Space for Grace

Freecycle.Org

2011-03-07T08:35:00.000-08:00

The mission of The Freecycle Network is "to build a worldwide gifting movement that reduces waste, saves precious resources and eases the burden on our landfills while enabling our members to benefit from the strength of a larger community."
Every day the group does just that, preventing more than 500 tons of items from ending up in the trash. As The Freecycle Network points out, that would-be trash amounted to five times the height of Mount Everest in the past year alone. With Freecycle, you list items three ways: Wanted, Offered, Taken. You know that when you let go of something that no longer serves you, someone who really wants it will receive it. Collaboration that makes it easier on our sweet Mother Earth.

Space For Grace

2011-03-03T08:42:00.000-08:00

Studies show that we secrete the stress hormone cortisol when our surroundings are in disarray. I know that when I am feeling stressed, the first thing I do is to start straightening and pruning things and a trip to the nearest Goodwill store goes a long way towards putting me back on track. I feel good when I know someone else might use the things that are no longer contributing to my sense of beauty or usefulness. Less stuff leads to more serenity. I've been inspired lately by reading articles about the minimalist movement. It means looking at things with fresh eyes and letting go of possessions that you have too many of or that don't bring as much joy as they once did.

I recently went through my pantry and came up with a small box full of things I bought but will never prepare. These went to our local food pantry. I disposed of duplicates in my kitchen drawers. Pulled clothes from my closet that I haven't put on in months. Some people have experimented with wearing only 33 items of clothing (or less!) for a certain amount of time. Most report that they were perfectly happy and few people seemed to notice they were rotating the same items. I'm not going that far but I don't need five pairs of black pants.

The gentlest way to declutter and move toward a less stressful environment is to use the Swiss Cheese approach, introduced by famous time-management specialist, Alan Lakein, in his book "How to Get Control of Your Time and Your Life."

Very often people prefer to postpone complex or unpleasant tasks than to start doing them. According to Lakein, “the underlying assumption of the Swiss cheese approach is that it is indeed possible to get something started in five minutes or less. And once you’ve started, you’ve given yourself the opportunity to keep going … Swiss cheese is supposed to lead to involvement.”

Try to do a small part of the task even if you have 5-10 minutes of free time. Returning to the task again and again during the day, week or month, you will notice that the task is moving along. And you might be amazed at how much you can accomplish with these bite-size chunks of time. And see if this doesn't boost your mood.

Thanks for the Memories

2010-07-01T12:49:00.001-07:00

My father was a romantic. He proposed to my mother via trans-Atlantic phone call from London, where he was working for his great-uncle at a paper mill. She was living in Westfield, NJ and he sailed home for their wedding, a civil ceremony in her parents’ living room. I always wondered why such a simple wedding when she was Catholic and her parents were fairly well off. My grandfather was in the grocery business during the Depression.

I didn’t learn until my own marriage, that my father wasn’t her first husband. She would hardly tell me anything about that marriage. “A mistake,” was all she would say.

My parents sailed back to London for their honeymoon. Letters my mother wrote while sitting in a deckchair described how happy she was. She thanked her father for buying her clothes for her new life. She and my grandmother had gone on shopping trips to the City. Elaborate trousseaus were a sign of wealth and social standing during the Victorian era, before she was born:

"The society woman must have one or two velvet dresses which cannot cost less than $500 each. She must possess thousands of dollars worth of laces, in the shape of flounces, to loop up over the skirts of dresses... Walking dresses cost from $50 to $300; ball dresses are frequently imported from Paris at a cost of from $500 to $1,000... There must be traveling dresses in black silk, in pongee, in pique, that range in price from $75 to $175... Evening robes in Swiss muslin, robes in linen for the garden and croquet, dresses for horse races and yacht races, dresses for breakfast and for dinner, dresses for receptions and parties..." from "Lights and Shadows of New York" by James McCabe, 1872.

"A visiting and reception dress was of maroon velvet, trimmed with wide bands of cocks' feathers of the same shade. A second rich costume was of black brocaded silk and plain silk …" -- from "Miss Vanderbilt's Trousseau," Harper's Bazar, December 15, 1877

My mother’s trousseau was not nearly as grand as during Victorian times, but I’m sure it was very elegant.

My father had managed to find them a flat in Dolphin Square before he left London for his wedding. Dolphin Square is a block of private apartments built near the River Thames in London. It was completed the year they were married, 1937. A.P. Herbert, 'Dolphin Square', 1935, described the Square as 'a city of 1250 flats, each enjoying at the same time most of the advantages of the separate house and the big communal dwelling place'; the provision of a restaurant made him fear that 'fortunate wives will not have enough to do. A little drudgery is good for wives, perhaps. The Dolphin lady may be spoiled'. This booklet was produced as a promotional puff for the firm that owned and built the complex. On purchasing the site, Richard Rylandes Costain remarked to a colleague: ‘in two or three years we'll either drive up to this spot in a Rolls-Royce, or we'll be standing here selling matches.’

They were very happy at Dolphin Square. It wasn’t long before my mother announced to my father she wanted either a baby or a dog. They named their black cocker spaniel Dixie and my mother dressed in one of her many new outfits, complete with a feathered hat, to walk Dixie around the manicured gardens.

They would have stayed in London if the war hadn’t intervened. Soon, nerve-jarring air raids and impassioned pleas in telegrams from my grandparents convinced them to sell their possessions and book a spot on the last peacetime journey of the Queen Mary to New York City before it was converted to a troopship. They left England on Aug. 30 and by the time they landed, the Second World War had started.

Bob Hope and his new wife were also on that voyage, which had a military escort. An impromptu show was arranged in one of the lounges to calm the jittery passengers. Hope and his wife, Dolores, were scared to death on the trip home because the Germans had started torpedoing English ships. He debuted his signature song ‘Thanks for the Memories’ that night.

I don’t think my mother ever got over the loss of that life she left behind. My father became a partner in a corrugated shipping container company in the Midwest. She negotiated for three children and was a housewife in a small town far from her family. She donated her evening gowns to the Salvation Army. She suffered a nervous breakdown and was hospitalized in her 40s but recovered with the help of electric shock therapy, a popular treatment at the time. My mother didn’t talk much about her days in London but I always loved it when she asked me to “post a letter” for her.

When she died, I found a menu from the cruise on the Queen Mary and a photo of my mother at dinner, wearing one of her glamorous gowns with a fur stole. She was smiling, imagining her future.

