Something like seven things. I look around my apartment and realize that while I've downsized considerably I have quite a few more than that.

For example, three phones, one landline and two cell phones (one is my husband's). One computer, one printer, one TV, one birdcage, two birds, three lamps and a string of clear pinecone Christmas lights, two rugs (one a trade for an organizing job I did), a new desk purchased at trendy West Elm which I admit I love, a sofa, two library chairs purchased at Uhuru, a small altar table my son gave me which now serves as coffee table, comfortable bed and two bedside tables purchased at a consignment shop on our return from Peace Corps.

A simple oak dresser that was put out by a neighbor with a FREE sign. Several treasured paintings, a closet lightly filled with mostly thrift store clothes and expensive, comfortable shoes. Books. Art supplies, a box of files, photos. Nothing in storage. I've shed many things over the years, given away, sold, donated. And things keep coming in. But I find that the less I have, the more I value it.

Feeling Combobulated

I woke up feeling combobulated this morning. Then I wondered if that is really a word. I found it on Urban Dictionary and it means what you would think it means. The opposite of discombobulated or pulling it together. The reasons I'm feeling combobulated at the present moment, despite advertisers attempts to pull me into the vortex of consume, consume, consume, is that I got all my Christmas gifts in one place, a cozy bookstore, in one afternoon. I just wandered and perused and browsed and doubled back and did it all over again until I found gifts for the few family members that we exchange with. (We just share cards with the family that lives far away.) With patience and persistence, I found the perfect book or CD for each one.

Then I wrapped them in paintings I had done in a recent art class. We used tempera paints and heavy white paper to create colorful expressions of what we were feeling in the moment without worrying about the finished product. They looked different cut up into sections and each one seemed to match the gift. It contributed to my feeling of non-attachment and passing things along.

I have tried to keep my time in the stores to a minimum but a few purchases have added to my feeling of combobulation. Yesterday I made one stop and did some banking, bought gingerbread men to take to a friend's house for lunch and a new "double-wide perch" for the outside of my parakeets' cage. An early Christmas gift for Pie and Apple.

Last weekend we went to a holiday party at a neighborhood Bed and Breakfast we discovered for visiting friends. The owner has a two story aviary filled with 400 birds of varying kinds. He has parrots, parakeets, finches and lovebirds. I tried to imagine Pie and Apple among that flock. People were crammed into the perfectly decorated home and we squeezed past the harpist to get to the heavily laden dining room table. The host had prepared his special mushroom soup which he served in mugs. There was wine and eggnog and lots of birdsong.

At our son's Christmas party last night, there were his neighbors, co-workers and our grandsons alternately watching a DVD and consuming way too much sugar. Then they would fling themselves into our arms and drag us into their room to play. There's all kinds of ways to celebrate the holidays but being with family, particularly children, is undoubtedly one of the best.

Simplifying the Holidays

Some tips from the Center for a New American Dream (www.newdream.org) around the holidays.

Have a cookie swap. Six friends who each make six dozen of the same kind of cookie can meet for coffee and go home with a dozen of each kind.

Frame a picture of the family home. Send it to distant friends and relatives who can't make it home this year.

Take a friend off junk mail. Generate automatic forms with your recipient's name and address at www.newdream.org/junkmail to reduce unwanted mail by 50%. Present the forms in stamped, addressed envelopes ready to sign and mail.

Make an emergency kit for the car. Create a gift basket with a blanket, flashlight, gas can, jumper cables and flares.

Make a donation in someone's name. Heifer International is one great recipient. Buy a village a goat!

Give the gift of reconnection. Call an estranged friend or write a letter to someone you haven't seen in a few years.

Share the love of reading. Give away the last great book you bought and enjoyed to someone who shares your taste.

Storytelling is a powerful way to preserve family memories, especially if you exaggerate a few details for posterity.

Designate an amount of money to donate and let your kids pick the charity.

Give a gift of kindness: shovel snow for an elderly neighbor, leave potted flowers or herbs anonymously on a friend's doorstep, clean the cat box without being asked!

Scaling back at the holidays takes an extra effort at first, but it can be deeply rewarding, leaving more time for friends, faith or just some self-care.

