All I Want for Christmas Is . . .

All I want for Christmas is a Christmas card. Yes, a card. With a pretty picture on the front and words, penned by you, on the inside.

Heartfelt thoughts. Well wishes. Future plans. A remember-when story. Whatever feels right. Whatever feels true.

Sure, I like things. Cozy sweaters, sparkly jewelry, and decorative knick-knacks. I do. But really, I have plenty. Your words, however, are one of a kind. Something I can treasure forever.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because our mailboxes should be fillied with joy, not junk mail. (Photo by Aunt Owwee 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. 

Putting Gratitude Into Perspective

I have a to-do list that's a mile and a half long--and an I want to-do list twice that length. I have lists at work and and at home, about the pets, about my writing, and about yoga. About decluttering and simplifying. Healthy stuff, us time, the holidays, and volunteering. As a result, I start a lot of sentences with the words "I have to."

More often than not, Andrew corrects me, saying "No, you get to."

Touche, my dear.

With a simple switch of a word--I get to vs. I have to--suddenly the to-do lists seem less overwhelming. Gratitude replaces obligation. It's all about perspective.

Getting in the gratitude habit For as long as I can remember in my adult years, the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas has been a stressful time, complete with feelings of not living up to the stereotypical and commercial expectations. Blech. Totally defeating the spirit of the season, right?

Between now and Christmas--and hopefully long beyond--it is my wish to take time each day to focus on all that I have to be grateful for. All that I get to do. All the good that exists in our world. And all that I already have.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Image courtesy of allyaubry via Creative Commons.)

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.

I'm Gathering the Colors

My summer has been quiet but rich in simple pleasures. Soft-serve cones with rainbow sprinkles, outdoor yoga sessions, mini golf, sunrise walks and sunset runs, dramatic skies, leisurely seafood feasts, afternoons reading on the patio, quality time on park benches, fresh raspberries in my lemonade, sunbeam naps with my old cat, lush flowers beckoning me to stop and sniff. The list is long, but I've downloaded each and every sensation of the season.

"Gathering the colors," one of my yoga instructors called it, referring to the children's storybook, Frederick. The book is about a little field mouse who knows how valuable it is to have a harvest of vibrant, enjoyable memories to draw from that can help you get through more challenging times that inevitably lie ahead.

So, from here on out--and until further notice--I'm committed to focusing on everything that's bright and living and lush in experience. Such as:

• Brushing my hand across the lavender leaves
• Tuning in to the steady hum of insect chirps
• Sucking down wedges of watermelon before the juices drip down my wrist
• Watching the blue jays, cardinals, finches, and doves mingle and dine at our bird feeder
• Enjoying the sunshine on my shoulders and the warm whisk of wind by my ears
• Stopping to take in the talents of a street musician
• Savoring local and in-season produce
• Walking barefoot across the grass
• Breathing deep

"Supplies," Frederick calls them. Even more essential than a scarf and gloves for this New England girl, I say.

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Photo taken in the Boston Public Garden during my summer staycation)

The Blind Spot in My Kitchen Cupboard

For as long as I can remember, Andrew and I have had a can of store-brand peaches in our cupboard. These peaches were so old that they predated our relationship. So old that the grocery store they came from had since changed its name--twice.  So old that "in heavy syrup" once had some appeal. If I had to guess, I'd say they were purchased around the same time that the Presidents of the United States of America were singing about the sweet orbs. In other words: these peaches had no right hanging out in our cupboard.

Growing up, I remember there being an ancient box of rice pudding in our pantry. "Nope, not that," my mother would say when my brother and I were trolling around for something dessert worthy. That box dated back to their newlywed days. It was a relic--and so too would be our can of peaches if I hadn't thrown them out this evening.

I had just finished watching Hoarders, a new show on A&E about people on the verge of crisis because of an inability to part with their belongings. One of the women featured had an inordinate amount of food in her home--most of it inproperly stored, forgotten about, and seriously spoiled. It turned my stomach just to watch. The whole time, I kept thinking about our peaches--envisioning the nastiness inside that can--and that they had to go. Now.

I pitched the peaches, can and all--my recycling feathers all a ruffle. To my suprise, I noticed a number of items in the cupboard that were past their prime. A can of tomato paste that was meant for a pasta fagioli recipe I last made in 2004. Three bags of slivered almonds best used by August 2008. More canned fruit. An imported can of Bachelors mushy peas. Raisins from our west coast road trip trail mix two years ago. One of my best friend's half-used bag of lentils from 2006. All of it now in the trash.

I knew that some of these items were in our cupboard; others were a complete surprise--even though I'm in there daily. Huh. Makes me wonder: What else is lurking in all those other blind spots in our home? And what ever happened to the Presidents of the United States of America?

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after (and eat more peaches of the non-canned variety).

