Thoughts on Poverty

I was inspired to write this morning when I learned from a friend that people have been asked to blog today about poverty. What a great idea. With the current economic situation, many of us are looking at our finances with some concern, but most of us are probably not in danger of living in poverty. We most likely will have to make some changes, some sacrifices, some choices. Postponing or canceling vacations, putting off big purchases, eating out less. But in some countries, poverty means the people don't take vacations, buy a new washing machine or eat out at all. On the news last night, I saw a shocking picture of a store in Africa with empty shelves; there was no food to be bought.

On our walk yesterday, John and I were talking about one of the sweetest moments of our lives. It happened when we were visiting our daughter in the Peace Corps in Namibia (formerly Southwest Africa). She was a teacher and lived in a cement block home on a family compound located in an area called Ovamboland, just south of Angola. In fact, she and her friends went to an outdoor cafe on the border. She didn't tell me before we got there how close she was to Angola, where a civil war was going on and Unita rebels often crossed the border. There was also the threat of leftover land mines and diseases like elephantiasis, but we slept under mosquito netting and felt safe with her African family.

One night, after eating the goat prepared in our honor (the goat was slaughtered and butchered hanging from a tree outside Kara's house; I couldn't look) we sat around the fire that had been built under the incredible starry sky. This was a custom and took the place of watching television. During the daytime, the family sat under the spreading marula tree to try to catch a breeze. On this particular night, we chatted and often sat in silence, overwhelmed by the size and depth of the night sky, stars burning more brightly in the absence of electricity. We were all looking up when I noticed a star that seemed to be blinking and then I could see it was moving slowly across the vastness. The father said in a solemn voice, "The plane to Luanda." That was our moment. The one we took home from Africa. Such a simple statement and one we would never hear anywhere else.

That family might be considered to be living in poverty. But they had a well on their property which they shared with the neighborhood (a far-reaching neighborhood) and they had family around the fire on dark nights. They had the marula tree for their living room and the children played joyfully with old tires, sticks and toys made from coke cans. Being welcomed by them, because my daughter was their daughter, taught me a valuable lesson about money that I will never forget. Being rich is having children, grandchildren, good friends. Making a difference. Happiness is the plane to Luanda.

A Dozen Ideas to Unclutter Your Life

Here are some ideas I shared at another presentation I did for a friend's party in her back yard. She had hosted a wedding for 150 the day before and wanted to take advantage of the tiny lights in the trees to have another gathering. She is one very organized woman. After dinner, I shared these tips and got lots of good ideas from the guests about how they deal creatively with clutter.

1 Find a place for your keys (a hook, a bowl) and stick to using it.

2 Set a timer for 10 minutes, put on some music and start clearing clutter in one drawer or from one horizontal surface that collects things.

3 Do the "Two Bag Tango," (thanks, Peter Walsh). Walk around your home with two trash bags: one for trash, the other for anything that needs a new home -- to go to your favorite charity, to its rightful owner or to freecycle.org.

4 Get off junk mail lists (reduce your mail by up to 70%) and unsubscribe from newsletters you are not loving.

5 Follow the 2 minute rule: Do anything right away that will take less than 2 minutes.

6 Keep a box for items to discard and when it's full, put it in your car. Drop it off at a local thrift store.

7 Practice making quick decisions. Most clutter is delayed decisions.

8 Pause for a moment before you store something. Storing something means you don't intend to use it much.

9 Have a clear vision for what you want your life to look like and only keep things that fit that vision.

10 Get over your F.O.M.S. (Fear of Missing Something). There will always be more opportunities.

11 Question your 'shoulds.' You don't have to read every interesting thing that crosses your path.

12 Honor the stuff you love, need & want. If the stuff you accumulate isn't actively helping get you closer to a life you truly want, then it's getting in the way.

At The Beach

Bowman family reunions are always full of surprises and rituals. This one was no different. But it did have the added feature of bringing together John's half sisters and family and some of his children who had never met them. It's a long story, but John discovered when he was in his 60s that his mother (from whom he had been separated as a young boy and didn't find until six years ago just after her death) had remarried, moved to Florida and had three more daughters. One was living in his mother's home and another nearby. We have visited them several times since finding them and from them, we have learned everything we know about her life. We visited them again before heading for the reunion site in Destin, FL, and we watched home videos of some of her Christmases.

There were 13 Griffis family members who caravaned with us from MacClenny in Northern Florida to the resort town of Destin on the Gulf of Mexico. We had all rented cottages and son, J.J., and his family were located right by the pool. He said it was a shock to meet family that had thick Southern accents but everyone quickly bonded as we noticed the physical similarities between cousins from both sides of the family.

Then J.J. proposed we play Killer, a family traditon at reunions. The Griffis family jumped right in and pretty soon we were laughing with no accents as Abby, 6, killed someone with a wink and her brother, Colby, guessed she was the killer because she blushed. It was a great icebreaker.

We got to spend time with our grandson, Matthew, who is 2 and has cystic fibrosis. He's doing great and loved the attention and all the people crowded into the beach cottage. He also loved the beach and was fearless in the waves. The second day at the beach the red flag went up keeping us out of the water, and we started feeling the preview of the later storms. John got to play tennis with his sons and grandsons.

From Florida, I flew to Chicago for a college sorority reunion and I quickly was transported back to the days in the sorority house where 21 girls shared one bathroom and lived to tell about it. Everyone has arrived at a place in their lives where they are happy with what they have accomplished and still planning new adventures. We shared stories of the good old days and current family news. I led a round of songs which we remembered most of the words to.

It was a wonderful way to end the summer and now I'm back in Roseville getting ready for a party my friend is having for me to introduce Space for Grace to her friends. And it's time to hang the last pictures and assemble the dining room chairs we ordered from Pottery Barn. Feathering a new nest in a new life.