Housesharing Means Turning Around Sometimes

Housesharing has many advantages and in the Bay Area it can mean the difference between staying and moving to Keokuk, Iowa, or Asheville, NC. We moved to a house in the Oakland Hills in August and we've gained so much in comparison to the small loss of space and privacy. We moved from a one-bedroom apartment overlooking Lake Merritt to a smaller one-bedroom space where we share the kitchen in the house. The good thing about it is the kitchen has a beautiful commercial stove and refrigerator and a view of the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges. Last night the turquoise and burgundy sky at sunset was spectacular.

Other things we have gained include a dog named Tasha whose ability to "talk" comes from her mother, who is part wolf. Then there's the black and white cat, Zen, who I have taken to feeding and giving her thyroid pill twice daily. She now sleeps in a leopard cat bed I bought her on the landing between our two floors. There's a constant dance between Zen and Tasha, who wants to eat Zen's food and any other food for that matter that makes its way to the floor. Zen is a slow eater and she likes me to be standing by as she eats. A new form of meditation.

We have a deck off our space where we hang clothes to dry and admire the ever-changing view. We're raising some plants given to us by our housemate.

Last night the furnace went on as we were falling asleep. The problem is, the vent is right over our heads and when we try to close it, it sounds like a train roaring through a tunnel. Our place gets warm much more quickly than upstairs so we needed to adapt to the situation. We finally decided to just put our pillows at the bottom of the bed and sleep the other way. This is a lesson I have been learning from more left-brain thinkers. If something isn't working the way I'm doing it, try another way. It's amazing how many times I do that thing author Rita Brown says: "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

This doing it a different way worked for me recently when I was helping a friend reframe a picture. And when I figured out the problem with my Tivo. It makes me feel much more competent and less flakey when I persist and figure something out that used to baffle me. And it's often so simple. If I'm turning it to the right, turn it to the left. If I'm plugging it in here, plug it in there. I'm also learning that there's more than one right way to do things. My way isn't always right. In fact, one of the most helpful phrases for me when I'm hearing something that triggers me is, "You might be right." And believing it.

Gifts That Won't Become Clutter

My favorite organizing blog is written by Jeri Dansky (jdorganizer.com). I check it every day for original ideas and products. Today she shares a dozen gifts that are Earth-friendly and won't contribute to clutter. I'm going to join the No Shopping on the day after Thanksgiving movement this year. I have a job with a regular client that day so I will have to pay a toll to reach him, but hopefully that's the only money I'll spend tomorrow.

Ten things I am grateful for this year:

1. A new grandson, Liam Zachary, born to Jerry & Jessica in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
2. Moving to a beautiful house share in the Oakland hills with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, a dog named Tasha and a cat named Zen.
3. The partners my son and daughter have chosen.
4. My new MacBook Pro
5. Joining the Threshold Choir which sings to people who are ill or dying.
6. A trip to Asheville, NC, where we stayed with my favorite niece.
7. Tutoring in a friend's third grade class in East Oakland.
8. All my friends at the Ann Martin Center, where I worked until August.
9. Space For Grace and the clients who enrich my life.
10. My husband, John, who promised me life with him would never be dull. (And he kept his promise.)

And now...from Jeri Dansky --

12 Gifts That Won't Become Clutter

Many of us - and the people we get gifts for - already have many material things. Now, it may be that you know the person very well, and you know of something that would be perfect for that person. That's great! But sometimes we're buying for someone who is dear to us but whose taste we're less sure of - or someone who really doesn't seem to need any more stuff.