The Yellow Handbag

I was bad. A few weeks ago, I splurged on a new handbag. A cheerful, yellow handbag. Of course, I didn't really need for a new handbag. Nor was it in the budget. But it was on sale. And did I mention, yellow? I picked the handbag up off the shelf--the only one of its size, shape, and color--and draped it over my shoulder while posing in front of a full-length mirror. The image reflected back to me was summery and bright. Exactly what I was craving after this June's never-ending rain. Exactly what I was craving after so many months of being extra mindful of our expenses. I deserved it. Woozy with want, that bag was mine.

At home, I tucked my timeless old leather Coach bags into the closet, vowing to make the most of my new purchase. From here until Labor Day, it would be my go-to bag. The following day, with my cell phone, lip gloss, notebook, sunglasses, pens, and calendar all in place, I carried the bag with me to work--along with a whole lot of buyer's remorse.

What was I thinking?

Money aside, I had just willingly brought a new piece of unnecessary clutter into our home. A cardinal sin of good karma housekeeping. Plus, frivolous purchases are so last year.

Generous return policies certainly help, but I believe that saying no at the cash register--or, better yet, before even getting to the cash register--is the key to living a clutter-free life. It's not always easy to stand by that belief--but returning the bag (and the money to my wallet) feels like a win.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Related posts: Plenty Is a Mindset The Haves and the Have Nots

A Permanent Vacation

Today is the first official day of my staycation, and I'm wrapping up the day with a glass of muscat that has been sitting in my wine rack for far too long. After all, I'm on vacation--so why not celebrate a little, right? It has been a long, leisurely day, complete with a yoga class, stroll through Boston's Public Garden, an iced Americano, a visit to a local day spa, lunch & dinner on my patio, and now a glass of dessert wine. [Edit: Add in a cup of vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles.]

All that leisurely goodness has got me thinking: What if every day could be a vacation day? Would it lose its specialness? Shouldn't every day be special? Instead, we (read: I) seemingly trudge through our days. It's almost Friday. It's almost 5 o'clock. Blech. Enough.

So, what is it that I love most about vacations?

• The anticipation of all that lies ahead
• New sights, sounds, and experiences
• Good food
• Good company
• Traveling lightly (i.e., having occasions to wear all of my shoes)

While I may not be able to hang out in Sonoma, attend yoga camp, or dine at Henrietta's  Table every day, I  can certainly cultivate that same feeling of pure enjoyment, of having everything I want--and everything I need. While my everyday life may not be packed with as many leisurely activities as today, with a little extra awareness and a shift in perspective, even the seemngly mundane can be fabulous.

A former yoga teacher of mine lives by a similar philosophy where every day and every thing is The Best. The best sunset ever. The best strawberry ever. The best roll of paper towels ever. Truthfully, we all know that not everything can be that rosy all the time, but just putting your mind in glass-completely-full perspective is 90% of the battle. Absorbtion comes with time--and practice.

Wouldn't you like to go on a permanent vacation?

You can! You know that fancy bar of soap in your linen closet? Unwrap it, set it out next to the sink in a pretty little dish, and enjoy its triple-milled bubbles and French lavender aroma. Burn that decorative candle. Wear that fancy perfume or pair of earings. Take lots of photos. Sit on a park bench and soak in the sights. Savor dessert. Uncork that old bottle of dessert wine.

What are you waiting for?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Plenty Is a Mindset

We live in a culture of wants. It's no secret. Everywhere you look, you see covetable stuff. Shiny stuff. Pretty stuff. Fancy stuff. Cool stuff. I admit, I like stuff; however, I am also overwhelmed by it all.

The first thing I vividly remember wanting--with every pleading fiber of my nine-year-old self--was a pair of Nike sneakers. Ones with a lavender swoosh, like Amy Gardner's. I also wanted a baseball tee shirt with a silk-screened unicorn on the front and my name in fuzzy letters on the back. And a Cabbage Patch Kid (and another Cabbage Patch Kid). And let's not forget the Hello Kitty erasers and scratch-and-sniff stickers. I got all of those things, and pretty much everything else I've wanted for over the years.

Whoop de doo.

Want is an insatiably hungry beast. It took me a good, long time to realize all that stuff just gets in the way of truly living. My happiness has little to do with designer handbags or $200 jeans or a yoga wardrobe full of Lululemon gear. I am more than the sum of my possessions--and you are, too.

Last weekend I watched Into the Wild, and the message has been haunting me ever since: stuff does not equal happiness. As circumstance would have it, I've been a student of this philosophy for the last six months. While I would give anything not to be in this situation, it is perhaps the most valuable lesson I've ever learned, distinguishing want vs. need.

"Until you have it all you won't be free."                                                                                                                                                -- "Society" by Eddie Vedder

In order to experience that sense of freedom, you have to come to terms with the fact that you already have everything you need. Trust. Dig deep. Look in the way back of your closet. I promise, whatever you're looking for is there--as long as you're willing to be creative.

Can you cultivate your own definition of happiness--of "having it all"--with only the resources at your fingertips? Life is short. Time is passing. You can't afford to wait.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Related posts: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Acceptance The Haves and the Have Nots