Gratitude for Grandchildren and Old Friends

I have much to be grateful for. The poison ivy is finally gone after three weeks and a steroid shot. I felt some camaraderie with my grandson, who also had to take prednisone, although for a much more serious reason, lymphoma. He just spent a week in the hospital with a very high fever for no explainable reason. All the bad things were ruled out and it was determined to be a virus that took a while to get out of his body due to a compromised immune system. The great news (and my number one gratitude) is that he's home from the hospital and has completed the nastiest of the chemo medicines and will now be entering maintenance mode. He's not out of the woods yet, but everyone is very hopeful.

On Friday, John & I drove from our new home in Roseville (taking a welcome break from the newsletter we're working on) to watch his younger brother so their dad could go back to work. We spent the first half hour with this active and very bright three-year-old sitting on my lap, emptying out my purse and finding a great deal of change, which we put into an envelope, as well as my frog key ring, tiny Buddha statue, lip gloss (which he applied to both my lips and his), earrings (which he put in my ears after taking off the ones I came with), and several pens, with which we wrote his name and Grandma. Some time was spent with my cell phone, I got quite a nice manicure with my emery board and we finished off with the small measuring tape I bring along on organizing jobs.

After that we listened to Star Wars music and mimed several battles. Watched a Netflix movie about a little boy named Diego who rescues his friends. Worn out, he fell asleep in Grandpa's lap while I checked e-mail to take care of a few newsletter details. Once he woke up and had a cup of hot chocolate, he invited me into his tent (a blanket) and we sat huddled together whispering secrets until his dad came home. It was exhausting but one of my favorite ways to spend an afternoon.

On Wednesday we'll be flying to a resort in Florida for a Bowman family reunion. About 22 members of the family will be arriving from Texas, Illinois, Tennessee, Florida, Indiana and California. We'll be swimming, playing tennis, listening to favorite songs compiled by son, JJ, and just enjoying each other's company.

From there, I will fly to Chicago for a reunion of my sorority sisters from Eastern Illinois University. Some I haven't seen in 40 years but I know we'll pick up right where we left off.

Leaves of Three, Let It Be

If only I had remembered that ditty as I was helping my niece pull weeds in the backyard of her Asheville, NC rental property during our recent vacation. I was trying to be helpful. She warned me as I was working by the tree that I was getting into poison ivy, but I had gloves on and long pants with socks so I thought washing my hands well would take care of it. How wrong I was. Days later, after returning home, I noticed a strange red welt on my calf. I didn't figure it out until it spread, and blistered and started looking like some horrible skin condition. The itching drove me to the doctor who prescribed an antibiotic and steroid cream which I lathered on as often as I could. Still no relief. In fact, things were progressing.

I haven't mentioned that at the peak of my outbreak, we packed and moved from Oakland to Roseville, east of Sacramento. My husband's retirement led us to a place that is more affordable and quieter to live. And we have a community here already because we have kept friends from our time living here in the '80s. For some reason, we decided it was a good idea to rent a U-Haul and get a couple of friends to help us with the move. When we arrived, the temperature was 96 degrees but because we have simplified so much, it only took three men 30 minutes to move everything from the truck into our new space, a two-bedroom apartment.

The poison ivy wasn't getting any better, so I found a new doctor at the Roseville Kaiser and when I saw him, he told me I needed a steroid shot. Which I took gladly. It's now three days later, and I'm just beginning to notice some improvement. I have a renewed respect for nature and I'm remembering back to a day many years ago when I drove off to college -- with a case of poison ivy. My boyfriend at the time (who later became my first husband) and I had gone to the State Park for a going away picnic and chose a very inopportune spot to throw our blanket down. I wonder at the connection between the poison ivy I had when I left home for college and the poison ivy I have now as I move away from my children. A strange coincidence.

I do know I will be much more careful the next time I take a walk on a trail and I'm going to religiously study what poison oak looks like.

Four Things About Organizing

I received an e-mail from a friend today with the subject line "Four Things." It asked me to list four places I go regularly, four favorite places to eat, four places I'd rather be and four tv shows I never miss. Then send it back to her and forward it to other friends. I did it and picked a few people who regularly send me these kinds of things. It got me thinking about my four favorite things about organizing that I've learned from reading way more than four books on the subject.

The first that came to mind was Peter Walsh's line: It's not about the clutter. That's so true. When I work with someone who wants to clear the clutter to create space and conquer the overwhelm it's not about buying the perfect containers or over-the-door shoebag or shelf or rack. It's truly about having a vision for your space and focusing on that. Walsh says to look beyond the stuff and imagine the life you want to live.

How did all that stuff get there in the first place. Inherited? Gifts from special people that are never used or even liked? Might need it someday? Protection? Reminder of the past? It needs the perfect home? Once someone has really decided that a clear space is more important than any of these things, the job is much easier.

The second principle is David Allen's Getting Things Done which involves writing everything, and I mean everything, down that is currently running around in your head and keeping you awake at 4 am. All the errands, phone calls to make, faxes, e-mails to return, projects, appointments, someday/maybe ideas. Getting it all out of your head and onto paper provides a sense of ease. These things can be grouped by context and translated into actions. Deciding what needs to be done next is a big part of the system. Visiting the list often and taking those actions is also necessary. And it's amazing how much progress you can make.

The third great plan comes from the book Apartment Therapy: the eight-step home cure. Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan uses the outbox idea, an area that can be a corner of a room, to put things you are considering getting rid of. Ask yourself: Do I use it? Do I love it? Does my apartment need it? When you get the room the way you like it, you can decide if there's something in the outbox you want to put back in but chances are you'll be so delighted with the new space, things will go out the door to a new, good home.

