I Remember

  My favorite souvenirs are my memories. I scoop them up, everywhere I go—filing away the words, gestures, facial expressions, scents, sights, and sounds. Later, and again and again over the years, I’ll page through these memories. Their details so crystalline, they instantly transport me back.

A cloudless cornflower-blue sky is my anchor to September 11.

I remember walking down the sidewalk to work. The sun was warm on my shoulders, but there was a tinge of autumn in the air. It would likely be the last time I’d wear my magenta sleeveless blouse for the season. The same blouse I wore on my first date with Andrew. Soaking in that Crayola-like blue before stepping into my office building, I remarked to myself what a positively gorgeous day this was.

I clicked on my e-mail inbox. The Scotsman had sent a message to everyone in my small group. “THEY DID IT AGAIN. THIS TIME ITS REALLY BAD.” I clicked on the hotlink to the New York Times, not at all sure who “they” were. I hurriedly tapped the refresh button until I could get through to the webcam atop the twin towers. A swirling smoke cloud filled the screen.

My colleagues and I crowded around the small TV in the café downstairs, clenching coffee cups until they were lukewarm. Another building down. Another swirling cloud. A storm of debris raining over the streets. The Scotsman tells us about 1993. He was there. It was horrible. But it didn’t even compare.

New York. Pennsylvania. DC. Boston held its breath as its people retreated home to watch the uncertainty unfold on TV.

When I got home, there was a UPS package on my front step—one of the last to be delivered for a week as the fifty nifty (and beyond) was deemed a no-fly zone. With my new laptop, I looked up all of these unfamiliar words on the news: Al Jazeera, Al Qaeda, Bin Laden.

The next morning, the sky was that same shade of cornflower blue. And the day after that. The news footage was on repeat, too. People’s loved ones were missing. Colleen, one of my old college classmates was missing. We had traded bottles of shampoo our sophomore year. And she had that green and purple Laura Ashley comforter I had always admired . . . and eyelashes as thick and curled as a blinky baby doll.

* * *

To remember, quite literally means “to put memories back together.” Recalling what once was.

And so I do. Today it’s the candy-sweet scent of Finesse that I got in exchange for my Pantene. Which, incidentally, is also cornflower blue.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because I have infinite storage space for memories, old and new. (Photo by cdsessums via Creative Commons.)

For the Birds

This morning, just as everyone seemed to be getting out the door and on with their day, the skies opened up. The street went from speckled to soaked in an instant. And those rumbles in the distance? Not the garbage truck. You could practically hear the collective “aw, sh*t” across the eastern half of the state.

Except for the birds. They were lovin’ it. While stopped at a red light, I watched a posse of sparrows hopping and flapping and splashing in a giant curbside puddle. To them, the morning rainstorm was pure delight.

I need the rain. It reminds me to appreciate the sunshine and the flowers. That brighter days always lie ahead. It nourishes the trees that provide shade on my lunchtime walks and brings a twinkle to their leaves, which will soon turn fiery shades of orange, yellow, and red. I need the snowfall. It reminds me that warmer days will come. I need the hazy, hot, and humid days to remind me that a break is always just around the corner. I need it all.

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome, then New England’s widely varying weather should be a source of comfort and peace of mind to its inhabitants.

Long story short: I simply refuse to complain about the weather. Sure, it gets me down sometimes, but a rainy day is just that. A day. It passes and I move forward. That’s the nature of nature.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because my happily ever after has four seasons. (Photo by doortoriver via Creative Commons.)

Gratitude Roundup: Summer Lovin’

Alas, (not to be confused with  “at last”) it’s fall. Sweaters and pumpkin spice lattes are just around the bend. Scarves, too. (I love scarves!) And even though the calendar still says we have two more weeks of summer, I’ll always associate September 1 with fall’s unofficial start. Maybe it’s the latent meteorologist in me . . .

But before I usher in autumn, I must pay homage it its spunky little sister. This year’s summer was filled with things to love, both big and small. Such as: 

