Sliding through life, unaware

My wise children have taught me the value 
of being present, enjoying life's small gifts

It's easy to slide through the day, achieving things yet being entirely absent. I'm sure you know how it is. You focus on checking off the items on your "to-do" list with such gusto that you fail to notice what's happening around you. You check your iPhone for emails as you wait in line at the grocery store. You make mental lists for tomorrow's meeting while driving the kids to school. You watch television or listen to the radio as you prepare dinner.

I must admit I do a lot of "hmm hmming" and "yesing" while my children rattle on about who knows what. I'm busy writing paragraph 3 of chapter 2 in my latest manuscript, rearranging words in my head. I have no clue what they are talking about.

But, over the last few years, I've been making a concerted effort to be present, to turn off life's distractions and soak up the activity around me. It's not easy, but being present fills me with a sense of calm, and it allows me to pause and realize the joy and gratitude I feel for my children, my family, the beautiful neighborhood I live in, my work, the sunny weather, the neighbor's tulips.

Turning it all off can be difficult, but it's worth the effort. It is precisely the small, seemingly insignificant moments that have the power to turn my day around and remind me of what's really important. Those moments bring immediate joy, yet they also provide me with the precious memories I will cling to when life throws its dirty tricks my way.

Here's a sampling of some of my children's ideas, which they share freely when I lend them my undivided attention.  Their thoughts and words are permanently stamped in the memory book I store deep in my heart.  It is a well used and living volume, tattered from use.  I plan to add to it, every day if possible:

• Mom, I'm afraid to go outside with my camouflage shorts on.  What if you can't find me at dinner time?
• When I was a baby inside of you I ate all of your leftover crumbs, right?
• The water from the shower comes down pretty hard.  What if it pushes me down the drain?
• You have to get married.  If you don't, you won't be able to eat any cake.
• I never want to get married.  When I grow up I want to live with you, just like you live with Nana.  (While this comment is completely counter to the American way, the idea of my daughter living with me in old age warms my heart).
• When I go to heaven I'm not going to float around.  I'm going to go straight to Aunt Janet and tell her I missed her.
• Don't tell him I told you, but I think Daddy is going to take you to the subway station to eat Cheez-Its for your anniversary

The nun and the book

Source: Heartbeatoz

Last week I met with a nun to talk about my book.  It wasn't for Divine Inspiration, which I could use, or to bless my book, which isn't a bad idea.  I asked her to meet me because:

• She is one of the most intelligent women I know, and I love how she interprets the world
• She's written a few books herself, and I wanted to learn about her experience publishing
• She knows religion, and I was eager to get her feedback on a chapter I'd written about my experience with the Catholic Church
• Nuns are made of steel, yet they are soft and yielding inside.  I need a nun in my corner.  Who doesn't?

Our meeting was thrilling.  For the first time, my experience with my book involved more than me, a room, and a computer.  It was bigger.  It was me sharing my book, beginning my journey to that final destination I've been dreaming about for the last 18 months: publication.  Would it actually happen?  I didn't know, but our two hours together made my heart feel light, inflated with hope and anticipation about the future.  

You couldn't have upset me that day if you tried.

My nun took Chapter 13 home.  She e-mailed me several hours later, saying she'd read it 4 times.  A couple days passed.  Then the feedback came: "It has promise," she wrote, "but it needs a bit more flesh on the bones." 

My first reaction?  *&%$*it.  I knew it needed more "flesh on the bones" in September.  I've been fattening it up for 8 months now.  How much fatter did it have to get?  I thought I'd finally achieved the right ratio of flesh to bones.  

I did not respond to my kind nun.  I let the feedback brew.  I let her words seep into the wrinkles in my brain.  Then I did two things.  First, I thanked God I'd revised my book before showing it to her.  If she thought my manuscript was emaciated now, she would have thought it was skeletal 8 months ago.  

Then I heaved a sigh of relief.  Flesh on the bones?  I can do that.  I've been practicing that for 8 months.  

40 pairs of shoes

Source: Bright, Bold, Beautiful

The average American woman owns 40 pairs of shoes.  I found this information nestled in a newspaper article discussing the new trophy room: the closet.  Apparently it's not just Paris Hilton and Rachel Zoe who require walk-in closets decked out with crystal chandeliers, mini refrigerators, and shoe display cases anymore. Regular people want these accoutrements, too.