Four. Karen Kingston's book on the feng shui of clutter taught me about the flow of energy that is released when clutter is cleared. It's worth a try to see if you feel the difference. For me, I slept better when there was nothing under the bed. She says that clutter is stuck energy that has far-reaching effects physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Clutter clearing and limiting what you bring in allows you to create space for what you truly want in your life. And that is space for grace.

Monkey Love

My last birthday was a quiet celebration because it wasn't what they call a "bigi yari" in Suriname, where I celebrated my 58th birthday. It was dinner at an elegant College Avenue restaurant with my husband, son, daughter and her boyfriend. What I loved about it was that they wanted to be with me and the special gifts I received. I had mentioned to my son awhile ago that I had spotted Zippy, the stuffed monkey I was so attached to as a child, on EBay but he cost too much. So he surprised me with the stuffed animal and the perfect card. My daughter gave me watercolor supplies, a jigsaw puzzle and two of my favorite candy bars. The fact that they know exactly what pleases me makes me very happy. I love their creativity and observation of what brings me joy.

But more than the gifts, I am grateful for their presence in my life. I appreciate my son's steadiness, quick mind and sense of humor. I also appreciate that when Sydney, the orange cat that belonged first to my daughter, then to us, needed a home, he welcomed her in. She is devoted to him and he to her. My daughter rescues dogs. Lots of dogs. Two that live with her on a regular basis are Julio and Daisy. Julio came along after her last dog, L'il Guy, a feisty white chihuahua, died. He was the one that was a runner-up in the licking contest at a local pet store and he would have done well even without the peanut butter that owners put on their faces to help the dogs along. There are other dogs that somehow show up in her life that she finds homes for.

That's something I most love about my children. Their kindness and generosity. And the way they want to be with me.

Retirement or Refirement?

I celebrated my husband's retirement last week by presenting him with my grandfather's gold watch. I told him I was giving it to him in recognition and gratitude for his long career. He started working when he was 10 years old and he is about to celebrate his 71st birthday. That's a long career. His first job was as a newspaper carrier in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. He was a pinsetter at a bowling alley and a bagger at a grocery store. But his real work life started at the age of 19 when he talked his way into a job at a newspaper as a sports reporter. To get the job, he had to lie a little, saying he was 21 and he knew how to type. He got the job and over the week before he started, he got the son of his landlord (a lawyer who had recommended him for the job) to teach him how to type with his high school typing book. He is still a faster typist than I am.

From sports writer, he moved up the ranks and eventually was named publisher of a paper in California. I was lucky enough to work with him at two of the papers he led, where he taught me how to become a lifestyles editor. With his tutoring, I became a columnist and won a few prizes for articles he assigned me. I know what a good boss he was and how much affection those who worked for him felt towards him. It was something about how he treated everyone, from the janitor named H to the owner of the newspaper, with equal respect. And about how he encouraged the best in us and inspired enthusiasm and joy in the job we were doing.

The newspaper business has been changing over the years and in 1995 he segued into the university marketing field. While he was director of marketing at Holy Names University, he earned a master's degree in spirituality and was the oldest graduate last summer. Last Friday marked his last official day of working nine to five. I've worried that it would be difficult for him after so many years of identifying with his job, but the first week I've only seen him relax more and more. He'll be doing freelance work editing a newsletter for a Marin County senior center (he's already meeting with people to cook up interesting articles) and he'll find a place to volunteer, develop some short story ideas and spend more time with his grandchildren. I'm looking forward to this next phase of our lives to see what contributions he makes as he brings his joy and respect for others into new arenas.

Dancing the Polka

"For me, Ashkenaz is much more than a club; every show is a family reunion, with a family you actually get along with." This is how one person describes the community dance center in Berkeley that offers world music and dance most nights of the week. It's children-friendly and all kinds of people come together to connect with joy. I went last night to hear a new friend, Odile Lavault and her group, Baguette Quartette. Odile plays accordian and sings Parisian cafe songs from the '20s and '40s. One of the songs was La Mer, a song we know as Bobby Darin's Beyond the Sea.

It was a big dance party which started with a lesson. There were leaders and followers of all ages, sizes, shapes and costume. We changed partners every few minutes or so. I got a little intimidated by the partner that told me I was putting my feet in the wrong place, but most people were friendly, helpful and pretty joyful. I later danced a polka with a man named Richard who told me we would do a "low-impact" version. I was surprised that I remembered how to do it and that I could follow his lead as we flowed around the dance floor. It was great exercise and really got my heart pounding. In fact, I'm inspired to take some folk dance lessons, maybe Scottish. Learning the steps would be a great challenge for my brain and the community aspect is healthy too.

One of the friends I went to Ashkenaz with is Costanzia, who is from Tanzania and she had commented that in her country, they are always dancing. After seeing the joy on the faces of the dancers last night, I think we should all dance more, work less. Which reminds me of my favorite bumper sticker. Wag more, bark less.

Happy Mother's Day

As part of my Mother's Day weekend I signed up for a watercolor journaling class in Los Gatos and invited my daughter. I didn't really think she would go, but was pleasantly surprised when she told me she had signed up. We gathered in a park in the town center next to the fountain where children were playing in the water. After a little explanation we started to create. Felicity said a bird pooped on her shirt. "Is that good luck?" We thought it was.

We were invited to give a short introduction and my daughter said she came because it was easier than the year I asked them to do a Mother's Day sweat lodge. True. After the initial discomfort about not being able to draw, we started with a line drawing of a plastic animal that we did with one line without looking at the paper as we drew. We all were successful at getting something down that we were pleased with. We got tips and techniques for working with water colors and sketched several more subjects. I ended up buying the instructional DVD and a small watercolor pocket box -- fits in a purse. My daughter and I are going to have a session together and invite some friends. I feel as if I broke through some of my childhood reservations about not being an artist today. A fine gift indeed.