Decluttering Can Lower Your Stress Level

2010-03-19T07:25:00.000-07:00

This is a good article from Realage.com on the connection between clutter and that feeling of stress and overwhelm.

When you're so stressed you can't think straight, take a quick look around. See lots of clutter? Consider it a sign.

In her book, The Superstress Solution, physician and author Roberta Lee writes that a disorganized, untidy, clutter-filled home is not only a symptom of stress but also a source of stress. Clean up the litter and you'll dial up the calm.

The Science of Stress and Clutter
According to Lee, research shows that we secrete the stress hormone cortisol when surrounded by disarray. Bad news for your body. But the good news is that you know exactly what to do about it. With a quick tidy-up, you could reclaim both your surroundings and your serenity. Don't know where to start your spring clean-out? Try these tips:

* Take baby steps. It probably took a long time to accumulate all your clutter, so give yourself time to clear it out. Break up the task into manageable chunks, starting with one room, one corner, one junk drawer, or one cupboard at a time. (Find out how few minutes of clean-up time you need to boost your mood.)
* Set a schedule. Whether you do 20 minutes a day or reserve a whole weekend to declutter, set aside the time you need, and stick to your schedule. (Can't seem to find the time? The real problem may be energy management, not time management.)
* Write it down. Lee recommends keeping a journal to help you set goals and record positive changes you've made to your environment. Ask yourself what's cluttering your life, why you keep it, and what parts of your life and house seem out of control. Then, list concrete steps for changing it.
* Reach out. Articles and self-help books from people who've been where you are can help you get organized and make decisions on what to toss, what to donate, and what to keep.

How To Escape a Boring Life

2010-03-10T10:02:00.000-08:00

How To Escape a Boring Life

Go into a cave the end of March
Lie down next to the sleeping bear
Throw your arm softly around her
Listen for her heartbeat

Throw a rock at the neighborhood bully
Watch the blood soak the rag he puts to his head
Wait a minute before turning to run
Down the dark alley

Get on a bus and end up in Mexico
Walk down the streets with your backpack
Left open a little and bulging
Don’t walk very fast

Let the Hell’s Angel come to your place
For a drink or to look at your books
Have him stay over and fix him some eggs
Ask him to let out your dog

Stand on your chair
At the French restaurant
Make up a song for your lover
Get the others to join you

Open your coat to the rain
Step into the fountain
Grab the change at the bottom
And spend it on peonies

Our Tribe

2010-02-06T08:23:00.000-08:00

Our tribe members are those people who accept us as we are and gladly accompany us on our journeys of evolution.

Happy Groundhog Day

2010-02-02T08:29:00.000-08:00

Groundhog Day
By Lynn Ungar

Celebrate this unlikely oracle,
this ball of fat and fur,
whom we so mysteriously endow
with the power to predict spring.
Let's hear it for the improbable heroes who,
frightened at their own shadows,
nonetheless unwittingly work miracles.
Why shouldn't we believe
this peculiar rodent holds power
over sun and seasons in his stubby paw?
Who says that God is all grandeur and glory?

Unnoticed in the earth, worms
are busily, brainlessly, tilling the soil.
Field mice, all unthinking, have scattered
seeds that will take root and grow.
Grape hyacinths, against all reason,
have been holding up green shoots beneath the snow.
How do you think spring arrives?
There is nothing quieter, nothing
more secret, miraculous, mundane.
Do you want to play your part
in bringing it to birth? Nothing simpler.
Find a spot not too far from the ground
and wait.

Organize For Who You Are Now

2010-02-02T08:06:00.000-08:00

Tip of the Month: Organizing for the Real You

This is from the newsletter of one of my favorite organizers, Jeri Dansky. Visit her website, www.jdorganizer.com, for the original article.

How many of us keep things we think we "should" want or need - when the reality is we don't want those things and will never use them?

Here's Erin Doland of Unclutterer, writing in Real Simple in March 2009: "I liked to think of myself as someone who exercised every day by running on a giant motorized treadmill, read all the literary classics, and baked cookies for every special occasion. The reality? I am not a runner, I like to read pop fiction, and cookies aren't really my thing." So Erin got rid of a lot of stuff.

And here's Melissa Stanton, writing in the no-longer-published Organize magazine, about her Lenox dishes and crystal stemware: "When properly set, my dining room table could be dressed to impress. Problem was, in more than a decade of owning such finery, which I acquired as wedding gifts and by inheritance, I never set my dining room table as described. For most families, dining on fine china is a relic from a way of life we don't live."

Another aspect of organizing for reality is recognizing what activities we're never going to have time for. Fellow organizer Marcie Lovett just wrote about her own experience in this regard: "I finally realized that I will never have the time to do every craft that looks interesting, so I am going to concentrate on the few that I really enjoy: crochet, card making and sewing. That meant paring back the supplies that I am keeping and getting rid of everything else."

Then there's me. A while ago I realized that I simply don't iron anything and I gave away my ironing board. I've joined Erin in giving away highly-acclaimed books that I honestly don't want to read. And I got rid of the cups and saucers, since all I ever use for coffee and tea are my favorite mugs.

So if you're keeping items that don't fit your real life - or the life you are truly aspiring to and moving toward - then give yourself permission to let them go.

A Little About Theory U

2010-02-01T08:38:00.000-08:00

The New Century Summit at the Berkeley UU Church this weekend used the principles of Theory U, which was refined by Otto Scharmer, a senior lecturer at MIT. He collaborated on a book about the process (with Peter Senge, Betty Sue Flowers and Joseph Jaworski) called Presence. It is a leadership model with a difference.

Scharmer has observed four different types of listening: downloading, factual listening, empathic listening and generative listening. You know you're downloading when you say, "Yeah, I know that already." With factual listening, you might say, "Ooh, look at that." You switch off your inner voice of judgment and focus on what is different from what you already know. Empathic listeners might say, "Oh, yes, I know exactly how you feel." It requires an open heart to really feel how another feels. We can begin to see the world through the other's eyes. And generative listening is listening from the emerging field of future possibility. "I can't express what I experience in words. Everything slows down. I am connected to something larger than myself."

Another way to say it is that to listen in this new way, we need to 1) observe, observe, observe; 2) retreat and reflect -- allow our inner knowing to emerge; and 3) act in an instant. (This means to prototype the new in order to explore the future by doing, to create a little landing strip of the future that allows for hands-on testing and experimentation.)

Scharmer says that connecting to one's best future possibility and creating powerful breakthrough ideas requires learning to access the intelligence of the heart and the hand -- not just the intelligence of the head.

