How to Knit a Sock

I have been an occasional knitter since high school when my mother and I made an afghan together. She let me choose the colors. I chose three shades of blue. We were both very proud of it. It was a mess.

Since then, I have also knitted two sweaters and many, many scarves. Scarves are my best thing. I can hear all you real knitters laughing out there, exclaiming, "What a poser!" You'd be right. 

Nonetheless, with the approach of winter here in Maine, I began thinking of all the accessories that could help us bear up against the cold. Socks seemed like a really good idea. 

The pattern I chose results in thick booties, more like slippers than socks. To do it you make the sock way too big, then "full" (shrink) it in hot water in the washing machine.

To my way of thinking, knitting a sock would be a lot like knitting a scarf. Just like a scarf, a sock is a small, simple accessory, right? Small yes, simple no. 

Only after I began my adventure in sock knitting did I realize that a sock has many parts. Each part requires its own unique approach and set of skills. And somehow these disparate parts need to come together to make an integrated (and wearable) entity. 

Consider with me the anatomy of a sock. First, there's the leg, then comes the heel flap, then the heel turn, the gusset, the foot and finally the toe. (Interestingly, Europeans start at the toe and work back to the leg. Wonder how that affects the psychology of the sock?) 

For each of those elements, certain rules must be followed so that the whole thing has some remote chance of coming together. To make things just a little more interesting, you've got to use four double pointed needles in order for it to form into a tube. 

Lucky for me, perseverance is my strong suit. It came in handy as I ripped out and started over four times. Here are two of my failed attempts. 

The first time I goofed, I had gotten through the leg but messed up on the transition to the heel flap. The second time, I got through that and messed up on the heel turn. Each time, I became more proficient with the earlier steps. Two steps forward, one step back.

It reminded me of practicing the piano. When you hit a difficult passage, you tend to start at the beginning of the piece to try to make your way through the difficult part more smoothly. When it is all said and done, you are far more proficient at playing the beginning of the piece than the middle or the end, simply because you've played it so many more times!

By now you know me well enough to know this isn't about socks. It is about perseverance.

So many people believe that someone who gets things done or is willing to tackle difficult tasks has some special gift. That's not the case. It's all about sweat equity: putting in the time, getting up after falling down, starting over. 

How does one acquire perseverance? The truth is you acquire it by pushing through on just one difficult task until you reach the end. Having done it once, just once, you know that you can. Then you can apply it to any task before you. 

And expect moments of frustration and misery. Those feelings will pass. And don't expect perfection. You don't need to get it right, you just need to get it done. Getting it right will follow in time.

Finally, if you don't know where to start, you can always try knitting a sock.

Copyright Starfishdoc 2008

What's Worth Doing?

Here is my favorite "zen" question:

What is it that you are not doing
while you are busy doing
what it is you are doing?

I like this saying for at least two reasons. The first is that I made it up myself! The second is that when I reflect upon it from time to time, it helps me tweak my priorities.... and I'm needing to tweak right now.

As you have noticed, I have been posting less frequently. What I have not been doing (writing a post each week) is because of what I am doing (teaching three social work classes at USM).

Both pursuits are extremely important to me; and yet, at times I find myself torn and wishing I could spend lots more time doing both. (I've also not been quilting, but let's not even go there!) Since my students are my newest readers as well as my current responsibility, I write today's post for them. It's about priorities.

On the first day of class, their faces were as bright and shiny as the blank pages of their new notebooks. But now, with pages of scribbled notes they may not be able to decipher at exam time, they appear to be asking:

"What am I doing here?"
"What's this all for?"
And above all, "What am I missing out on while I'm doing this?"

In other words, the realization of the enormous commitment they have made to becoming professional social workers has hit them hard.

All of us, students or not, face the challenge of what's worth doing. The greatest struggles arise when two or more vital pursuits compete for our limited time and energy.

The usual advice - to "examine and adjust your priorities" - never works for me. It suggests that if you were to examine your heart, you'd see that one priority has more weight than another. But my heart holds dear many people and many pursuits. It would be a Solomon's choice to pick one.

When two or more pursuits are equally compelling in your life (and I believe that this is often the case), you need to understand how the two are related: how they complement and inform one another. When you do that, you are less likely to feel that you are stealing from one to do the other. When I write, my teaching improves. When I teach, my writing improves. When I'm doing one, I don't have to feel guilty about not doing the other because, in a way, I'm doing both.