So here's a list of things to consider giving:

Membership at a museum or zoo
A gift certificate for a massage or a facial
A gift certificate for a feng shui consultation or house blessing
A gift certificate for a night at a B&B
A “gift certificate” for baby-sitting, car washing, etc.—any service you can provide that would be appreciated by the receiver
A book of pre-paid car wash coupons (my local car wash sells these)
A CD of favorite music (made legally)
Consumables such as food or wine (but consider dietary restrictions)
Interesting toothpaste: fennel or a choice of 30+ flavors (green tea, Japanese plum, etc.)
An emergency kit (if they don't have one)
A professional photograph of you (for your parents), of the person's pet, etc.
A donation to a cause the person cares about (not for everybody; some love it, some think it’s not a real gift)


And here are some items that often become clutter - so give them with caution:

Something cute—because cute wears off
Knick knacks
Specialty gadgets for the kitchen
Another item for the collection (if the collection is getting out of hand)
Toys—the average child gets about 70 toys per year
Clothes that might not fit, especially if returns are difficult; clothes in general if you’re not an expert in the colors, fabrics, and styles that work for the individual in question
Anything where you think "this will do" (rather than "this is perfect")

All Those Children and Curious George

It was nearly Thanksgiving 28 years ago when my best friend from high school was talking to her mother about a friend of theirs who was recently divorced and lonely. My friend suggested that her mother fix him up with me -- also recently divorced, but determined to wait five years until I got married again. We both got an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, but both had other plans. When Jan's mom called and told me John "would like to get to know you better," I was interested. But she offered a caveat. "The only reason I'm hesitant about being matchmaker is all those children," she said. "How many?" I asked, remembering how kind he had seemed at a dinner party where we had been seated next to each other. "Six," she said. That didn't worry me at the time and we were married two months after our first date in the living room of our matchmaker, with a heavy snow falling outside. One of John's six children couldn't make it to the ceremony because he was in the hospital having an emergency appendectomy. We stopped by to see him before the wedding and he wished us well.

Just last week, the 17th grandchild arrived. That joyous news was followed by the sad phone call telling us that another grandchild, 14 months old, had just been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis. I remembered my friend's worry about all those children, but I see them as a rich blessing, embracing the good and the sad. Another grandson just recovered from a bout with a nasty staph infection. This grandson has three daughters and his sister also has three girls -- so that means six great-granddaughters have been added to the family. Our reunions, though not frequent enough, are filled with joy. We have grandchildren who play soccer, trombone, water polo, some who cook, do physical therapy, weld, swim. We have a cheerleader, an actor, water skiers and writers.

I am thankful on the eve of this Thanksgiving to have our five-year-old grandson here watching Curious George and eating pizza. We took him to the Chabot Space Center to see a film about astronauts because he was interested in becoming one. After seeing all the dangers astronauts face, he whispered to his grandfather, "This looks too dangerous. I'm going to stay on Earth." Tomorrow we'll drive him home and share a feast with his two brothers, his Mom & Dad, my son and his girlfriend, who is making pistachio brittle, and my daughter and her new boyfriend. I am so thankful for my matchmaker.

Threshold Choir: Singing With Our Hearts

This weekend I drove North to a workshop given by Kate Munger who started and leads Threshold Choirs in the Bay Area and elsewhere. The choir honors the ancient traditon of singing at the bedsides of people who are struggling, some with living, some with dying. Kate says the voice is a true and gracious vehicle for compassion and comfort.

I expected to learn songs, but I didn't expect the depth of healing that happened as nearly 30 women sat in circle and shared the resonance of lullabies, chants, rounds and hymns. We met in a rural, wooden Episcopal Church and memories returned as I paged through a hymnbook. I grew up in a small Episcopal Church in Iowa and I recognized many of the symbols and statues. I shared a room with Jean, who I met in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for one of our healthy, nourishing meals, all prepared by Kate, with help from the community. Our room held two beds that were built into the wall and just perfect for women under 5 foot 3. It reminded us of a boat.

Between singing, we knitted, shared stories, discovered synchronicities, laughed, drank tea and took walks in the misty woods surrounding the church. A flock of pelicans flew by and a red-tailed hawk perched high in a dead tree outside our windows. Instead of alarm clocks, we were awakened by choir members singing to us.

The weekend helped heal a part of me that thought I had lost my voice. When I was in high school, I was part of a duo, Mike & Val. My friend was a self-taught guitar player during the 60's and he taught me folk songs, which we sang at parties and sock hops. It was a long time ago. My voice was there this weekend and it blended with everyone else's voice. The voices expressed sadness and joy and pure pleasure.

There are choirs currently meeting (twice a month for rehearsals) in Marin, Sonoma, Oakland, Contra Costa, San Francisco, Santa Cruz and more. (thresholdchoir.org) Check it out if you want to find your voice and so much more.