Happy Birthday, Javier

2010-01-28T08:27:00.000-08:00

Another birthday for Javier. Because we are going to be in Berkeley for a church conference, we will get to celebrate together on his birthday. This is a man who deserves a cake not just on his birthday. He deserves a cake a week because of the quiet good he brings to the world. He has helped repair, restore and create gardens for two of my friends who needed a healing touch. He has been a supportive and loving partner to my daughter, walking her dogs, supporting her dreams, driving her to Best Friends Sanctuary in Utah, learning to cook for her. He is a man of few words but when he talks, you listen. He is there for the ones he loves.

Happy Birthday, Javier!

Keokuk Haiku

2010-01-27T16:11:00.000-08:00

Skates slide over pond
Goldfish glide under the ice
We meet in between

Olympia Brown Opened Doors for Women

2010-01-26T08:27:00.000-08:00

My MIT list (Most Important Tasks) is topped today by: Prepare for Olympia Brown talk. She is a woman I had not heard of until I joined the Sierra Foothills Unitarian Universalists in Auburn. I had visited Unitarian churches over the years but judged them to be too intellectual for my tastes. I stumbled onto this church almost by accident and from the beginning I have been connected with both my head and my heart. We adhere to no creeds but there are seven principles we affirm and promote. The two that speak to me the most are: the inherent worth and dignity of every person and respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.

We have a part-time minister so we have guest speakers and members of the community present sermons twice a month. In February, John & I will be offering an imagined interview between Bill Moyers and Olympia Brown. She was one of the first women ministers, ordained in 1863. She also became a voice of the women's suffrage movement, speaking often with Susan B. Anthony. Her devotion to her ministry kept her from being one of the most well-known women's rights workers. On Nov. 2, 1920, Olympia Brown, at the age of 85, was among the first women to cast a ballot, after fighting for that right for 60 years. She was an amazing woman who opened many doors for women because she refused to give up.

Here are some words from her final sermon, delivered just before she was able to vote for the first time.

The opening doors lead to no dark dungeons, open upon no burning lake, give no evidence of everlasting punishment. But all gladden us with assurances of Divine Goodness and indicate the final triumph of the good ... Not only by the researches of science are we shown the glories of creation but the scenes of beauty which daily greet our eyes, the song of birds, fragrance of flowers, the moonlight shining on the waves all tell the same story of divine love.

The Five Senses

2010-01-24T07:56:00.000-08:00

We had an assignment to write down a daily list of sensory words and phrases. I wasn't good about it. I thought about as I fell asleep at night and wrote them down a time or two. But not on a regular basis. So here is what I would have written if I had done the exercise.

I saw the black gnarly branches of a tree blown over in the storm.
I smelled the skunk in Colusa and the fainter smell of something dead under my friend's house. "It must have thought, 'this would be a good place to die'", she told me.
I tasted the blueberries in the thin sliver of berry pie I ate at the potluck after giving up sugar earlier in the day. It reminded me of my mother's homemade blueberry pie.
I heard the tapping of the computer keys as my partner wrote his daily poem.
I stroked the fat, orange cat as he inched cautiously towards me on his cat tower.
I saw the gun on the deck of the ship I toured on Mare Island. I imagined what it would have been like during a battle.
I touched the cold metal on the LCS and wondered how the men ever got warm.
I heard the chattering blackbirds in the leafless tree in the WinCo parking lot.
I caught the tantalizing smell of grease as I walked past the In n Out Burger.
I tasted the bitterness of the Green Tea I drank because it's good for me.
I saw a lake of Snow Geese in a flooded field on the way to Colusa.
I heard the whoosh of the furnace first thing in the morning.
I smelled the burnt popcorn.
I tasted the vitamin pill that got stuck in my throat.
I touched the cold feet of my partner.
I saw three geese flying in one direction and two geese flying in the opposite direction.
I heard the insistent honking as they jockeyed for position, spelling each other.
I smelled the coffee perking in the other room.
I tasted the brownie I didn't eat at the workshop.
I felt the rough wool of the scarf I wore to keep the draft off my neck.
I saw the yellow box on the blue sofa.
I heard my neighbor's dog, Lucy, greeting a friend.
I felt the springy curls of the Bichon Frisee.
I smelled the cinnamon on the oatmeal my partner just handed me.
I tasted the cheese in the pasta last night.
I saw raindrops on the clothesline, ready to hit the deck with a plink, tasting winter, smelling the Bay, touching gray satin wetness.

A Fine Kinda Day

2010-01-22T16:45:00.000-08:00

So much going on I don't know what to focus on. A common affliction for a Gemini. We managed to walk today between the rain and it was so blustery, it reminded us of the Midwest. I had a hat on and a scarf wrapped around my head. It was still cold. I managed to write a poem today that I was happy with. The writing prompt was "a broken cup and a healing heart." It just came to me and flowed out easily. I've been reading poems of others to the prompt "what dogs admire about cats." Some hilarious and some inspiring poems.

I did some decluttering and made a Goodwill run to donate more stuff I don't need. While I was there, I spotted a ball sitting on a shelf to add to my collection. The shelf is labeled Self Help, which made me laugh.

John just got interviewed on the phone by a reporter from the Sacramento Bee about poetry projects he is involved in. It's like a dream to me that he has been able to really get involved in the poetry scene, both with children and adults. He's teaching a class to kids at the library Saturday which involves writing a poem about a piece of art. I'll be at a workshop for peacemaking at our church. So we're really pursuing the things we talked about when we imagined our lives after leaving the regular workplace. I don't like to call it retirement because it doesn't feel like that. Just a reinvention. With more freedom.

The other thing I'm working on is cutting down on sugar. I've made it through at least two days and I expect to start feeling better soon. Coincidentally, my son, daughter and sister have all given it up, too. My son was inspired by reading Michael Pollen's Omnivore's Dilemma. So rain, poems, peacemaking and sugar. A fine hodge podge and a fine way to live.

Go Illini!

2010-01-19T18:36:00.000-08:00

If we hadn't moved back to California from Champaign, Illinois 22 years ago, I know where we would be right now. Assembly Hall at the University of Illinois Campus watching our team play Purdue. No underground parking so we'd be walking across the prairie land, 28 degrees with 20 percent of freezing rain before the game. We'd be wearing orange like maybe 90 percent of the other fans in the bleachers. We'd know the coach, Bruce Weber, because John would have been editor of the Champaign News Gazette until he retired. We might go to a party after the game. We'd know everyone there.

