Obsession

I’m doing it again.  Recently, I’ve been spending too much time in front of the computer, on the Internet, often late at night, hardly aware of the time passing by.  Ignoring more productive things that I could be doing, I scroll, I click, I gaze at the glowing screen.  It’s fruitless, I know.  Yet, I can’t seem to stop myself.

And what is this time-suck?  Is it Facebook?  Pinterest, Twitter, YouTube or Netflix?  I could certainly spend some hours on those sites.  But, no.

My particular weakness is DreamTown.  And Zip Realty.  And Trulia.

It’s me, looking at houses on line.

See, I can’t stop dwelling (Sorry!) on my dream house.  I pretty much know what I want.  I know what I like.  I have my list of must-haves and preferences.  I know the style I like, and I know the neighborhoods I like. 

We just don’t happen to be in a position, at the moment, to acquire a home that meets all my criteria.  But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it.  I go on line and look at picture after picture.  I daydream and talk about it with my husband.  I write in my journal about my house desires.  I walk past houses and admire or critique them:

Great tile roof… love that arched doorway. …That house is nice, but way too big…It leaves no room for a yard!  …I’d definitely take down those window awnings if that were my house…

I’ve pasted images of my dream house over a significant portion of my Vision Board.

Am I obsessed?

Well… it’s not like this is the ONLY thing I’m focusing on.  But home is a pretty important part of life, I think.  It’s not just a place to hang your hat.  It’s much more than a shelter.  Home is a sanctuary.  It should be a place of comfort and safety, light and space, beauty and openness. 

As for what I’m looking for that I don’t yet have?  Well, we could use some more room.  More space to have people over, more room for our stuff.  But, more importantly, I want a yard.  I want a nice green outdoor space, so my daughter can have plenty of outside playtime.  I want a sunny area for a garden, so we can grow some of our own food.  I want a place to compost, so we can give back to the earth and reduce our trash.  I want a back deck, so I can sit under the sky and relax.  I want a front porch, so we can engage with our neighbors more easily. 

I want, I want.  Poor me, huh?  

I don’t know why this should be so complicated.  I mean, we live in a big city because that is what we choose.  We need to be here, and we like to be here.  And, in fact, this particular big city actually does have houses with yards.  We just can’t seem to connect all the dots, quite yet….

A few years ago, being way over apartment living, my husband and I decided we were ready to take the leap into home ownership.  We contacted a realtor and began to look at real houses, in person.  Unfortunately, that whole process ended up deflating the BIG DREAM.  The cold truth was that, in this city, there just wasn’t a nice house that we could afford in the areas we would consider living.  So, we settled for a condo instead.

It’s a nice condo, actually, and on a quiet tree-lined street.  It met our needs at the time, so I stopped dreaming about houses for a while…. 

Then, of course, at some point I started browsing on line again.  Now, it’s more or less off and on, this obsessive habit of mine.  I’ll browse and write down addresses and we’ll drive by. 

Then, I’ll come to my senses and realize we’re not financially ready yet to make another, bigger, move.  So, I’ll stop.  I’ll lay off opening those emails I get every time there’s a new listing. 

Then…after a while, I’ll start thinking again.  I’ll wonder what’s out there.  So, I’ll start looking again, just to see what our options might be.  

It’s alternately hope-inducing and depressing.

However, I am starting to realize something.  Like any real addict, I suppose I’ve been seeking fulfillment from something outside of myself.  I’ve been pinning my happiness and well-being on this external, future thing.  All my problems will be solved and life will be just so peachy LATER….when I can align the stars and create my perfect circumstances. 

Meanwhile, back in the real world…. 

I could clean up THIS home, and appreciate this home.  I can plant herbs in my window boxes; I can sit on my front steps.  I can go to a park; I can spend time with my family. 

I can be happy right now.

And I can stop wasting quite SO much time on the perpetual search for something better.  I should know better than that.

Not Just for Tree Huggers

I started writing a slightly late Earth Day message on my blog last week.  I began like this:

Happy “Belated” Earth Day!  As a tardy birthday card once said:  “Don’t think in terms of ‘on time’ or ‘late.’  Think in terms of flexibility, fluidity, spontaneity.”

Ha ha.

After all, it’s the thought that counts.  Better late than never, right?