One year, the year my daughter was in Namibia in the Peace Corps, my son and husband asked what I'd like for Mother's Day. Anything, they said, as long as they could watch the game (football, basketball??) at 4:00. We lived in a small one bedroom apartment then and I said what I'd really like was for them to help me paint the living room. A soft butter yellow. And we did it, finishing up just in time for kick-off or tip-off.

As I drove my daughter home, she mentioned that she needed some help organizing and I suggested she get rid of five items every day for five days. She liked the idea. I'm not supposed to give her unsolicited advice, but I guess it being Mother's Day ...

What are the Bare Essentials?

I just read a blog about a man who lives in the trailer of the semi he drives. All of his belongings were listed and it's a short list. I live in fairly small space, but have way more than he does. Oprah just had a show about asking people to live with less for a week: no TV except an hour a day; no computer except for homework; no eating out ... It wasn't easy for the two families chosen for the challenge as you can imagine. But after the initial resistance, rebellion, anger and boredom, they seemed to settle into it and ended feeling grateful for the new closeness and appreciation for each other that developed.

I remember what it was like growing up without a computer. I can even remember what it was like when we bought our first TV and watching the test pattern on Saturday mornings before the regular programming began. I remember a time before video games and cell phones and even faxes and answering machines. Wow, I sound like an old person.

But life really was simpler then. We played board games and played outside every day, all day. Anyone remember Uncle Wiggly, Clue, Sorry, Cootie?! Monopoly was way too competitive for me although I loved those little hotels. People got together and played charades and going to the movies was a big deal. Eating out was a very special occasion until I became a teenager, then going to a hamburger drive-in was pretty common, even a ritual among my friends. Having two cars was unusual and the only time we got new clothes was when something was totally worn out or during back to school days. My mother insisted our family of five sit down to dinner together, even after the advent of TV trays. She had this vision of us all sitting around discussing our days, but most often it deteriorated into kicking under the table and remarks about my brother getting a haircut. She did try though and I do know which fork to use and to keep my elbows off the table.

So I think about what I would take with me if I moved into the trailer of a semi. I could get by with a few good clothes: a pair of jeans, a pair of black slacks, a few interesting tops, a warm coat, one pair of comfortable shoes. I would need to have my computer, a cell phone, good light, a healthy plant, someplace really comfortable to sleep. Three or four interesting books. It sounds strange, I know, but I'd have an altar with special objects and family pictures. I guess I wouldn't be happy in a semi trailer really, but it's nice to think about what I can do without and to be more conscious of all my stuff.

Goodbye to Pie

I felt anger when the vet said that my parakeet's lame foot was probably caused by a kidney tumor. I remembered losing Perry, the green parakeet who saw me through my divorce, a second marriage and a move to a new town. He had a stomach tumor at age 7 and died in John's hand at the vet's. We buried him under the eucalyptus tree outside the window next to his cage. Now, at about the same age, Pie had developed a tumor and was probably in pain. He certainly would not get better and when I asked our new vet about euthanizing him, she said it would be the thing to do. It doesn't feel fair that the timing of his loss comes right after John's surgery (which I am grateful was successful) and just as our grandson is in the hospital for his next round of chemo (although, again I am grateful because his PET scan shows he is responding "excellently" to the regimen he is on. The tumor is gone and hasn't returned.)

So I wonder if Pie is some sort of sacrifice I'm being asked to make for the health of my beloved husband and grandson. We still have Apple, the mate we bought for Pie, who turns out to be a boy. He seems a little confused and maybe a little happy to be the one and only. No more competing for food or treats. When I lost Perry, I didn't have another bird to fill my house with song, so I am happy to have Apple. But she doesn't sing like Pie. I still miss his voice. We buried him in the back yard overlooking the Bay with a spray of purple orchids that a friend brought John when she visited the other day. His marker is a fairy with translucent wings that my daughter gave me. She'll stand watch over his spirit as he flies free of his cage.

Home from the Hospital

Our experience of John's surgery was much different than we expected. We arrived at the hospital at 1 pm Friday for 3 pm surgery. As we waited in pre-surgery, our daughter Kara taught us how to make a friendship bracelet out of the lining of a Coke bottlecap. She had packed a bag full of distractions for the waiting room. John was visited by the head nurse, the anesthesiologist and the surgeon before surgery. The nurse asked if he had any body piercings and he said, "Not yet." His anesthesiologist looked at his chart twice and had trouble believing he is 70.

After he walked off with the anesthesiologist to the surgery room, my son, Daniel, Kara and I went to the waiting area in the lobby of the hospital. Less than an hour later, a physician's assistant we had gotten to know during his earlier hospital stay, came out with a smile on her face and said it was all finished and he had done great. It was 4 pm. They wouldn't let me into the recovery room until 7 to have a quick visit. He was more alert than I expected but still a little groggy. He gave me a big John smile and told me he felt like Tom Terrific. Sometime during our wait, a patient in a wheelchair started playing the piano in the lobby. Her blues style was professional sounding and we felt as if we were at a concert or a nightclub. By 9, he had a room on the seventh floor and an 80-year-old roommate who looked much younger.

By the next morning, he was sitting up and eating a clear liquid diet and had gotten up with help from his Nigerian nurse, Owen, at 3 in the morning. That day we walked four or five times up and down the hall. Two days after his surgery, he was on his way home. If the original surgery hadn't been cancelled, he would have had traditional surgery instead of laproscopic and his recovery time would have doubled. Now it's his first full day home and he's happily doing the crossword puzzle and the parakeets are clucking and chortling now that their flock is back.

After canceling all my organizing clients for the past two weeks, I'm looking forward to getting back to two of my favorites the end of the week. I had to also cancel going to the NAPO conference in Reno but I'll get the tape of the keynote speaker, Peter Walsh, author of It's All Too Much. I learned a lot more by staying home and taking care of my partner. And the biggest lessons were about gratitude and compassion.