But we left Champaign to move to Ventura and never again have we been so attached to a college basketball team. When we lived there, U of I basketball players would stop by on Halloween just to say hello. My favorite player was Tony Wysinger, 5'9 guard who had more heart than players a foot taller. I loved to watch him drive to the basket, spin around and lay the ball into the basket to the chagrin of his opponents. Another favorite was Steve Bardo who is one of the announcers for tonight's game. We tailgated before football games in the fall and loved to watch the band sneak into the stadium with their hats on backwards for some reason.

Now we're watching the game in the comfort of our living room, wind howling outside, stormy but 46 degrees. I miss those nights of squeaky gym shoes, enthusiastic cheers, the feeling of being part of a tribe. Score at the half: 32-28, Illinois.

Dance With Me

2010-01-18T10:57:00.000-08:00

Friends from the Bay Area stayed at our house over the weekend. They were competing in the same-sex dance competition in Sacramento, a series of dance events that will culminate with their competing in the Gay Games in Cologne, Germany, the end of July. The Games are built upon the principles of participation, inclusion and personal best™, for more than 25 years. We went to the ballroom Sunday to cheer them on. Literally. "Go #148!" It was a noisy, joyous gathering with sparkly, skin-baring costumes, black dance pants, coordinating outfits, high heels, flat dance shoes, chiffony scarves, ruffles, ties. There were three categories, A, B and C. Our friends were graded in the C group and by winning that round, were chosen to advance to the B group. This meant dancing four different dances in the C group and then, after a brief break, four more dances with the B group, ending with the Quick Step. But they had achieved their goal of moving into the B group before the Games.

There were more women than men couples. One of the male couples had danced on "So You Think You Can Dance" where one of the judges said he'd like to see them both dance with a girl, adding, "You never know, you might enjoy that, too." In an interview, they explained it's not about girls and boys but about leading and following. We can all do that, right?

There's that quote about Ginger Rogers being a better dancer because she did everything Fred Astaire did but backwards and in heels. But hopefully we are reaching a point where it doesn't matter which partner leads or who dances with who. What I saw Sunday was a whole lot of people having a wonderful time together.

When John & I lived in Suriname, we took Mambo lessons from a teacher who spoke Dutch. We were the oldest couple in the group, and I remember how easy it was to master the basic steps, and then how difficult each new variation became. It was difficult to just sink into the music and move without counting out the steps in my head. When I was able to get through a dance with a minimum of missteps, I remember feeling the flow of joy as we all moved to the beat of the music. It felt freeing and equalizing. Dancing is joy.

Letter to Pat Robertson

2010-01-17T08:26:00.000-08:00

I had to share this.

The Minneapolis Star-Tribune published a letter from Satan to evangelist Pat Robertson, responding to his comment that Haiti's persistent troubles, including the earthquake, are due to a pact the nation made with Mephistopheles.

Actually, it wasn't Satan who wrote the letter but Lilly Coyle of Minneapolis writing in the persona of the hellish one.

I think she got it down pretty well. What say you?

Dear Pat Robertson,

I know that you know that all press is good press, so I appreciate the shout-out. And you make God look like a big mean bully who kicks people when they are down, so I'm all over that action.

But when you say that Haiti has made a pact with me, it is totally humiliating. I may be evil incarnate, but I'm no welcher. The way you put it, making a deal with me leaves folks desperate and impoverished.

Sure, in the afterlife, but when I strike bargains with people, they first get something here on earth -- glamour, beauty, talent, wealth, fame, glory, a golden fiddle. Those Haitians have nothing, and I mean nothing. And that was before the earthquake. Haven't you seen "Crossroads"? Or "Damn Yankees"?

If I had a thing going with Haiti, there'd be lots of banks, skyscrapers, SUVs, exclusive night clubs, Botox -- that kind of thing. An 80 percent poverty rate is so not my style. Nothing against it -- I'm just saying: Not how I roll.

You're doing great work, Pat, and I don't want to clip your wings -- just, come on, you're making me look bad. And not the good kind of bad. Keep blaming God. That's working. But leave me out of it, please. Or we may need to renegotiate your own contract.

Best, Satan

LILY COYLE, MINNEAPOLIS

Writing Prompt: Noises My Mother Made

2010-01-16T16:38:00.000-08:00

MY MOTHER’S WINSTONS

What is the noise of smoke?
Silky sigh of exhalation.
She was calmest then,
for a moment.
Click of Bic lighter,
rainbow colors,
I brought them to her
in the retirement home.
And the cartons
and cartons of smokes.

Later, she moved
to the assisted living floor.
Couldn’t smoke unless
she went outside.
An act more difficult
than her desire for a cigarette.
Then she forgot she smoked.
In the end, the noise of smoke
is a rattle.

Making Space For Art

2010-01-15T08:32:00.000-08:00

It's a new year and already I can feel the difference. After stewing about it for a long time, I have resigned from a board and a committee with organizations I believe in strongly. It was difficult to do because I had signed on and I felt like I was letting people down. But then I felt a burst of energy when I realized how much time I had opened up for myself. When we first moved to Roseville a year and a half ago, we got involved in several organizations so we could make a contribution and start to build a new community. But now I see that I said yes too many times. I need to redesign my calendar so there are some nice empty spaces to do art, to write, to learn new things.

As one who encourages people to declutter, I often ask people to look at what they are doing that might no longer thrill them. It probably did when they first joined this committee or that book club but maybe now they are doing it because they are afraid of the reaction when they say it's time to move on to something else. And personally I find it very difficult to admit that I am moving on to take care of my own passion. I was trained to put others' needs first. And I thought that would be a big part of my life in retirement.

But this year I am trying to remember the words of Forrest Church, a Unitarian Universalist who died recently. He said; Be Who You Are; Want What You Have and Do What You Can. Fine words for a new decade.

Start Your Day Right; Have a Baby

2010-01-14T08:30:00.001-08:00

Today is our daughter Jamie's birthday. We got a text thanking us for a card we sent (via banjobunny.com, very creative cards) and I asked John what time of day she was born. He is responsible for six of our children and I contributed two. He said she was born at night and it was cold but not snowing. I said mine came in the morning: start your day right, have a baby. I said it to be funny, but it is a profound statement. I was thinking yesterday of the moment 40 years ago when I heard from my doctor's office that I was pregnant for the first time. This was before drugstore pregnancy tests and I had spent the day with my mother, distracting myself until the time they had said I could call for results, with a trip to Park Forest, the first shopping mall near our home. It was a 30-minute drive and then that was a big deal, especially in the winter. My mother was very anxious about driving in the snow.