Getting Things Done

“When hungry, eat your rice; when tired, close your eyes. Fools may laugh at me, but wise men will know what I
mean.” – Lin-Chi

I came across this quote this morning on David Allen's website. He's the author who has written "Getting Things Done." It's a great book for people who could benefit from getting all those whirling messages out of their mind and onto a list. Here's a capsule of his system:

* Capturing anything and everything that has your attention
* Defining actionable things discretely into outcomes and concrete next steps
* Organizing reminders and information in the most streamlined way, in appropriate categories, based on
how and when you need to access them
* Keeping current and "on your game" with appropriately frequent reviews of the six horizons of your
commitments (purpose, vision, goals, areas of focus, projects, and actions)

Implementing Getting Things Done alleviates the feeling of overwhelm, instills confidence, and releases a flood of creative energy. It provides structure without constraint, managing details with maximum flexibility. The system rigorously adheres to the core principles of productivity, while allowing tremendous freedom in the "how." The only "right" way to do GTD is getting meaningful things done with truly the least amount of invested attention and energy. Coaching thousands of people, where they work, about their work, has informed the GTD method with the best practices of how to work (and live), in that most efficient and productive way.

It takes some time to set up and requires continued attention, but it really works. For one thing, it teaches you how to look at projects as a series of next actions. Another of his tips is if the Next Action can be done in 2 minutes or less, do it when you first pick the item up.

As for the quote, I think it represents a reminder to indulge in extreme self care. This is the mantra of one of my clients and I'm giving it a try. I'm tired, so now I'll close my eyes.

Living at the Tri Sig house

I just received an invitation to join an e-mail list with my old sorority sisters. The last time I saw any of them was at a reunion in 1986. Now it's 40 years since I lived in the sorority house on the campus of Eastern Illinois University in Charleston. I was reminded that 22 girls shared a house with one bathroom. I remember the time the pledges stole the bathtub plug (there was no shower) and the actives made them sit in the tub with their clothes on to plug the drain as we each took our bath. As pledges, we had to wear white sailor hats decorated with purple Sigmas on which we had to collect the signatures of as many fraternity boys as we could. It was a fairly easy, and fun, task.

One of my fondest memories was the Easter break that six of us drove to Daytona Beach and then flew to Nassau for a few days. We called out the window of our hotel when we arrived to three guys who were on the street waiting for a taxi to take them to the airport. They were boyhood friends who had taken a trip together before going into the Army during the Viet Nam War. When we told them to come see us, they ditched the taxi and ended up staying with us for our visit. They even followed us back to Daytona Beach but these boys didn't fit in with our college friends who had come to Florida for spring break. I often wonder what happened to them.

Now the sisters share stories of illnesses, deaths, children, husbands. It seems such a long time ago that I lived at the sorority house where my friend Marion and I knew every word to every Simon and Garfunkel song and even sang backup in a local fraternity band. One night I woke up to the sound of screams in the third floor sleeping dorm of the house. There was a wooden stairway on the outside of the house and someone had come up the stairs and was banging on the door. He ran away before anyone could identify him, but we were all terrified. We might have overreacted because, at the time, Richard Speck's murder trial was page one news. He had killed several student nurses in their townhouse in Chicago.

We grabbed suitcases from the closet, the only thing we could think of to use as weapons, and ran down the stairs en masse. When we reached the first floor, our sorority housemother was stomping around with a shotgun and the police had just arrived. Their first order of business was to get her to put the gun down. Then they searched the premises and assured us there was no one around.

From then on, until the end of the semester, we slept with our sorority paddles next to our beds. Some people shared beds they were so afraid. And the last person upstairs would put a coke bottle tied to the doorknob on the step so if the door opened, we would be alerted. It was only years later that someone finally admitted it was a drunken prank and not a serial killer at our door.