• Park trips aplenty with the pups and my beloved
• My best pal moving back east
• An indulgent, two-hour yin + vinyasa workshop with YogaThree’s Chanel Luck and Bonnie Argo
• Upleveling my life with creativity coach extraordinaire, Christine Kane
• An outdoor yoga class in the DeCordova sculpture park
• Learning how to hold ’em and fold ’em
• A new car (after a year-plus of being a one-car family)
• Hosting a fancy-pants dinner party at the Liberty Hotel (even though the hotel lost our flowers)
• My hair got crazy long
• Perfecting the art of cold-brewed iced coffee (thanks to smallnotebook)
• Front-row seats to see Willie Nelson at the House of Blues (and access, to the fancy-pants Foundation Lounge)
• Laughing in yoga classes with Boston’s omgal, Rebecca
• Cupcakes and iced coffee on the porch of a yellow Victorian with my best pal
• Discovering lovely, serene sittin’ spots around town
• Getting my geek on with this uber-addictive card game
• Digging my toes in the sand while sitting beneath my beach umbrella
• Taking lunchtime walks and snapping photos (like the one above) on my cell phone
• Falling in love with croonsmith Ray LaMontagne
• Playing bocce (win!) and mini golf (let’s not talk about that score)
• A leisurely, cloudy morning spent at a harborside coffee shop (with a new notebook in tow)
• A foodie gift bag from a friend, which included the most lovely jar of dandelion honey from Italy
• Trying new flavors at the ice cream stand up the street from my house (graham central—yum!)
• Eating raspberries in the parking lot at Russell Orchards, fresh from the field, still warm from the sun

I’m a simple pleasures kinda gal. Sure, a week on an island would have been lovely. But my memory of those raspberries is priceless . . .

"That much gathers more is true on every plane of existence."                                                                     --Charles Haanel

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because, so often, the little things can add up to something spectacular. 

V Is for Velocity

I saw the cutest thing on my drive into work this morning . . .

A little boy with a big, new LL Bean backpack was walking to his first day of school, holding his mom’s hand. His sandy blond head turned side to side as he waved at each and every person in his path. It was adorable to see just how proud—and excited—this little boy was to begin his big adventure

So, there he was, this radiant bundle of potential. And there I was, stopped in a line of traffic and waiting for the crossing guard to escort all the kiddos across the street. I had a choice: I could grumble about the delay (Ugh, school’s back in session. Nine more months of all this traffic.) or I could wave back and smile at the little rock star.

I waved and smiled.

Cheering him on, if only from the confines of my car, is so much more productive—for him and for me. It’s an energetic exchange. Like a flock of geese flying in formation: the honking offers encouragement and the flapping creates the velocity to soar.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because mindsets and outlooks can use a little cleaning up, too. Right? (Photo by Daquella manera via Creative Commons.)

There Are Heroes in the Seaweed

Wednesday afternoon, my Power Lunch reading buddy bobbed her way through the school lunch line, a smiling whirl of braids and barettes, and presented me with an orange tissue paper flower attached to a popsicle stick.

The flower looked like the type you'd find adorning a platter of sweet & sour chicken at a Chinese food buffet. It's the sort of thing I would have slipped into my pocket and brought home with me when I, too, was 8 years old. In fact, I still hold on to pretty scraps of this and that. Colorful strips of satin ribbon and lightly creased slips of pretty tissue paper dominate my collection of gift wrap. Odds and ends that make their way to me among the everyday jumble.

"Did you see the news?" she asked me as we climbed the stairs to the library. I had, of course--and knew the exact story she was referring to: the major earthquake that hit her family's native home of Haiti just the day before. I'd seen the coverage online. The wreckage and chaos. An immense amount of sadness. The phone lines were all down, so her parents weren't able to get through to their relatives. I cannot imagine.

When I got back to the office, I spent some time online reading about the aftermath and the relief efforts and the countless people who had risen to the occasion, helping in whatever way they can. Indeed, beauty has a way of presenting itself in heartfelt gestures among the ruins.

 "And she shows you where to look among the garbage and the flowers."                                                                                                                --Leonard Cohen

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--one heartfelt gesture at a time--to live happily ever after.

Even Vegetarians Crave Meat Sometimes

I once dated a guy who would talk with his roommates--in longing, graphic detail--about Thanksgiving dinner. About the crispy, crinkly turkey skin; the juicy meat; the flecks of sausage in the stuffing; the pan drippings for the gravy. Together they ooohed and aaahed over this fleshy feat.

"So, why not just eat it?" I asked, quite matter of factly.

"Oh no. We could never," they responded in unison.

That was my introduction to the world of not eating meat for ethical reasons. It had never occurred to me, really,  that vegetarianism was more than just a band of people who didn't like their mother's pork chops and swedish meatballs. Giving up meat a couple of years ago was not a great sacrifice for me. I just never got excited over a nicely-marbled filet or a roasted chicken like others do. Soon after though, I began thinking about what it meant to not eat meat.

Perhaps it was all those years of staring into my pets' eyes; the proliferation of words like "grass fed," "hormone-free," and "free range" in the grocery store; reading The Omnivore's Dilemma; or some combination thereof. But the idea of eating a once-living creature just didn't make sense to me--not when there were so many other food options available.