This was shortly after Thanksgiving and we looked around for bargains, buying very little as I remember. Then we had lunch in the Marshall Field's tea room. It was a quiet, muted restaurant with thick carpet and pink tablecloths and all women servers. A far cry from the Food Court at my local mall where I grabbed a lunch of Chinese food yesterday after my date with my Apple at the Genius Bar. Back then, we probably had something traditional like chicken salad or shrimp Louie, followed by a cup of coffee, not decaf, and a cigarette for my mother. This was before smoking sections in restaurants. I could hardly wait to get home to call for the news that could change my life. And the news was positive.

Nine months later, I woke up at six in the morning in Berlin, Germany, with strong cramps and a backache. My husband was serving in the Army and he drove me in our blue Volkswagen bug through the city streets where we passed a construction worker tipping a bottle of beer to his mouth. My first child would have been born in the morning except for the fact that there were three other women, one a friend, in labor at the American hospital and one doctor. I was the last to deliver so his arrival was just after 1 pm. He was the largest at 9 pounds 4 ounces. The smallest was a preemie, a little girl. There was another big boy and my friend's daughter, who she named Valerie because her husband wanted a boy so badly, he refused to choose a girl's name. She picked the name because I was handy. I often wonder what happened to that little Valerie.

Something I Threw Away

2010-01-13T09:49:00.000-08:00

This was written in response to a prompt from Molly Fisk. The prompt was: things I throw away and things I keep. It was scary sending it off to a group but I did it. Later today I'm going to my women's art group and tonight a group at church that is going to make treasure maps. An art kind of day. Leading the life I imagined I might lead.

My Lost Childhood

What happened to my stuffed animals,
the mouse with the torn tail in a sweater,
the monkey with tennis shoes and suspenders?
What happened to the board games and dice,
Sorry and Clue and Uncle Wiggly?
Did I throw them away, give them away,
were they taken away?

How about the china set with green flowers,
the easy-bake oven, the crying baby doll?
the play money, the plastic food?
The set of My Book House books
with illustrations of fanciful castles
and shiny knights on horses?

I don’t remember losing them.
They were mine and then they were gone.
All that’s left of that long-ago time
Is a 2 by 3-inch photo of my baby brother
sitting in his high chair, wearing a sweater,
and white leather shoes, smiling at me.
As if to say, remember me.

The Blank Page

2010-01-12T07:22:00.000-08:00

It's only the 12th and I'm wondering why I committed to writing a blog every day. This is a giant step for me. (Distracted: remember that game "Mother, May I?" There were all those different steps you could take: baby steps, giant steps, scissor steps. But you had to ask permission before you moved or ... something bad happened.)

I do think the blank page is intimidating. I watched a DVD last night that I got from the library. (Distracted: the library is having a big BOGO sale ... buy one, get one ... and I got 10 magazines for fifty cents ... great for collage and also some Vanity Fairs for the interviews.) It featured an artist from Ohio with a step-by-step guide to acrylic collage. I loved watching her process. "No, that's not working ... oh, I like that better." I also liked the sounds of the train from her studio window. (Distracted: I loved the sound of the train when I was growing up in Kankakee, Illinois. It was a wistful invitation to me.) One of the techniques she uses is to draw with pencil on the blank canvas. Just squiggles and interesting lines but she says it keeps the blank white space from being too scary. It invites the hand like the train whistle invites the traveler. She might cover up the writing, but it helps her get stared.

(Distracted: John reads me a poem by Molly Fisk about Junior Mints and I love the poem and remember the Milk Duds a new boyfriend offered me one Saturday morning in the only theater in our town and how that ended the relationship. I was a Boston Baked Beans kind of girl.) (Distracted: on our first date, John took me to a performance of a ballet troupe that came through town and at the intermission he asked if I'd like an Orange Crush. "Oh, no, I never drink Orange Crush," I replied. But it was only the beginning of our relationship.)

The Generations

2010-01-11T18:09:00.000-08:00

John with his youngest son, Jerry, and newest grandson, Liam, in Chattanooga, TN. And with his oldest son, Jeff, and grandson, Jason, at Vanessa's wedding in North Carolina, where we officiated.

Instead of Judging, I Might Try Observing

2010-01-10T20:29:00.000-08:00

(Photo by my daughter, Kara Bowman Ziemer, for my ball project)

I am getting back to studying and trying to use Compassionate Communication (NVC) to make my life more wonderful. The following reflection is an excerpt from Peaceful Living: Daily Meditations for Living with Love, Healing, and Compassion by Mary Mackenzie, published by PuddleDancer Press, and is offered courtesy of NVC Academy and Mary Mackenzie.

Moralistic judgments imply that other people are wrong or bad because they don’t act in ways that are in harmony with our values. If you see someone driving faster than you think is safe, you might say that they are a maniac driver. If someone talks slower than is fun for you, you might say that they are boring. You may also do this to yourself when you think that you’re fat because you don’t weigh what you’d like to, or that you’re a bully if you regret something you just said.

Anytime you judge someone else or yourself as bad or wrong, you are expressing a moralistic judgment. Another way of looking at things that allows you to evaluate your circumstances without judgment is to express how something affects you.

For instance, when I see someone driving faster than I think is safe, I may say or think, “When I see that person driving that fast I feel scared and I’d really like the road to be safe.” Or, if I’m discouraged with my weight, I could say or think,“Ugh. I am so frustrated with my weight. Losing 20 pounds would really give me hope that this can shift.”

Judging the situation only creates distance and additional hurt feelings. Acknowledging our feelings and connecting those feelings to our unmet needs (safety and hope) can help us to connect with ourselves and others, and to heal.

Stumbled Upon Autistic Planet

2010-01-09T08:32:00.000-08:00

Got to bed early last night and woke up at 6:30 am. First stop: computer. Do you know about stumbleupon.com? It's a tool for discovering and sharing websites. A dangerous tool for me, my friends. In the olden days, my mother would send me newspaper clippings and to be quite honest, I appreciated her thinking about me but I didn't find them all that useful. It appears I have inherited that gene from her because I can't stop myself from sending "fascinating" links to my grown kids. It's so easy now. No need to find an envelope and stamp. Just hit that send button. Whoosh.