Now that may sound like compromising the quality of both endeavors. But my thinking is guided by something William James once said:

"The greatest use of a life is to spend it on something that will outlast it."

Applying that principle, teaching and writing are both worth doing. And I don't believe that James meant spending your life doing some one thing that would make you famous or for which statues would be built in your honor. You see, he also said:

"I am done with great things and big plans, great institutions, and big successes. I am for those tiny, invisible loving human forces that work from individual to individual, creeping through the crannies of the world like so many rootlets..."

So, I think I'll tend to my rootlets. Maybe one of them will lead me back to quilting.

Copyright 2008 starfishdoc

Landscapes

It was the perfect weekend for a foliage trip. Blue skies and sunshine. Cool, comfortable temperatures. We went off to spend an overnight with friends in Southwest Harbor, and spent Saturday sightseeing in Acadia National Park. The park roads were busy with hikers, bikers, and campers - everyone out enjoying the beautiful scenery offered by Cadillac Mountain and the surrounding area.

The views throughout Acadia are breathtaking, as you can see. Ocean, mountains, lakes, trails - whatever your idea of natural beauty, you're likely to find it here. That's not to say that Acadia is the only place to find such majesty. There are wonders of nature all over our country and all around the world.

There are so many different ways people relate to such beauty. As I was standing at the summit of Cadillac Mountain, I overheard a man say to his friends, "Okay, we've seen it. Now how about some tea and popovers?" (He was referring to Jordan Pond House, a favorite park restaurant, where popovers are the house specialty.) I've got nothing against popovers, mind you. In fact, I had myself a couple that day, too. My issue with him is it seemed that all he felt he needed to do was to check the box that said "caught the view from Cadillac" and he was done. Now, that's aesthetic appreciation at its lowest rung!


I suspect that most of the folks there were more in "communing with nature" mode: trying to take in and appreciate the awesomeness of nature in all her glory and connect to it in a personal way.


For me, the beauty around me reminded me of something Eckhart Tolle said. "Joy does not come from what you do, it flows into what you do and thus into this world from deep within you." In other words, it is the landscape within not the landscape without that counts.

When you really understand that, you don't need to go anywhere. You carry the beauty of the world in which we live deep within your own soul. Ultimately, the exploration of our inner landscape is what leads us to understand one another, because it is there that we discover how much we are the same entity. Places like Acadia simply serve to remind us of that.

Copyright starfishdoc 2008

A Trip to Bountiful

You don't have to tell me: I know the title belongs to a wonderful movie made from the play by Horton Foote. But the phrase is on my mind as I reflect on our recent annual pilgrimage to the Common Ground Fair. It strikes me as quite ironic that while the nation is in one of its worst financial crises, I am once again feeling like the recipient of the world's abundance. Nowhere is the bounty of the harvest more evident than at this fair.

This year we got to share the experience with our closest friends, D and J. It was their maiden voyage. I think they had a good time, based on the fact that D got to order those Quoddy Mocs he's been wanting for years, and J sought to recapture bygone days by attempting to keep a hula hoop in motion. She was actually pretty good!

J and I made a stop at the Trillium Soap booth, and made off with a bagful each of assorted aromatic bars. The soap, combined with the fresh bunches of sweet annie, filled the car with great scents for the ride home. I also found some baskets made in Vietnam that made a perfect home for the wool roving I recently purchased. Somehow the soap bars and the wool called to each other, so last night I felted 7 bars.


As if the fair wasn't enough bounty, J and D treated us to dinner at Maine's finest restaurant, Primo. My scallop entree was filled with a variety of the best local wild mushrooms, including hen-of-the-woods, and chanterelles. (And you know how I am about mushrooms!)

I don't mean to bore you here with the tedious details of my personal adventure. My point in all this is that a bountiful feeling is within reach of all of us, but sometimes we don't know where to look.

To be able to appreciate the abundance around you, you need to:

• live in a sufficiently simple way to see it when it comes.
• be in the moment so your channels are clear to witness the fortune you possess.
• share what you have to increase the flow of abundance in the life of others as well as yourself.