Learning to Wait

We were ready to go to the hospital Monday for John's surgery for a benign stomach tumor when we got a call that it was postponed because the surgeon wasn't feeling 100%. Personally, I'm glad he doesn't do surgery unless he's feeling perfect but it threw us into a waiting mode that was uncomfortable. We knew we had a date for the 16th at the latest, but he was trying to find an earlier time. Then we got a call that it would be tomorrow, Friday, with a new doctor. We looked him up online and were satisfied that his credentials looked good and we liked the looks of his photo.

Got up this morning, had our oatmeal and smoothie and prepared for the day. When I went to make a phone call I heard a beep that let me know someone had called last night during our walk; I hadn't checked the voicemail. It was a nurse from Kaiser telling us to come in at 11:30 today for surgery! After a number of phone calls we learned that the surgery is, indeed, tomorrow. So now we're back to having a relaxed day.

Also yesterday our grandson was going in for a new round of chemo for his lymphoma. We got a call from his dad last night that his blood count was down and instead of chemo, he'll be getting a transfusion today. We saw him on Sunday and it's difficult to believe he needed this because he was having light saber fights with his brother and jumping around like the energetic 5-year-old he was before this journey began. It's not unexpected for him to need a transfusion and it just means a slight delay in the chemo.

We're getting a big lesson in waiting. Surrendering to what is instead of what we want it to be. While I wait during the surgery, I'll be distracting myself with knitting a scarf, a book called The Memory Keeper's Daughter, a book of Sudoku that my friend, Marion, gave me. And sometimes just being present with what's going on in my body. And breathing and trusting.

A haiku: Simply Trust: Don't the Leaves Flutter Down Just Like That.

A Trip to the ER

After a five day retreat with Threshold Choir in Healdsburg filled with singing, good food, new friends and camping in a VW van, I came home in time to call 911 when my husband passed out on the way to the bathroom at 3 a.m. We spent 12 hours in the ER and he had many tests before learning that he has a benign stomach tumor and will have surgery Monday. The night in the ER was a particularly busy one and at one point we had to be moved to a different room because they were bringing in a woman who had just given birth to her baby at home and had developed complications.

At one point, when I walked out of John's room, I bumped into one of the choir members I had been on retreat with. She is a hospice nurse and was there because one of her patients was having difficulty breathing and a family member had called 911. Helen came into John's room and we sang him a beautiful song, the words a haiku: Simply trust. Don't the leaves flutter down just like that. Later, Helen asked if I would sing with her at her patient's bedside because the family was falling apart. It was my first experience of singing for someone who was dying.

I was impressed with the great care John got even though the nurses were overworked. Each one treated him with respect, care and some humor when it was called for. In a strange coincidence, our neighbor across the street was taken to the hospital the day after John with chest pains and she was in the room directly above his.

I was set to go to the national conference for professional organizers in Reno next week where the keynote speaker is Peter Walsh, author of Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat? Instead I will be hanging out in my husband's room at Kaiser. I am grateful to all the caregivers, the doctors, the nurses, the orderlies who have taken such good care of my husband. And to my family and friends who will be sitting with me Monday as we wait for good news of a successful surgery.

Why You Might Hire a Professional Organizer

The following article is from realsimple.com. I found it via unclutterer.com, another excellent source of good organizing tips. One of the organizers quoted below is Annie Rohrbach, owner of Letting Go and Lightening Up, whose training I took last year. I'll be seeing her in April at the National Association of Professional Organizers conference in Reno.

Should You Hire a Professional Organizer?

Have you ever considered hiring a professional organizer? The reasons for hiring one are seemingly endless. They can help you find order in a specific area of your home or office (a bedroom closet or managing e-mails at work) or they can come for many sessions and help you with your entire space. At a recent conference for professional organizers, I met with some of the most respected professionals in the industry and asked them the following question: "What would you like potential clients to know before hiring an organizer for the first time?" Their responses were refreshingly candid and insightful. Here are some of their answers:

Before you ever pick up the phone, "consider your goals and motivation for hiring outside help. Have a rough idea of what you'd like to accomplish by working with an organizer, even if you don't know how it will happen. Ask yourself why you've not been able to do it alone, and communicate the answer to the organizers you contact. It will be helpful for them to know what your roadblocks are." -- Monica Ricci, owner of Atlanta-based Catalyst Organizing Solutions

"Personal organizers are not mental health professionals, but they still want to get to know you well so that they can help you solve your organization problems. Don't be surprised by the personal nature of questions on new client forms. An organizer may ask you if you've been diagnosed with ADHD or if you have a reading disorder. Clients obviously don't have to answer these questions, but the best solution for a person's needs may stem from truthful answers to these inquiries." -- Geralin Thomas, owner of Cary, North Carolina-based Metropolitan Organizing

A good organizer may meet with you for the first time and realize that there is another professional organizer out there who is more qualified for your specific needs. A great organizer will take the steps to get you in touch with that person. -- Annie Rohrbach, owner of San Francisco-based Letting Go and Lightening Up

If you're someone who is only looking for a little motivation or a new perspective to get started with an organization project, it may be worthwhile for you to hire a professional organizer just for an assessment. -- Kathy Waddill, owner of Orinda, California-based The Untangled Web

Other valuable points that arose in conversation:

Don't let price be your sole reason for choosing one organizer over another. It's important that you can work it into your budget, but there are other factors to consider such as the person's people skills and experience. You're hiring a person who will be delving into the personal and business areas of your life, so it's important you trust them and feel that they have your best interests at heart.

If you're a business professional who is nervous about competitors or clients learning about your need to seek outside organizing help, you can ask your professional organizer to sign a non-disclosure agreement and arrive at sessions without company branding on his or her clothes and car.

If you're choosing to work with a professional organizer for multiple sessions, you should expect to have homework between the sessions.