What I did Not send this morning: the video of the polar bear playing with the sled dogs in the snow. It is very cute. I researched the story behind it ... even checked it out on snopes.com. Which led me to a site containing a wealth of interviews which will keep me occupied until the end of my time, whenever that happens to be. It's an NPR program called Speaking of Faith with Krista Tippett. There are now more than 200 podcasts sitting in my ITunes. One I listened to today was an interview with a couple who has an autistic son. It's a topic I have researched extensively, having a close family member who has been diagnosed. This gave me a whole new perspective. The metaphors this couple shared were so enlightening. I plan to pick up a copy of the mother's (Jennifer Elder) book, Autistic Planet. The father, Paul Collins wrote Not Even Wrong. He is an historian and he says he understands his son's behavior because he himself can be hyper-focused when he is researching in dusty archives and it's as if his ears turn off. In fact, he says there are studies that show that people who are in the sciences are much more likely to exhibit autistic traits. When he gave a talk at Microsoft, he noticed many in the audience were looking at their laptops and someone explained to him that they were watching him on the Webcast even though he was speaking live twenty feet from them. That was just their preferred way of listening. (By contrast, studies show that people who study English are more prone to manic-depressive disorders.)

From listening to this interview, I also learned that Simon, the cousin of Sacha Baron-Cohen (think Borat), is a leading expert on autism. Baron-Cohen proposes that the cause of autism at a biological level may be hyper-masculinization. This hypothesis posits that certain features of autism (‘obsessions’ and repetitive behaviour, previously regarded as ‘purposeless’) as being highly purposive, intelligent (hyper-systemizing), and a sign of a different way of thinking. He wrote a popular book on the topic of sex differences and its relationship to autism (The Essential Difference, 2003).

So I admit I sent an article about Baron-Cohen the scientist to my son because he and I share a love of Baron-Cohen the comedian. I'm sure he'll enjoy it. (Thanks, Mom, for all those clippings.)

Fa Waka: Words as Common Coin

2010-01-08T08:03:00.000-08:00

(1) [VERB/ADJECTIVE + weh]VERB/ ADJECTIVE
derivative meaning base meaning of base
a. giwèh ‘give away’ gi (V) ‘give’
gowèh ‘go away’ go (V) ‘go’
hitiwèh ‘throw away’ hiti (V) ‘throw’
b. langaweh ‘far/far away’ langa (A) ‘long (spat. & temp.)’
c. grandeweh ‘long ago’ grande (A) ‘big, great’

I often think if I could go back and do another life, I would be a linguist. I am fascinated by words and gestures. I have enough French blood that I would find it difficult to speak without the use of my hands. I wonder why we gesture so much when we talk; is it a holdover from the days when we only used our hands to communicate?

I took French in high school but never became anywhere close to fluent. I might be able to if I lived in France for a year or two. But I did have the experience of learning a little Sranan Tongo when I lived in Suriname a few years ago. We lived in the capital, Paramaribo, when we were in the Peace Corps, and we luckily were given language training in Sranan Tongo rather than the official language, Dutch. So we said Fa Waka for hello rather than something that sounded like "Who Hot Het." There were some Dutch sounds that we couldn't make without gagging.

According to Wikipedia, the Sranan Tongo words for 'to know' and 'small children' are sabi and pikin which is due to the Portuguese having been the first explorers of the West African coast, where they developed a pidgin language from which a few words became common coin in interactions with Africans by explorers who came afterward, including the English. However, research has established that Sranan is fundamentally an English-based language, with an overlay of words from Dutch, due to the Dutch takeover of Surinam in 1667.

Sranan Tongo's lexicon is thus a fusion of English, Dutch, Portuguese and Central and West African languages. It began as a pidgin spoken primarily by African slaves in Suriname who often did not have a common African language. Sranan also became the language of communication between the slaves and the slave-owners, as the slaves were prohibited to speak Dutch. As other ethnic groups were brought to Suriname as contract workers, Sranan became a lingua franca.

Some of the simpler words we learned were 'gwe,' which when shouted at one of the mangy dogs following us as we walked home would send them running. Go away!! I developed an aggressive side that surprised me but I wasn't sure my rabies shots would protect me if I got bitten. Another favorite word was 'kaba' which meant Done! Over. We used to practice in the morning, using only Sranan for an hour. We even tried playing Scrabble, one of our favorite pastimes, with Sranan words, but we didn't get very far. The irony was that Dutch was considered the language of educated people so our attempts at speaking our language wasn't met with great enthusiasm. Our counterpart George, the person we worked with, always wanted us to speak Dutch. Easy for him to say!

As luck or synchronicity would have it, we recently met a friend at our church in Auburn who lived in French Guyana on the border of Suriname. When she heard we had lived in South America, she came up and greeted us: Fa Waka! Now we have decided we will all study the language and keep our brains fit. Besides, the creole language has such a beautiful way of expressing things. 'Ati' is the word for heart and 'ati sidon' means to be satisfied or at ease. Literally 'heart sit down.' Broko ati is broken heart. If you have heard that learning a language is good for your brain, consider learning Sranan. And then you might plan a trip to Suriname to try it out. Waka bun. (Walk good.)

Art Journal Page 1

2010-01-06T17:48:00.000-08:00

I don't know if it's proper to blog twice in one day; that feels a little indulgent. But my friend Cathie asked me to post my art journal page and here it is. I'm feeling more and more technically-able and that's a good thing. I'm not sure if the page is finished but I do know it's a start! The little girl reminds me of myself on the monkey bars at Torrence Grade School. I used to swing on them pretty fearlessly and climb trees with abandon so I'm not sure why I so often dream of being afraid I will fall. The picture of the feather is one of my prize finds. I opened an old photo album in my favorite thrift store in Oakland and it was filled with page after page of brilliantly-colored feathers like the kind men wore in the bands of their Fedoras. They were stuck in the book with black photo holders and I have the book of feathers plus pictures of the feathers, just waiting for the right project. The geode I brought back from Keokuk on my last trip there. It's one of my favorite amulets. Amulets. A word I just heard describing an art project done for an exhibit at MOMA by artist Song Dong. You can view the video on my Facebook. It was a collaboration he did with his mother who lives in Bejing. She is a hoarder and he has displayed the things she has collected over a lifetime. The curator says that in the end, the mother is happy because she wanted these things to be useful to her family and now they are, but not in the way she imagined they would be. I am fascinated with collections. My mother collected souvenir spoons; I don't know what became of them. She probably sold them to an antique shop, not thinking I would be interested in them. I collected stuffed animals when I was a child and my mother talked me into giving them to the woman that helped keep our house clean. For her children my mother said. But I was really not ready to give them up yet and I was always sorry I let them go when I did. I've just started collecting little hand-painted ceramic houses and shops from England that I found in a thrift store, but I consider my collection complete. I won't add to them, and when I've enjoyed them long enough, I'll probably pass them along to someone else who might like them. I'm a believer in traveling collections.