Because we have so much stuff, and we can't find our stuff.

Backlit shoe racks, display cases, and gadgets to hang clothing, jewelry, scarves, and handbags are so tempting, but will we wear our clothing and accessories more when they are perfectly displayed?  My guess is we won't.  Whether a woman has 5 pairs of shoes or 100 pairs of shoes, there are still only 7 days in the week, and there are still only so many occasions one can squeeze into 24 hours.

I've been paring down on clothing and other material goods for five years now: as my belongings wear out, I seldom replace them.  And you know what?  I've been rewarded with one of the most precious commodities there is: time.  I don't spend hours at the mall or on my computer looking for the perfect black shoe, with the heel height that gives me just the right lift but doesn't make my aging knees ache.  I rarely tend to my closet, trying to make room for items that won't fit no matter how much rearranging I do.  I no longer peruse the catalogs that come to my doorstep with the rest of the mail.

Instead, I train an extra client, write an extra page of my book, play a quick game of soccer with the kids, go out to lunch with a beloved friend, read the newspaper, extend my workout an extra 20 minutes, have a philosophical conversation with my husband, make my family a special meal.

I'm not going to lie.  My early 20th century closet is maddening.  I wish it were bigger and more accommodating.  But there's something about the itty bitty variety.  It keeps my compulsions in check, and for me, that is a good thing.  

My teensy closet

For Boston, and for America

Source: Janiz Dee, Pinterest

My heart will always be in Boston.  I pursued my college and graduate degrees in the city.  I met my first love, married my husband, gave birth to my first child, rode the tech bubble, and bought my first home in Boston: it's my city of achievement.

To me, Boston is also a city of family and love.  It is home to my sister and her family, my step-children, and many of my most cherished friends.

I cannot explain the emotions I felt last week as I remained glued to my Twitter feed, which spewed out information by the second, first spitting forth gruesome information about bombs, then shootouts, manhunts, and murders.  I was scared, anxious, and angry.  I felt these emotions for my family, my friends, my city, and my country.

What is happening in America?  Is the American Dream dead?  Is the America I know a thing of the past? What do I do now?  What do we do now?  The questions flooded my mind and stayed there, racing around at a furious pace.  I could not quell them because I had no answers.

Curiously, I realized I asked myself the same questions just a few years earlier, in 2010.  At that time I was struggling with the fallout from the financial crisis.  I was angry and frightened.  My life had fallen to pieces.  My home, my belongings, my children's schools, my social activities became out of reach within a few short months.  I no longer recognized my life.  One day I was enjoying a latte with a friend, my feet soaking in a tub of water, awaiting a massage and a fresh coat of bright red nail polish.  The next day I was taking anti-anxiety medication because the stress of dismantling my outsized life when the economy was in a free fall kept me up for days at a time.

In the aftermath, as I tried to piece my life together again, I questioned whether I'd entered a "new normal," as so many liked to say.  Should I fight this new reality or accept it with as much grace as I could?  I decided to fight, as all good Americans would.  Today my husband and I are clawing back our way to solvency.  We've become nimble and scrappy.  We do not accept rejection.  Instead, we work around it.  It is our upbringing, our country and its people who taught us to fight this way.

The American people will respond similarly to last week's events.  We will draw from our roots and tap the American spirit, the spirit that does not give up even when facing seemingly insurmountable odds.  We will not tolerate terrorism.  We will not let it become the "new normal."  With all the violence in the Mideast, amid a world where so many oppressive governments thrive, it is essential that we fight to remain a beacon of hope, an example of how democracy, pluralism, and tolerance allow a country and its people to flourish.

I know this deep in my heart, where truth resides: it has to be, and it will be.

Granola and the edge of solvency

When job loss forced me to move from running a household on an outsized salary to running it on an unemployment check, I immediately panicked.  We were living in one of the most expensive states in the country.  No one lived in New Jersey's mid-town direct suburbs on $450 a week.

But there we were.  There was no choice but to try to make it work until an employment opportunity presented itself.

So we immediately rid ourselves of our biggest money hog, the house.  Then I turned my attention to small, every day costs that quickly aggregate.  I figured I'd try to reduce costs everywhere, hoping the end result would save us a sizable sum.