The most common question asked of a professional organizer is if your space is the worst the organizer has ever seen. Even if your space is the worst, they probably won't admit it. In most cases, though, your space is not the worst.
Have you used a professional organizer? Any tips or stories to share? To find a professional organizer in your community, check out the National Association of Professional Organizer's online referral system.

I Have a Picture in My Mind

I am sitting sorting through pictures, cards and memorabilia this morning trying to follow the advice I give my clients. Do I really need every Mother's Day card my kids gave me? Every picture of every trip no matter how out of focus or even forgotten? Now, where was this cobblestone street scene? I was prepared to throw out quite a few but my toss pile was embarrassingly short. And my enjoyment level very high.

I did create some order, even putting all the pictures of houses I've lived in, along with houses of parents, grandparents, even great-grandparents into one album. Till now they have just been collected in a bit of a jumble in large envelopes. Now I have an album for friends, one for trips, one for my kids, one for my husband and me in a variety of poses and countries.

I discovered a poem I wrote in 2003 in Suriname, where John & I were serving in the Peace Corps. We were riding on what we called the boom bus (for the loud, Caribbean music that played as we wove through the crowded streets) and I noticed a billboard with a little boy sitting on the floor trying on a man's dress shoe. Here's what I wrote:



I sit on the sofa icing my back.
"Does it hurt when you do that'?"
Yes.
"Well, then don't do that?
Dad wisdom or a joke he told about a man going to the doctor.
I thought of my Dad yesterday on the #1 bus
when I saw the picture of the little black boy
sitting on the floor putting on one of his Dad's
black dress shoes -- it looked like one of those
Bostonian wingtips mine used to wear to work.
The ones he loved to have me untie and pull off his feet
when he got home from work and sank into his favorite chair.
My 4-year-old feet half filled them as I clumped around the den,
making my father smile and reveling in his precious attention.
When he was feeling particularly relaxed,
he'd let me have a sip of his beer with the foamy head
from the wide-bowled glass; I always tried to get more.
I remember how he'd dance me around the room
while I stood on his feet and how he sometimes
gave my brother and me horsey-back rides before bedtime,
trying to buck us off as we clung to his neck squealing
until our mother told him to let us settle down or
we'd never go to sleep, but looking quietly pleased
that he was playing with us and giving her a few minutes for herself.
Then her bad back, which I learned later was really a deep depression.
It kept her from roughhousing with us and made her take long naps
in the afternoon, during which we had to play outside
or go to the neighbors or try very hard to remember to play quietly inside.

I don't think little boys in Suriname have black Bostonians to try on
but they probably slap around in their father's flip flops. Do they
sip from their dad's Parbo beer bottles? I know they learn basic English
from watching Amercian cartoons and they get their impressions
of how blacks live in America from Sanford and Son reruns.

Here I am in Suriname, waking with my mother's puffy eyes
from an allergy to something that blooms in the garden,
with a bad back that won't lead to a stay in a mental institution.
No, I'll ice my back and put on my own shoes and,
remembering my Saturday mornings watching TV in Iowa,
when Buffalo Bob asked, "Kids, what time is it?!"
I'll answer, "It's Howdy Doody time!!"
And I'll spend a day in South America with a pale white moon
hanging in a piece of bright blue sky
between the branches of my neighbor's mango tree.


Other treasures I discovered as I sorted: a screenplay my brother, Alan, wrote at College of Marin, a story my daughter wrote in college about his death when she was a freshman in college, the obituary my husband wrote for the newspaper. In it he mentioned that someone at Alan's funeral called him the gift giver and his son called him "the man who loved to laugh." Members of the softball team he managed said he brought them from the basement to the playoffs and insisted they have a team song: Finniculi Finnicula.

I'm working with a client in Sausalito now who lives minutes from the industrial building overlooking the water where Alan lived and I drove by the other day just to look up at his window and imagine him there. He got free rent in exchange for being night watchman and he and his son lived in a tiny space together. He was 42, on his way across the Golden Gate Bridge on his blue Kawasaki motorcycle when he hit a pothole and lost control on dangerous Doyle Drive. It was one of his favorite routes because it brought him through the Presidio and I remember driving it one time when we were visiting him. He told us his brakes were going but he thought they'd be okay. That was so Alan. He was optimistic no matter what the circumstances. He made jewelry, silver and copper bracelets, and sold them on the street in San Francisco.

Among the photos, I found some of him when he was a baby, three years younger than me. There he was rosy-cheeked in a high chair; wearing a coonskin cap; dressed in full costume as Rusty in Rin Tin Tin; sitting barefoot on the grass with two of our neighbors from across the street.

I'll put some of the pictures in albums, some back in the envelopes and then into a box to be looked at another day. Some things you just can't part with.

Zenhabits.net

One of my clients told me about a website that is changing my life. It's called zenhabits.net and it's a perfect companion to voluntary simplicity. It gives ideas on how to simplify your life in a beautiful way. For one thing, it puts a new spin on GTD, Getting Things Done by David Allen, which I've talked about. That's the idea of gathering all those "to dos" that are cycling through your mind on paper, turning them into physical actions and reviewing. While sounding simple, the system can get a little too daunting at times, so Zen Habits makes it even easier.

It also has articles on minimalist decorating with ideas like: clear the flat spaces -- put things away and rotate just a few things you love on table tops; eliminate things that you don't love or find useful; find a place for everything and store things there; declutter your kitchen counters, desktop and entryway. It's nothing new, but a slightly different, gentler approach.

I spent time yesterday helping C organize her music and books on tape. It was a kind of meditation, finding the cassettes and CDs that belonged in the right boxes, discarding broken CD cases and slipping the CDs into plastic sleeves in holders. Labeling shelves in her CD tower and sorting. We listened to music from Turkey while we worked and her cat joined us as an observer in a chair at the table. Much of the music will be burned into her music library and books on tape will be sold on craigslist.