Except that, when we’re talking about environmental protection and the depletion of the Earth’s resources….  “late” could actually be a problem.

I hate to be a Debby Downer... [so, I wrote. And then I proceeded to be one anyway.] 

I just gotta say, it’s so weird—and frustrating—that more people aren’t concerned about the Environment.  I mean, things like widespread habitat loss, staggering species extinction, whole icebergs melting into the sea… these things have been happening over the past too-many years.  Where’s the uproar?

Maybe the problem is these issues just don’t seem real to most people. Folks (including me) who live in towns and cities find it hard to relate to threats to the rainforests.  Plus, people (again, like me) have their own day-to-day problems to deal with, without getting all worked up over the poor whales.  (No offense, whales.)

By the way, the “Save the whales” campaign started in the 1970s.  Yet it’s still being used to make fun of eco-activists.  Is this how far we haven’t come?

Then, there are the environmental disasters:  the oil spills, the nuclear meltdowns, pollution-related deaths, and the rise in environmental diseases. 

Um, yeah.  That’s pretty much where I stopped writing.  I started depressing myself. And I really don’t want this blog to be gloomy.  Or doomy. 

Coincidentally, I started reading a book last week called The Earth Path: Grounding Your Spirit in the Rhythms of Nature, by Starhawk.  In one of the early chapters, she asks the reader to consider what it is you hold sacred.  Ask yourself, she wrote:  “What do I care about so strongly that I can’t bear to see it compromised or destroyed?  What would I take a stand for?  Risk myself for?”

For some reason, this question tripped me up.  What do I hold sacred? 

Of course, the most important thing to me is my family.  I’d risk myself for my daughter. That’s the obvious answer, right?

But then, Starhawk asks the reader to imagine a world that cherished what is most sacred to you, and to think about what it would take to make this happen.  She goes on to say:  “Consider how you spend your time and energies.  Are your best energies directed toward bringing about your cherished vision of the world? Toward service of what is sacred to you?”

Well, geesh.  Not to get all negative again, but this made me think, “What the heck am I doing, anyway?

What is sacred to me?  And do my everyday actions and decisions reflect this?

These are questions I’ve been pondering the past few days.  I’ve got some ideas.  I think maybe it's Life itself that I hold sacred... and the natural world that creates and supports life.  I cherish the whole great mystery of life, and all the possibilities for connection and growth.  This is why I care about the peace movement so much.

But, I’m not done thinking about this.  For sure, I think these are the kinds of questions that should be contemplated frequently.

Coincidentally (again with the coincidences), I also learned about a new group this week called TreeSisters.  It’s a burgeoning movement out of England that connects sustainability with the feminine principle.  Its mission is to create a global network of women to lead a shift towards giving back to nature, beginning with an ambitious plan to reforest the tropics. 

I love it.  Empowering women AND saving trees.  Now this is something I can hold sacred.  TreeSisters, and its founder Clare Dakin, celebrate the natural world and provide an impetus and opportunity for taking action.  This is positive and hopeful.

And so very timely. 

What was I thinking?

How easy it is to let things slip by the wayside.  I missed one week of blogging, because I was working on taxes and was too exhausted to write.  I missed a second week… because I was still working on taxes and was still too exhausted to write.  I missed a third week, because…. well, because I had lost the momentum I previously had from posting every week. 

Momentum is key.

It’s like when you cheat on a diet by having a cookie.  Heck, you think, what’s one more cookie on top of that?  (I’m feeling particularly guilty right now, as I sit here full from that second big cookie.  That second sugar-ridden, partially-hydrogenated oil tainted (delicious-at-first) cookie.  Ugh.)

What was I thinking?

I had another “what was I thinking” moment the other day.  I was in the midst of reading the fantastic and informative book Super Natural Home, by Beth Greer, which is all about the importance of reducing your exposure to unhealthy chemicals in your food, personal products, and environment.  This book is quite motivational.  It’s full of tips about what to avoid and what to try, and it’s very convincing without being preachy.

Of course, this wasn’t exactly news to me. I’ve read similar things before, and I’m already a believer.  I already buy mostly organic food and a fair number of natural personal care products.  Still, the reminders in this book were welcome, and I did learn a few things.