Teetering on the edge of solvency, I arranged clothing swaps.  I traded department stores for Target and Wal-Mart.  I became the landscaper, the car washer, the barista, the babysitter, and the (sometimes) maid.

And I became the resident chef.

In the past, I'd take a day off from cooking now and then.  I'd bring a meal home from Whole Foods or we'd go out to eat on the weekends.  This was a luxury I decided we could now ill afford, so I donned the chef's hat and found myself the sole cook: local restaurants, General Mills, and Kraft would no longer aid me in my efforts to feed the family.

This was a time consuming decision, but I took consolation in the belief that this move would not only save money, but it was healthier.

I love healthy, and I love low cost.  Who doesn't?  And, truthfully, becoming resident chef hasn't been as painful as I thought it might be.  To prove my point, I thought I'd share a recipe for one of my favorite money saving snacks: granola.  Granola costs pennies to make and dollars to buy, making it a deeply satisfying treat to create.  It's easy, fun to make with kids, and fills the whole house with a smell that says love is in the air, life is good, and the kids will stop fighting.

Here's my recipe, which I made up with my son.  The good news?  Just about anything goes when it comes to making granola.  Mix it up and add the ingredients you love.

Homemade granola:

Pre-heat oven to 250°F

In a large mixing bowl combine:  

•  3 cups oats
• 1/3 cup maple syrup
• 1/3 cup peanut butter
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon Chia seeds
• 1 tablespoon wheat germ

Spread on two baking sheets and placed in the oven. Bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes.  Remove from oven and return to mixing bowl.  Stir in one cup of raisins.  Top on your favorite yogurt or eat it solo.  

Bravery or desperation?

I'd never be fulfilling my dream of writing a book had I not lost everything.

My husband, Greg, and I are slowly climbing out of the massive crater we tumbled into as the financial industry imploded in 2008.  Today, Greg has two independent businesses, and he's writing a book.  (Yes, he has a publisher and I don't.  That's another nasty story).  I've started my own Pilates business, and I work as an independent contractor.  I'm writing a book about our experiences.

People tell me we are brave. They say they wouldn't know where to start had they been faced with such great obstacles.  I smile a tender, sad smile inside when I hear such comments.

We were not brave.  We were desperate.  We lost a job, a home, and the bulk of our savings account.  A 2.5 year job search slowly revealed the ugly truth: Greg might never be hired again.  There was only one thing to do: become our own employers.

And so I've come to believe that desperation spurs innovation.  When there is nothing to lose, you can allow yourself to conceive the dream of making your own business.  You can dig deep into your soul, coaxing your childhood hopes and aspirations to the surface.  You can shed worry and anxiety of consequences.  You can entertain previously unfathomable ideas.

As I pour over the past four years, trying to hang meaning onto crisis, I see the unexpected virtues of instability.  For us, the fall encouraged risk taking that never would have occurred otherwise.  It forced us to ask what we wanted from life, and it forced us to create our own, meaningful jobs.  It was refreshing and deeply satisfying.

Brave is the person who can risk everything when having everything.

The teensy wallet loves lipstick

Source: Chaneln5thirst.tumbler.com

I know why lipstick sales soar when the economy tanks.

When money is tight, it's not feasible to invest in new clothing and shoes, but one can justify splurging for a new tube of lipstick.  The current trend, which calls for bright red, pink, and coral lips is fun, fresh, and sexy.  It's a cheap and easy way to channel your inner Marilyn, brighten your mood, and put a spring in your step-- a perfect antidote to a worn and tired wardrobe.

So, in good conscience, I took to the make-up aisles to find some new lipstick this year.  I must admit I was nervous about my application skills, but I really wanted to rock this new look, and I found there are thousands of products out there.  No matter what your application or other issues may be, you can find the perfect tube of lipstick if you do a bit of digging.

I've fallen for the Fresh Sugar line, which is full of easy to apply colors that are both hydrating and creamy.  The consistency is forgiving; it glides right over lips that are rough and parched thanks to winter's harsh temperatures.  It doesn't bleed, and it is possible to apply in the car: no need for treating and priming lips beforehand.  Try the Coral.  It'll leave your mouth watering for summer.