C is a very talented children's book illustrator and she autographed one of her books for my grandson. It's a beautiful Christmas story and her orange cat makes an appearance. My reading to him from her book coaxed one of his brightest smiles. We're all still reveling in the success of his weekend lemonade stand (by invitation only to reduce the possibility of infections) which netted $26 for the Lymphoma Society.

Life is sweet.

Do You Yearn for More Simplicity?

Here is an article from thirdage.com that describes ways to simplify your life. Third Age is a website for baby boomers. I've long been interested in voluntary simplicity and I think this article explains it in a very, well, simple way.

What Is Simplicity?

Making changes to simplify certain aspects of life can be the antidote to living in such a complex society. But simplification is a very individual matter—what's considered simple and stress-relieving to one person might be burdensome and stressful to another. For example, you may eat convenience foods because they save you time and energy. Your friend, on the other hand, may find convenience foods expensive and rather "inconvenient" for her family food budget.

The most important part of the simplification process is introspection—taking an honest and in-depth look at yourself and your life and then identifying things that can be changed. Simple enough? Yes and no. That is, some changes can be relatively easy to make. You may decide to unclutter your house by throwing out items that you really don't need and scaling back on your consumption. On the other hand, you may find that you need a major overhaul to find a simpler life—a change of career or financial goals, a geographical relocation, or a change in perception through intensive psychotherapy.

What makes the concept of simplification difficult for some people is that it implies that you must give up something. But many people derive invaluable benefits from simplifying their lives—more time, freedom, self-expression, and a chance to live with more clarity and meaning. Simplification is a deeply personal endeavor and should be approached with the following things in mind:

* Values/Priorities. What is most important to you? What would you have the hardest time living without—your health, spouse, family, friends, time, creative projects? (This can be a tricky one. For example, you may say that you value money, but by looking deeper within yourself, you may find that what you really value is freedom, self-reliance, time, friends, or self-esteem, which you think money will buy for you).
* Identity. Who are you? What talents, skills, activities, and types of environments bring you the most enjoyment? Are you living authentically—speaking your truth and living according to your own values (values that you've examined and owned) or someone else's?
* Time/Pace. How do you manage time and pace yourself? Is your natural pace 100 miles per hour or a bit slower and more reflective? Examine your current pace and your energy levels. If you're feeling exhausted or burned out, you may need to slow down, or at least change where you are focusing the majority of your energy.
* Purpose. What do you most want to do with your life and are you doing that right now? How do you wish to direct your talents? Are you living purposefully?
* Vision. What is your ideal lifestyle and environment? What would your life look like if you could design it exactly the way you wanted? You can't always "have it all," but think about how close you can get to that vision now, realistically.

Ways to Simplify Your Life

The list of things you can do to simplify your life is probably endless. Big changes will require a good deal of thought and planning. But there are many small changes you can make to simplify your life right now, such as:

* Buy a simple car—one that has fewer gadgets to fix.
* Do your shopping all at once, and preferably in the same place.
* Reduce the clutter in your home and office. Throw out things that you don't use.
* Buy classic clothes that don't go out of style.
* Donate your dry cleanables.
* Shop during off-hours.
* Get a simple, low-maintenance hairstyle.
* Downscale to a smaller home or less expensive car.
* Find a way to turn your hobby into your primary source of income.
* Make a conscious effort to reflect upon and appreciate the simple things in your life—those things that you may be taking for granted.

Simplifying your life isn't always simple, but something as easy as getting more organized can be a big help. As some of the complexity decreases from your life, you may find greater clarity and peace of mind.

RESOURCES:

National Institute of Mental Health
http://www.nimh.nih.gov/

National Mental Health Association
http://www.nmha.org

References:

Adams C. The Circle of Simplicity: Return to the Good Life. Harpercollins; 1998.

Aumiller G. Keeping It Simple: Sorting Out What Really Matters in Your Life. Probity Press; 1995.

Orem S, Demarest L. Living Simply: Timeless Thoughts for A Balanced Life Health Communications, Inc; 1994

St. James E. Living the Simple Life: A Guide to Scaling Down and Enjoying More. Hyperion; 1998.

Sock Monkeys

I'm putting my faith in sock monkeys. I've had two for about 25 years. I've never named them but they have little sweaters and one wears my sorority pin. When my five-year-old grandson came to spend the night Thanksgiving Eve, he brought his sock monkey, Henry, along. It's something that transcends age. When I was a child, I was convinced that my stuffed animal collection talked to each other after I fell asleep. And I still believe they might.

Sock monkeys were originally manufactured out of work socks in a factory in Rockford, IL. I don't know what it is, but there's something very magical about them. They have partially filled the void created when my children left home. Not that I put them in an infant seat and take them grocery shopping (like childless friends of ours did with their teddy bears), but I do know that as much as I simplify and give things away, I will never let go of these old friends.

I'm taking One to One lessons at the Mac store in Emeryville and I learned about photos today. So I wanted to share this portrait. I'm counting on Henry and my sock monkeys to accompany my courageous grandson on his journey to healing.

I'm Learning About Faith

At my last dream group, one of our members suggested a good way to check in and catch up after several months of not meeting. He asked us to share three or four things we could tell the group about, without actually saying too much. So my share was something like this.

I could tell you about the inside of the Stanford Hospital Pediatric unit where our 5-year-old grandson was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lymphoma. And I could tell you about the many people whose prayers, I think, helped him respond so well to the chemo.

I could tell you about having to wait seven years (2 of treatment and 5 more) to see if we can call him cured.

I could tell you about the Solstice gathering we attended where a group of friends and strangers laid down pine boughs in a labyrinth illuminated by candlelight.

I could tell you about the wild turkeys that paraded through our friends backyard during the Super Bowl party and how the sun turned their feathers iridescent.

I could tell you what I'm learning about faith and how it turns fear to love.