Plus…. the book snapped me out of a little state of denial I’ve been operating under.  See, my shampoo and body lotion and hand soap and toothpaste may be on the green side.  But, the stuff I’ve been putting on my face?  Um, that’s another story.  This stuff, sorry to say, was surely concocted in a mad scientist’s laboratory like Frankenstein’s monster—and it’s just as scary. 

I’m not even talking about my conventional make-up.  (I can only handle lifting one denial at a time.)  No, I’m talking about the various “crèmes” and “serums” in my medicine cabinet bearing the oh-so-profound brand name “Meaningful Beauty.”

As in, Cindy Crawford’s Meaningful Beauty.

Yeah, I’m a sucker.  I admit it.  I, Jennifer—commercial-bashing, TV-limiting, major media mistrusting Jennifer—I saw an infomercial one morning and couldn’t look away.  I was drawn in. I went on line.  I placed an order.

I purchased me some Meaningful Beauty.

And you know what?  I liked the products.  I really did.  I felt they made my face soft and reduced my “fine lines.”  This seemed like high quality stuff.

Even after I received the surprise second box a couple months later and realized I hadn’t noticed the small print about “membership” and automatic credit card deductions—I still didn’t feel hoodwinked.  I wouldn’t call this a scam (like some people apparently do, if you Google Meaningful Beauty).  After all, I could cancel anytime, or change the frequency of the shipments.    

Sure, it’s expensive.  Sure, the whole “secret cantaloupe extract” line is hokey.  Sure, I know Cindy Crawford didn’t get her looks from this product.  (By the way, note to stars and others with money to burn:  Botox makes you look freaky and unnatural.  You’re not fooling anyone.) 

No, what really bothered me—finally—and made me send back my unopened bottles and tubes and cancel my account, were the LONG lists of unpronounceable synthetic chemicals on the labels.   

I won’t go into detail here.  Suffice it to say that the ingredients included just about every nasty unnatural chemical that any discerning health-conscious and eco-conscious shopper tries to avoid.

What I was thinking, I have no idea.  But I know what I’m thinking now.  Back on track… heading in the right direction.

Death is

My husband’s beautiful and beloved Grandma Alta died last week.  She was the sweetest lady.  Like my own Grandmas, and Scott’s other Grandma (and the best of Grandmas everywhere), she was love personified.  

She was caring and concerned, welcoming and generous.  She made friends and in-laws feel like family from the first meeting. 

And, of course, she ALWAYS made sure you had something to eat.  And something to drink.  And, then, something more to eat.

We went to the visitation on Sunday night and the funeral on Monday morning.  As it happens, this was the first funeral I’ve attended in more than 20 years.  Naturally, it was sad and touching.  It was also a nice, honorable tribute to a lovely woman who lived a long and honorable life.  

And what else?  It was also a family reunion.  There were cousins who hadn't seen each other in such a long time, as well as extended relatives, spanning the generations, who were meeting for the first time.  

Also, it was, I imagine, for the dear ones left behind, a painful process to simply get through.

The funeral was all those things.  It was a gathering of people; it was flowers, photo displays, and memories.  But, for me, it was also something else:  It was strange. 

The service and the burial weren’t particularly strange; I’m sure those were quite traditional.  It was just the whole glaring presence of death itself.

Death is strange.

I know, I know.  Death is as normal and natural as birth.  I know it’s coming.  It’s inevitable, the surest of sure things.  Yet, it’s still strange.  It still takes us by surprise, I think.

How strange, I thought, for that familiar body to be lying in a coffin.  It looked so peaceful, so restful, with a contended Mona Lisa smile.  That body, those hands that gave so much… now lifeless.

Where did the life go?

Maybe if I attended more funerals, death would seem less strange.  But somehow I doubt it.  Philosophers and poets… and humanity in general have been pondering the mystery of death for ages.

People who believe in an afterlife (wherever, whenever, whatever it may be) take solace in their beliefs.  Even so, death is still hard.  You still miss the ones who leave.  It’s still strange that they were here one moment, gone the next.

As for me, I don’t believe death is an ending.  In the big picture, there are no endings.  Things may change form, go into hibernation, go underground for awhile, before re-emerging, as if from a cocoon.  It’s like the flower that sprouts from the ground after lying dormant all winter.

Just look around at what’s blooming today.  The brilliantly blossoming trees are the surest sign of hope, I think.  There is hope that we will meet again.  