The Retreat -- My Mother Goes Away

A little sleuthing uncovered a newspaper article that is helping heal a hole in my heart. When I was in the third grade, my mother was hosptialized to treat what was then called a nervous breakdown. It happened a lot in the '50s. We lived in a small town in Iowa and one day I came home and my mother was gone. I wasn't deemed old enough to understand (or care?) so I was given a hasty explanation ... something about her having back trouble. It didn't make sense and I'm sure I protested and wanted more information, but my father's solution was to pile my two brothers and me into the car and take us to the Rootbeer Stand. I remember huddling in the back of the station wagon, refusing to eat.

In the next few days, my Aunt Marion arrived from back East. She was the designated caretaker in my father's family; I imagine she had a bag packed for her next family mission. She would take care of the three of us until my mother returned. No one knew when or if that would be, but life returned to a new kind of normal. I remember having a terrible teacher that year, a stern woman who didn't seem to like children. I turned to my aunt for comfort and, while she was a proper Eastern woman who didn't easily reveal her emotions, she seemed to care for me. She had a husand and a son back in New Jersey and a parakeet named Dennis who she told me stories about. She taught me to knit and took me to the library and made me eat my vegetables, something my mother had never cared about.

One day my best friend Gayle told me she had learned a secret about my mother. She didn't want to tell me, but finally she said she had heard her mother telling a friend that my mother was locked in a place with bars on the window. I ran home crying and asked my aunt why my mother was in jail. She finally gave me the explanation I wished I had received when my mother left. Something about being ill, not physically but in her mind, and that she was in a place where they were helping her get well.

So she was coming home someday? I wondered what would happen to Aunt Marian and I didn't want to think about that. One day I found out. Aunt Marian said she had some good news for me. "Who do you thinking is coming this week?" she asked. I made several guesses, none of them my mother. And my first reaction was to ask if she was going to stay. "No, I have to go back to my family," she replied. I was crushed that she didn't consider us her family now. It had never occurred to me that she would leave.

I talked my father into letting me go to the train station with them the day she left. It meant I would be late for school but I didn't care how I would feel when I walked into class and everyone turned to stare at me. I just knew my lifeline was leaving. She hugged me goodbye and and got on the train. I was sobbing and my father wanted to leave but I wouldn't let him go until we spotted her through the window. I waved and tried to get her attention but she didn't see me as she calmly settled into her seat and opened her newspaper. I felt betrayed that she was leaving so easily.

My mother came home and in time I accepted her again as the mother in my life. My aunt and I kept up a correspondence for years and my parakeet Pie still reminds me of her.

I still have unanswered questions all these years later. From a friend of my mother's, I found out that she had gone to a place in Des Moines called The Retreat. I just received an article in the mail that I found on the Internet. There's a picture of The Retreat, which was a beautiful Victorian mansion built in the early 1900's. The article says that the patients lived in small cottages and could wander the 17 acres of orchards and vegetable gardens because the staff believed that living in a home-like setting could help patients recover more quickly. It's somehow comforting to know that my mother wasn't in a sterile mental institution and seeing that picture helps me heal the part of me that didn't know where she disappeared to.

The mercy of Kwan Yin

As I look out the window to the deck, the sun is illuminating the head of the Kwan Yin statue my son gave me as a gift. It's an apt metaphor for me, the one who wants to stay in her head, figure things out, avoid feelings. But this first post is my attempt to change my habitual patterns. It's a way for me to step out into the spotlight -- that place I yearn for and avoid at the same time. Or maybe a split second apart. I am taking a short sabbatical between leaving an admin job, safe and secure, and working to build my business, Space for Grace, where I help people get rid of or rearrange the material things that keep them from living their heart dreams.

And as I step out on this journey, I ask for the thousand mercies of Kwan Yin. That god/goddess who blesses and forgives and is full of compassion. This morning on the radio I heard the story of a woman, now 86, who was a nurse in World War II and she was on the beaches of Normandy. Now three sons have come home safely from wars and she is grateful. She still suffers from PTSD, something that was unknown during World War II or was called shell shock. She said her son took her back to Normandy, because she wanted to visit, and after that, she started having flashbacks and nightmares again. She also said she'd like to be back where the action is, helping again as she did as a young woman. I cried as I drove, cried for all the women who have lost sons and daughters in any war. And I cried for the woman who still wants to help. And she inspires me to venture out into the places that scare me and make my contributions.