Where Do Your Cousins Live?

2010-01-06T08:51:00.000-08:00

Okay, so now it's official. I am in the Writing Resolutions workshop with Molly Fisk. We were asked to introduce ourselves to the others thusly: Where do your cousins live? What's your favorite food? Who is your favorite writer? When I listed the places my cousins live I was struck by a couple of things. One, I am the only female on my mother's side, a fact I was always proud of but it probably didn't really get me anything. "We moved to Iowa before I could speak." This is a line borrowed and adapted from a poem I just read by Kathleen Lynch of Sacramento. I found her poem in a newspaper I picked up outside the hospital in Auburn where we went to visit Ginny, who had just had surgery after breaking her hip at a friend's party. There were four nurses at the party we were told so she got excellent attention while waiting for the ambulance. She never made it to the party; fell on the way up the stairs. Ginny and Bob have been married over sixty years. They grieved mightily last year when their parrot died. He had been with them for many years of that long marriage. Now Bob is trying to keep Ginny from pulling tubes out because she is so impatient to go home.
The other thing I was struck by when listing my cousin's homes was that I am not close to any of them, with the exception of an older cousin who lives in Santa Barbara and is a little in awe of how many places I've lived. He has had two homes I know of since he got married 40 years ago. I say in awe of but maybe it's really aghast over. I'm not sure. He and his two sisters and one brother grew up in Laredo, Texas, where my Uncle Mac moved when he was a young man. My uncle was the oldest of seven children and he was my father's hero, even though he left home for MIT when my father was a young boy. In the 30s I think, he was business manager for the Cranbrook Academy of Art in Bloomfield, Michigan, then called the Cranbrook School for Boys. The community was founded by George Gough Booth, a Detroit newspaper baron and philanthropist, and Eliel Saarinen, the Finnish architect who occupies a major position in the history of modern American design and architecture. Both were inspired by the vision of the Arts and Crafts movement, which began in England in the mid-nineteenth century and soon spread to the United States.
I don't know why my uncle left his job there but I have heard the stories of his arriving in Laredo in the late 30s and being attracted to the sound of music floating out of cantinas (I may be making this part up) and he stayed, marrying a woman whose family helped found the town. He eventually bought a ranch called the Double G, one of the Gs being for my name, Gault, where my cousins had a goat as a pet. I was so jealous, My father never went to work without wearing a suit and tie and he couldn't stand animals. He was the guy who every cat and dog gravitated to immediately at a party, however. They seem to know.
Uncle Mac's youngest son was named Arturo after his grandfather and I visited their home one time when I was living in San Angelo with my first husband, who was in the army. We had huevos rancheros for breakfast and drove across the border to have cabrito at a famous restaurant, my first authentic Mexican meal. I remember one time my uncle drove into the small Iowa town where we had moved to from New Jersey (he and my father the only two siblings to have left their East Coast homes and never quite forgiven for that by the family). He was driving a sporty Thunderbird convertible and all the neighbors came running when they saw him pull into our driveway. He also raced Jaguars and had a sailboat in Corpus Christi named after his grandmother, Ida. He hunted in Jackson Hole, Wyoming and had dated movie stars (Joan Crawford's name was mentioned) and, well, you get the picture.
Even though my uncle and my father had not spent much time together once he left for college, my cousin and I were both amazed at how similar some of their traits were. Even though they had chosen very different lifestyles, they moved in the same fluid way and smiled with clear blue eyes that pierced you when they noticed you. When my father was suffering from dementia near the end of his life, he told me he had seen Mac on a street corner in San Francisco. "He didn't speak to me," he said sadly. Mac had been dead for five years. I told him, "He just didn't see you."
"Yes," he said, comforted. "That's what I was thinking."

Invitation to Writing More in 2010

2010-01-05T08:22:00.000-08:00

Wendy on Facebook said: "Here we go." And I replied something like "Fear of heights won't stop me now." Then I got an invitation to join an online writing group for January. Had to decide. Decided. To go for it. Wrote a haiku this morning in response to a haiku written by a former teacher at Sophia. Mine was: Gray morning quiet/Furnace sighing its warm tune/I am arising. I notice how much better I feel after I create something. Anything. I am going to create one page in my art journal today. Today I say. I have been watching youtube tutorials and I get so inspired when I see how people create these beautiful pages. I am ready to move from observer to doer. I need to still, or turn the volume down anyway, on the inner critic ... that growly, crusty critter that comes to life when I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. Down, boy. It's okay. I know you are trying to protect me from the unkempt hobo of my Iowa summer childhood. But I saw his eyes. We have more in common than not. I want my freedom. I want blue skies. He wants a soft bed. A deep connection to another human being. I'm going to visit a friend in the hospital today. A beautiful woman who has been married to her partner for something like 60 years. She fell and broke her hip and he must be devastated. She is probably quietly healing and trying to keep him from worrying. I think after the visit, we'll go to the Flower Farm Coffee Shop with our computers and write. Something we've been meaning to do since we discovered it. Here we go.

Compassionate Communication for an Anniversary Gift

2010-01-04T14:21:00.001-08:00

My 30th wedding anniversary is coming up Feb. 15. I know, why not Feb. 14? Well, we had to work that day. We got married in the living room of a dear friend and the snow started coming down as we became man and wife (man and woman?) That didn't stop us from driving to Chicago to a nice hotel for our short honeymoon. We couldn't stop for fear of getting stuck once we got onto the highway. (They weren't freeways in Illinois.) John started a new job the Monday after our wedding so we took a longer honeymoon several months later.
The thirtieth is a big event, especially when we've both been married before. So today I read about a five-day retreat in the Santa Cruz mountains in nonviolent communication (also called compassionate communication) which just happens to take place on our anniversary so I took it as a sign. John was enthusiastic about it, so we will spend that big day in a rustic cabin in the mountains, refining our communication skills so our next 20 or so years will be as much fun as the first 30.
It was challenging that we dropped the car off today for a tuneup and learned that we need four new tires and a new battery. But the car is paid for and it's important to keep it in good shape and safe too.
Because we just have one car, a friend agreed to meet us at the car dealer's and we went to the mall to walk for 45 minutes. We were challenged by John to stay on task and not be distracted by shiny things. He was actually the first to be drawn from the path; he just had to check the price on those spiky, strappy heels at Macy's that I told him were all the rage. $110. And I told Linda I was grateful we never had to wear those things. We marched past the Pottery Barn and the Crate and Barrel and were not even lured in by the Border's. We finished the walk with a healthy lunch at Pluto's where you get a gigantic salad with seven toppings for under $7. I'm looking for inexpensive entertainment this year and that was a good outing. Saturday we brought a few sacks full of books to a used bookstore in Sacramento called Beers and were offered $39 in credit or $30 cash. We also took a walk around that neighborhood for something different to look at. So I have stuck to my resolution to walk 45 minutes a day and I have blogged twice. Now if I can just get myself to unwrap the yoga DVD.