I don’t know what happens after death.  In truth, I think it’s more important to pay attention to how we’re spending the time we have in this life.  Death reminds us that we won’t have this body, this opportunity, forever.  It’s best to make the most of it.

But I do know I am happy that I knew Grandma Alta.  She lived a beautiful, gracious life.

************************************************************

A few years ago I clipped this poem from a magazine.  They are comforting words, worth returning to now and then.

Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Everything remains exactly as it was.

I am I, and you are you,

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed

At the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without an effort,

Without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same as it ever was.

There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you, for an interval,

Somewhere very near,

Just around the corner.

All is well.

- Henry Scott Holland

   1847 -1918

Gender Bender Role Play… or not

Yesterday I got to play at being a Stay At Home Mom. DH (Darling Husband in mommy message board lingo) was out of town, so I decided to take a vacation day from work to care for DD (Darling Daughter). It may seem extreme to take a whole day off work just to get DD to and from school. But I rely a lot on DH in this department, and it was just easier to take the day off.

See, here’s how our day normally goes: I get up and wake up DD, and DH takes it from there. While I’m showering, dressing, and heading out to the office (via the train), he’s making her breakfast, packing her lunch, reminding her to get dressed, and then driving her to school. (We live outside the school bus route.) Later on, he picks her up and takes her to the next place, either an after-school activity (karate this year), or the park if it’s nice, or back home for some free time. He also helps her with her homework and makes dinner.

I show up at around 6:30 (sometimes earlier, sometimes later), so grateful that dinner is already taken care of.

And that is our typical routine. But, lest you think I’m married to Mr. Mom, let me assure you that DH is not at home during the school day scrubbing floors and the like. No, after dropping Sage off at school, he heads to work himself. (We’re fortunate that he’s able to arrange his college teaching schedule to correspond to Sage’s school day. And the rest of his work is generally on evenings and weekends.) 

As for the household chores, we split them up. He does the dishes, I do the laundry. He grocery shops and cooks, and I clean house. (Of course, we’re often running behind in these chores. There are only so many hours in the day. Things pile up, and it sometimes takes impending company to get this house whipped into shape.)

So, that's it, our normal domestic arrangement. It’s pretty fair, pretty basic. It’s not a big deal, really. We’re just your average, modern, egalitarian couple. 

However, I am aware that our arrangement may still seem unusual to some people.

Yesterday, as I was sitting on a bench outside Sage’s school a few minutes before 3:00, I overheard two other moms talking. One had a toddler in a stroller and she was telling the other mom about how her husband was out of town and how he didn’t know if he’d be coming home that evening. He’s a lawyer, she said, and he was waiting to find out if a settlement offer was accepted or not. (I wasn’t TRYING to eavesdrop. Really.) Then, she said something about how she does EVERYTHING around the house. And the other mom agreed. She does EVERYTHING too. The first mom said that her husband sometimes complains about the house being dirty. “He doesn’t realize how much I DO!” she said. The other mom nodded in agreement.

I couldn’t help thinking to myself “how old-fashioned.” How quaint. How very 20th century: The husband who’s always working and the under-appreciated wife who takes care of the children and the house and all the other family responsibilities.

Yeah, I was feeling a tiny bit smug. I was just a wee bit self-satisfied about my own enlightened husband and our partnership marriage. As a feminist, I couldn’t IMAGINE ever being married to somebody who would expect me to do all the chores. Believe me, there is nothing about the female gender that better equips us for cooking and cleaning.

And yet, in that one tiny moment of smugness, I almost forgot something else that happened yesterday. 

I got a flat tire. 

I was driving back home after dropping off Sage in the morning when I noticed the car making an awful noise. I mean, it was a pretty loud, scraping, dragging, metallic rumbly sound from somewhere within the underside of the car. I had no idea what it was, but I was fairly certain there was something seriously wrong. I just prayed that I’d make it home in one piece.

Once I made it safely inside our garage (whew!), I pulled out the vehicle manual to see what the little warning light with the exclamation point meant. “Check tire pressure.” Oh. I got out of the car and, sure enough, flat tire.

So… Did I, enlightened 21st century feminist that I am—and safely in my own garage--change that tire?  Heck no. I called our roadside assistance 800-number and had a man come over to change that tire.