The House is Empty Without Zen

When I moved to this beautiful house share, one of the unexpected benefits was a serene, older black and white cat named Zen. We bonded quickly and I soon asked if I could take over as the designated feeder. My housemate also has a German Shepherd named Tasha who keeps her busy.

Zen had a thyroid tumor so I ground up a pill twice a day and stirred it into her food. She was a finicky eater, so I sometimes drizzled tuna juice over the prescription cat food we bought at the vet's for her. I discovered that she liked to have me stand over her to watch her eat. If I walked away, she walked away from the bowl. I wanted her to eat ... so I started a daily meditation by the food dish. Sometimes I sat at the breakfast table with my morning paper when I thought she was finished, but if she still wanted food, she came over and tapped me on the arm with her paw. Persistently. This was the only time she tapped so I knew it was about food. She often was waiting at my door in the morning if I didn't get up early enough to feed her.

The other challenge with feeding Zen was that Tasha very much liked her food. Well, she likes any food. But she would quickly gulp the cat food down if Zen walked away for a minute. I resorted to building a barricade out of chairs when Zen was at her eating post. She started eating less and less and her stuffy nose became chronic and seemed to kill her appetite, so we took her to the vet to see if something could be done for her. The vet discovered another tumor, and this one seemed to be growing. Feeding became even more of a meditation. Then one day, she stopped eating altogether and we knew the end was coming.

By now she was spending most of her time in a basket with a heating pad and that seemed to bring her some comfort. Her owner and I agreed that she was in pain and wasn't getting better and it was time to put her to sleep. The vet had already advised this. We took her on a Saturday afternoon, wrapped in her favorite blanket. She was quiet and seemed to almost know something was happening. We had all spent quiet time saying goodbye to her but it was wrenching as we sat holding her in the waiting room.

When we came home, the house felt very empty. Her quiet spirit was gone, but I kept looking for her under the table, in her favorite chair and in the basket before I remembered. I still miss her and I'm grateful that my housemate was willing to share this sweet creature with me for our short time together.

Opting Out of Catalog Mail

When I was in my 30s, I lived a very different life than I am living now. I had two small children, a husband who worked in his family's insurance company and I belonged to a country club. It's hard for me to imagine today. One of the activities the country club moms engaged in while watching the kids in the swimming pool was to thumb through catalogs. I lived in a small town in Illinois and going to the city meant a long drive to Chicago, a city that overwhelmed me with its traffic and so many people.

Today my city is San Francisco, my kids are grown and happy, my new husband (of 28 years) is a former journalist, fervent feminist, college basketball fanatic and good cook. We wouldn't think of belonging to a country club. We're into voluntary simplicity. And as an organizer, I help people get rid of those ubiquitous catalogs that keep coming. (Visit catalogchoice.org to opt out of as many as you'd like at one time. It's a joint project of environmental organizations that include the Ecology Center in Berkeley.)

I was fantasizing about what a catalog might offer if it wasn't trying to seduce us into buying things we don't need, spending money we don't have and feeling badly about ourselves if we don't have all the stuff on those glossy pages. I don't think we realize how much we are affected by the bombardment of advertising. I was on the way to pick up my husband at work for a home-cooked meal when I heard one phrase on the radio -- Big Vinnie -- and the car detoured itself to Round Table for a pepperoni pizza. Honestly. I know that shows lack of control on my part, but it also illustrates the strength of branding on our purchasing habits. Can you see a red circle and not think of Target?

Anyway, I would love a catalog that offers free classes for boomers to increase the plasticity of their brains. Classes like "How to Play the Ukelele," "How to Learn to Juggle," "How to Figure Out How to Set Up the DVD/Fax/Scanner etc," "How to Keep Up with the Latest Trends on the Internet," "How to Find Old Friends," "How to Trace Your Ancestors," "How to Read Music," "How to Solve the Homeless Problem," or health or peace or planet problem. You get the idea. On the bright side, I just successfully completed my first Sudoku puzzle in the Chronicle. Right after I did the crossword puzzle. Thursday's my favorite right now.

Possibly with the growth of the Internet, catalogs will become a thing of the past, just like my country club days. Newspapers are certainly going that way. Young people mostly get their news from the Internet and I think it's only those of us who have the newspaper habit who still cling to that format. Things are changing and I need to be resiliant and embrace the changes. But I think I'll stick to my Chronicle crossword puzzle awhile longer.

Reasons to Get Organized Now

This is the first blog of the new year and I'm thinking of good reasons to get organized now. For one, there's the safety issue. If things have gotten a little out of control, getting organized will reduce risks for falls, will help eliminate germs and make it easier to find your exercise gear.

According to an article in the New York Times, many people think getting organized means buying the right storage containers, when the reality is that what is needed is to change your behavior. Some of the issues that contribute to the difficulty of getting organized include grief, chronic pain and depression. Some people even find it painful to part with any of their possessions. This can happen when people don't discriminate among their possessions but see them all as unique and a treasure. Sometimes they need help learning how to group, set priorities and discard to create a more harmonious space.

Peter Walsh, author of It's All Too Much, recommends playing the two bag tango game. Every day, fill one trash bag with trash and one with things to give away or sell. (And put out the trash and give away the items!) This is a gradual way to create more space and get more used to letting go of some things. Walsh recommends starting by getting a vision of how you want your home to look and then ask yourself, "Does this contribute to my vision or detract from it?"

I just worked with my daughter to create more order in her home and we had success by dividing the project up into zones -- top dresser drawer in her bedroom, junk drawer in the kitchen, bookshelves in the living room ... you get the picture. We tackled the projects one by one and she was much less overwhelmed and got more done than she expected to in one session.

So getting organized can lead to a safer, more comfortable environment and one where you will be free to pursue those creative projects you might not have had the energy to pursue while distracted by clutter.