I hate it. It's just not an industry that I can support. I am grateful to know that there are an increasing number of farmers who are taking care to raise their livestock humanely--and the more people who support this kind of farming, the less profitable the factory farms will be. At the end of the day though, the outcome is the same: chili con carne and buffalo wings, lemon chicken and BLTs.

With Thanksgiving just a few days away, I too have been thinking about how much I would enjoy a juicy slice of turkey with some stuffing on the side and a drizzle of gravy across both. More so than the taste, I think it's the ritual and tradition that I'm craving most.

Early on in my yoga teacher training journey, I read a book called If the Buddha Came to Dinner. Essentially, it said that food that has been lovingly prepared--no matter what it is--is a gift, and that if somebody grilled the Buddha a steak, he'd eat every last bite and say thank you. Meat should not ever go to waste.

Does that make him any less of a vegetarian? Is it possible to still practice ahimsa and enjoy a traditional Thanksgiving dinner? Or a bacon cheeseburger for that matter. Oh, how I long for a bacon cheeseburger . . .

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Just because less is more is my philosophy on eating meat, doesn't mean it needs to be so for you.

The Facts of Life, Part 2: Bad Weekend, Good News

I said goodbye to my beloved orange cat, Teddy, this past weekend. He was diagnosed last month, at 16.5 years of age, with advanced-stage pancreatic cancer. Although his days were numbered, Andrew and I committed ourselves to making each one as comfortable and comforting as possible for him.

I spent long stretches of time sitting on the floor with Teddy, encouraging him to eat. Chicken, salmon, tuna--our hallway was a buffet of small, stinky plates that mostly sat untouched. I quietly cheered him on when he ate and quietly cleaned up the carpet when those few bites didn't agree with him.

Day 33 post-diagnosis was a turning point. Teddy's belly gurgled nonstop, his eyes lacked sparkle, his personality no longer there. Andrew had "the talk" with me, but I knew it all already.  Our vet appointment was scheduled for Saturday afternoon.

Somewhere in the midst of bargaining and acceptance came an unrelated bit of good news: Andrew had landed a job--a good job--after nine long months of being without. During that long stretch of time, splurges and niceties went to the wayside. Bills became a challenge and our home became our haven. Included in that haven was an abundance of companionship and a new-found love of simple pleasures. Teddy and Andrew gave one another the gift of time.

Day 38. Saturday. Teddy perched upon my chest as we laid in bed that final morning, his paws at the very edge of the blanket; the blanket tucked up to my chin. His weight was just a wisp of what it used to be. I ate my breakfast while sitting on the bedroom floor that day, inches from the sunbeam that enveloped Teddy. I stroked his fur, kissed his little head, and recounted to him the names of everybody who loved him. But most especially me.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Even when it's hard to let go. 

The Lost Art of Writing Letters

 

Here’s what I received in the mail yesterday: catalogs from Crate & Barrel and L.L.Bean and a coupon from Bed, Bath & Beyond. The day before that it was grocery store circulars, something from American Express, and a postcard from Lucky Brand jeans. In all, a whole lot of nothing. If the U.S. Postal Service is going to cut back on its delivery days, that’s fine by me.

(Insert wistful sigh . . . )

I love both sending and receiving letters in the mail. But with cell phone use, e-mail, text messages, IM, Facebook, and so on, I fear the days of sitting down to pen a letter are long gone. Even when we do “care enough to send the very best” usually that means just picking out something with a canned sentiment and just jotting our name to the inside. Does that make you sad? It makes me very sad. 

In my bedroom closet, I have boxes full of letters and cards that I’ve received over the years. Each one a snapshot of how our lives converged. Each one a bit of history. In my old-fashioned opinion, an online folder full of e-mails simply doesn’t make the grade. There’s just something about having the paper in hand, words inked, that gives the message a greater sense of value. It’s why I can’t send a card without adding my own touch. It’s why I have a drawer full of stationery.

While watching all of the news coverage on the late Senator Ted Kennedy, I was pleased to learn that he too was an avid letter writer. From notes of congratulations to the coaches of Boston’s sports teams to annual letters of condolence to Massachusetts’ families who lost loved ones in the 9/11 attacks–and much more–here was a man who understood that well-chosen words are a lasting gift.

It need not be a whole “Dear so and so” type of letter with paragraphs. Even just a personalized sentence or two inside a store-bought card is meaningful. Or a postcard. Heck, even a Post-It note can be special. Just as long as they’re your own words.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less (fleeting, electronic correspondence) really is more. Though, on occasion, I’ve been known to send a few of these delightfully sarcastic e-cards. (Image courtesy of Timothy Lloyd via Creative Commons.)