And then, when Darling Hubby came home, I let him take the car to the shop for the necessary repairs. Little ole me wants very little to do with cars, thank you very much.

So, the moral of my little story is 1) Don’t judge other people, Jennifer! (I know this, but still I forget sometimes.) And 2) Don’t think your occasional fake-SAHM day is going to be relaxing and/or productive. After the chauffeuring and the cleaning and the calling-the-guy-to-come-and-change-the-tire, the day was pretty much shot.

We're all doing the best we can, I think. There's no one right way to raise a family or be in a marriage, just as there's no one "right" kind of family or marriage.  Of course, love makes a family, no matter what it looks like.  And that's a beautiful thing.

Do you Vision?

I decided to make a Vision Board.  I read this inspiring little guide about them and thought it sounded fun.  I mean, how often do you get to play with scissors, paste, and pictures as an adult?  

In case you don’t know, a Vision Board is simply a homemade poster that you create with images representing your goals and aspirations.  First, you think about what you want.  Then, you flip through magazines, looking for pictures to illustrate your desires.  You stick the images on some poster board, hang it up, and…. voila, you watch your dreams come true.

I know.  It sounds a little “woo woo.”  It sounds a little like New Age, Law of Attraction hooey.  Well, I don’t personally think ALL Law of Attraction stuff is hooey.  But, it SOUNDS kind of weird to talk about it.  I was embarrassed to tell the receptionist at my dentist’s office why I wanted their old magazines.  So, I just said, vaguely, that I was doing a project…a collage, and was looking for magazines with colorful pictures.

It was partly true.

But, you know what?  It’s really not that crazy.  A vision board is a valid tool for self-discovery.  It’s not so different from creating a set of goals or a New Year’s resolution.  Or a bucket list or a mission statement or a 5-year plan. 

The process itself helps you to get clear about what’s really important and what you want your life to be all about.  And that’s a very good thing.

Of course, writing down your dreams is a great exercise too.  I’ve done that many times and will do it many more.  But, there’s something about using a visual aid that makes the dreams seem that much more tangible.  They seem that much more possible.

So, I followed the tips in that guide I mentioned, put on some music, lit a candle, and started visualizing.  Then I started trolling for pictures—and where I didn’t find them in magazines, I printed them from the computer.  ‘Cause, if there’s one thing I believe to be true, it’s this:  We are the creators of our own lives.  There may be a few things we can’t control in this world, but there is SO much that we CAN control.  There’s our actions, our decisions, our thoughts, our attitudes, our habits… to name a few.  We can make choices in alignment with our values and we can take steps towards creating our own life.

This is visioning as a verb.  Not predicting the future, but determining it.  Why not give it a try?  I’ll let you know how it goes for me. 

And now for some good news

I don't know about you, but I pretty much avoid the news as far as possible.  Maybe it's that I live in a big city (though I doubt it), but local news is generally filled with sadness and death.  It's just one atrocity, one tragedy, after another. And another.  Every day.

Talk about depressing.

And then there's politics.

Ugh. Blech. Ick.

That about says it all.

It's not that I don't want to be informed.  I DO want to know what's going on in the world.  I do think it's important to pay attention to the issues that affect our daily lives and our well-being, from the economy and the environment to national affairs.  This is a small world.  Corporate boardrooms and congressional meeting rooms may SEEM distant and irrelevant.  But, the truth is, decisions are being made every day that touch us as closely as the food we eat and the air we breathe.

And that is why I am ever-so-grateful for Yes! Magazine.  I've been reading the current issue on my morning commute these past few days, and I keep finding myself saying "Wow!"  I mean, this publication not only explains newsy topics in very thorough, no-nonsense terms (like "tort reform"... so THAT's what it's all about; and the history of Citizens United... so, this was 40 years in the making!).  It also provides inspiring examples of ordinary people making big change happen.  Plus, there's lots of support and tips for getting involved yourself.  As the slogan says:  "Powerful Ideas, Practical Actions."

Well, sorry for all the gushing.  But it's just so refreshing to find honesty and hope in the reporting of serious news (and with nary a reality show/sports scandal celeb du jour in sight).  Of course, there are several other great news sources out there.  I'm just particularly enamored of Yes! at the moment.

So, check it out!