A New Decade

2010-01-02T09:16:00.000-08:00

Here it is 2010 and I haven't written since April of last year. But it's a new decade. Woke up a little blue. What do I have planned for the new year? Nothing. But then I watched a youtube tutorial on art journaling and got my spirit back. Yesterday was filled with food (delicious: artichoke dip, horseradishy dip, tamale pie, Cowgirl Creamery cheese from Pt. Reyes, chocolate haystacks, lemon bars, potato chips, pita chips, triscuits, banana bread pudding...) and football: Rose Bowl & some of the Sugar Bowl, when I remembered that I left the sugar out of the banana bread pudding. Probably a good thing. Now I sit with a bowl of oatmeal and raisins and vow to eat nothing bad for me this day. I also vow to want what I have, do what I can and be who I am. Wise words of Forrest Church who died last year. He was a UU minister at All Souls Church in NYC. I first heard of him when Bill Moyers interviewed him 20 years ago, before I learned I was a UU. (Took a quiz on belief.net and scored 100% on UU and 97% liberal Quaker.) Luckily, when we moved to Roseville I stumbled upon the Sierra Foothills UU church in Auburn and have been driving up the hill ever since. Today I will do two pages in my journal, take a 45 minute walk and ponder all the ways I have been given just what I need.

Taking Off

2009-04-15T09:45:00.000-07:00

Taking off again. We found a short sale condo, made an offer and it was accepted. So after a year in our new apartment, we're taking off again. This time, we'll only be moving 15 minutes away and our furniture will fit, because the new place is very much like the old place, only now we'll own it. Because we've been renters for several years, we'll be getting a tax credit and our monthly payment will be less than our present rent. Still, it's scary to be buying in this current economic environment.

The thing I'll miss about this place is how close it is to a wonderful walking trail. The trail is public so we can come back, but it will mean getting into the car instead of just walking out the door. We'll try to find the closest trails to our new home. I'm using the opportunity to get rid of even more clutter. We dropped four bags of clothes and books at the Goodwill yesterday and I don't miss them a bit.

Something I've noticed about living in Roseville is how many birds hang out here. It sounds like a Walt Disney movie. We have a pair of mourning doves outside our window and they flutter up from the ground and perch on the stone wall every time we walk by. I'm sure they must have a nest nearby. On our drive to the Placer Nature Center last week for a meeting, I spotted a beautiful peacock in a field. We're used to seeing flocks of wild turkeys but this was the first peacock spotting. I also saw a white seagull flying low over a field in Lincoln, a long way from the sea.

At the Farmers Market in Auburn Saturday, I saw an emu named Winston. Its owner raised it from a baby and he said the bird doesn't know she's a bird. He walks her on a leash. Her ears are towards the back of her head and they look like eyes, which protects it from predators.

So it's time for me to feather a new nest. Taking off again.

Catching Up With My Writing

2009-02-17T08:37:00.001-08:00

It's been too long since I blogged and so much has happened. I've been coaxing my creativity in other ways and have made some big steps. I decided to volunteer at the High Hand Gallery in Loomis because it would help a friend whose husband exhibits there and because it would put me in contact with the work of 25 artists who belong to the co-op. I'm on a quest to get to know my new home, which is also an old home. We lived in Roseville 25 years ago when John was editor of the Press Tribune and I was lifestyles editor. We've been back about six months but it's a brand new city, having grown from 25,000 to 100,000 while we were away. So I have the surreal experience of sitting in a little cafe I used to go to but not knowing a single person.

The High Hand Gallery is located at the nursery of the same name in an old fruit-packing warehouse. It's high tin roof is open and on cold wintry days, it's warmer outside than in. The gallery has a space heater that we huddle around and I dress in many layers of clothing, including long underwear, when I volunteer. It will be warmer next winter because the owner is adding a new roof. One day I volunteered with an artist named Charlotte Cooper who works in copper and does encaustic painting. This involves painting with tinted beeswax that has been melted. Charlotte was offering a one-day workshop at the local learning exchange and I signed up.

The experience turned out to be a good way to meet some people and learn a new art. And we each walked away with a completed 12 x 12-inch painting, mine in shades of blue and red and looking like a cyclone swirling up from an ocean to a science fiction sky. I was thrilled with it.

On the way home, I had to stop by the blueline gallery in Roseville, which we had joined recently. I saw people carrying in paintings and sculptures. I discovered that they were bringing their works for the Member's Show called The Long and the Short of It. I asked about the deadline and learned I had one hour to get my piece in. I rushed home and filled out the form, named my painting "Life is Short" and wrote a pithy artist's statement.

I raced back with my entry fee and dropped off my painting with a mixture of fear and excitement. The next week we attended the opening reception and there was my offering on the wall with other members' interpretations on the theme. Who knows? Maybe one day I'll be exhibiting at the High Hand Gallery.

Thoughts on Poverty

2008-10-15T07:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-25T12:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-03T07:05:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-03T18:13:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-19T15:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-25T08:37:00.001-07:00

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

2008-06-16T08:14:00.001-07:00

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?

2008-06-14T07:24:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-31T07:58:00.000-07:00

"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

2008-05-10T16:44:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-04-29T07:50:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-22T16:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-14T11:40:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-10T10:28:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-05T07:58:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-17T10:59:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-13T08:40:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-02-29T18:47:00.001-08:00

Do You Yearn for More Simplicity?

2008-02-25T11:34:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-18T17:46:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-04T16:48:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-24T17:53:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-10T11:13:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-05T12:32:00.000-08:00

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.

Counting My Blessings

2007-12-16T09:23:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-09T09:45:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-04T08:40:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-29T06:42:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-22T09:12:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-21T17:40:00.000-08:00

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

2007-10-22T17:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-15T12:05:00.000-07:00

“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

2007-10-04T09:53:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-27T07:51:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-24T10:22:00.000-07:00

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.