Related posts: My Manifesto

My Time Out

It came out of nowhere as the workday neared its end. One minute I was making progress on my to-do list; the next I was in complete meltdown mode. Inconsolable, indefatigable, petulant.  I needed a time out--or a miniature Milky Way Midnight.  I called my boyfriend at home and explained, with all the ration I could muster, that I did not want to grill seafood for dinner, nor did I want to eat any vegetables. I did not want to go to the grocery store, cook dinner, or pick up something ready-made. I was hungry and  just wanted dinner to appear without either of us having to cook. I blamed it all on my lunch: a lovely pocket sandwich filled with a homemade bean dip, sprouts, cucumber, red pepper, carrots, avocado, and tomato. And now I had bacon on the brain. Or maybe an ice cream sundae.

Somehow, I made it to the grocery store. I staggered through the aisles, managed to run over my own foot with the cart, and left the store with an odd assortment of food, including a few mozzarella sticks from the prepared foods counter--which I ate before even leaving the parking lot.

Once home, I collapsed on the couch and ate slices of Swiss cheese and Sun Chips while watching that awful show about the Kardashian sisters on E! I didn't feel any better. I puttered around upstairs. I hovered over Andrew. I hovered over the cat. Finally, at my wit's end, I cleared a space in our spare room, swung my legs up the wall, and closed my eyes.

Twenty minutes later I reemerged, a whole new Holly. It wasn't long before I was in the kitchen running a knife through some fresh herbs and zesting a lemon for this delightful lemon spaghetti dish (how I managed to pick up parsley and cream in my state of mind earlier, I do not know).

So, did I learn any lessons while in my self-imposed time out? Glad you asked!

While a Milky Way Midnight (or 17) would have been delightful for a moment, what I was really craving most were a few slow, deep breaths. With all systems a go, go, go--and a to-do list that was growing by the hour--I had flat-out forgotten to pay attention to myself.

Viparita karani (a.k.a. legs up the wall, one of my favorite yoga poses) has a magical way of soothing my nervous system and draining tension from my limbs. Lying still and with my eyes closed, the deep breaths I needed a few hours earlier suddenly flowed easily. No fancy props needed (though they're nice), this pose is completely worth you clearing a place along the wall and giving it a try at home.

• Sit parallel to the wall with your hip right along the baseboard, knees bent and feet flat on the floor.
• Turn your hands so that your fingertips face the wall
• Begin to lower your back to the floor as you raise your legs up the wall
• Give yourself a little wiggle so that your backside is in nice and close to the wall
• Rest your arms by your side--above or below your head--with your palms facing up
• Give your shoulder blades a little tuck, rolling them back and down
• Exhale

With your eyes closed and nothing to do and nowhere else to be, use your breath to sweep away whatever it is that's cluttering your mind or weighing you down. Feel your chest rise and fall as you recharge your mental batteries, breathing in just as deeply as you let go on the out breath. Maybe you even choose a short little mantra to repeat to yourself, letting it absorb into your psyche with each inhale annd exhale.

If the logistics (i.e., working in an office) get in the way of you being able to slide your leg up the wall, just work with the breath component of this pose. Even if it means you have to hide out in a bathroom stall. Save the chocolate for another time when you can truly enjoy it. For now, just find your breath . . . perhaps for the first time today.

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Ahhh, the power of positive thinking and deep breaths. (Photo credit: Debra McClinton)

The Facts of Life: Good Weekend, Bad News

The good: A funny yet elusive letter inviting me out for a special evening with Andrew. A chauffeured ride into the city for a late-afternoon yoga class. An impromptu overnight stay at a swanky new hotel. Living large. Al fresco waterfront dining and a movie by the moonlight. Laughter. Reminiscing. Riesling. An impromptu celebration to acknowledge a milestone anniversary. Lemon raspberry pancakes in the morning and an afternoon spent wandering a museum. Rejuvenated. Grateful. Living for today. Living happily ever after. The bad: My beloved old cat is not well. Barely eating. Throwing up when he does eat. Losing weight fast. Sad meow sounds. Missing the litter box. Worrisome x-rays. Blockage in intestines. A mysterious mass clouding his abdomen. Ultrasound scheduled for Tuesday. Heartbroken over my little furry guy's declining health. Hoping he's okay for the cat sitter.

There you have it. So, what to do? Bad news happens. Without it, good news gets taken for granted. Not appreciated quite as much as it should be. Same thing goes for fancy celebrations and impromptu getaways. Balance is important. You take the good with the bad. The bad with the good. That's life.

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more--bittersweet as it may be.