I'm no financial/economic wiz (Aren't you glad I'm not running for office?), but I do understand that the current economic crisis is the result of greed. When greed motivates us, we are unable to see the natural flow of abundance that can result from the three practices above.

The current presidential election is very important. This blog is not a platform for politics, but rather a voice for sanity. For the sake of sanity, I ask you to consider the following.

• Which candidate is asking you to live more generously, with more care and concern for those around you?
  
• Which candidate is calling upon you to be a better person, versus circling the wagons and selfishly keeping others from sharing the abundance that is ours?

copyright 2008 starfishdoc

Lars and the Real Girl

Dear Katie,

I finally got around to renting "Lars." Dave and I both enjoyed it at least as much as you imagined when you recommended it to me in January!

At first, Dave thought the premise was so unbelievable that it could never come together in any cogent way. But I was on board from the beginning. First of all, I've seen more clients with delusions like that than most people would think. And just like Lars's delusion about a blow-up doll being real enough for him to fall in love with, people with delusions are convinced that what they see is absolutely true.

Secondly, "participating in the delusion" until the client outgrows the need for it is a legitimate form of therapy. It doesn't work so well in these "realistic" and skeptical times, as you could never get a whole community to cooperate. But I love the fact that the movie got away with it so convincingly by setting it in a small town.

One viewing wasn't enough. When we watched it the second time, I saw how the townspeople got completely caught up in it, such that they all had to grieve the loss of Bianca right along with Lars. So funny. So touching. So true to the human heart and spirit. And I loved the approach that the doctor/psychologist took: never getting in the way, always walking along side Lars spiritually, poised and ready to facilitate the next step in his recovery, but never herself grandstanding about it or making herself out to be the heroine.

At the time you wrote about one scene:

Katie: But I thought of you because there is this bit of dialogue.

Lars's brother, Gus: We need to take him to a shrink
Lars's Sister-in-Law: We can take him to Dr. Dagmar.
Gus: Dagmar is a general practitioner. He needs a psychiatrist.
Sister in law: She's a psychiatrist, too. She told me you have to be if you live this far north.

I got a kick out of that, because practice up here in rural Maine does require some jack-of-all-trades approaches.

My favorite scene is also early in the movie when the church elders are upset because Lars wants to bring Bianca to services. They ask the pastor what they should do and his response is, "What would Jesus do?" Quick cut to the next scene showing Bianca in church!

Now I have to own the movie. I will never tire of watching it because it rings true despite its fantastic premise. If you haven't seen the extra features, you might want to give them a look. The actors all talk about working with Bianca as if she were flesh and blood: "she's very quiet," "she takes a really long time in makeup."

I'm so grateful that you let me know about Lars. Watching the approach taken by the doc in the movie was a timely reminder that going slowly and supporting the process that the client needs to follow almost always trumps being clever and pushy.

Many thanks. You can be my movie critic forever.

S

Copyright starfishdoc 2008

Life is Too Short for Beige

Like many of you, I spend way too much time in my office. In my case, it's my home office, where I write this blog (still haven't figured out how to write from the kayak), prepare classes, and work with clients online and by phone.

I recently decided to decorate it. (What I'm doing doesn't qualify as redecorating, because when we moved in, I rushed to get my phone and computer up and running and get the office functioning as quickly as possible. No time for finer touches.

As with many great things, this project was born of necessity. My desk chair, having served me well for over fifteen years, had become an ergonomic nightmare. So on a recent trip to Ikea, I found myself a new one. With encouragement from my friend Jeanne, a talented graphic designer, I chose the red-orange chair over the dark blue.

That set off a chain of events. Before I left Ikea, I had a matching leather waste basket and some red stain to finish the frames around two new prints. I also decided to paint some of the trim in the office green. (A log home needs some diversionary color or the knots in the pine walls start to move.)


This is a long intro to what happened yesterday, which was that I decided to finish the job by making some cushions and pillows. Here's a picture of what I had completed by the end of the day.

In the past, I have stressed the importance of light to a person's sense of well-being, but I haven't directly mentioned color. If you've seen my quilts, however, you can deduce that pretty easily. I believe color is on a par with light for influencing and directing perspective, attitude, and mood.

Despite what some color theorists would say, I think each person reacts in a unique way to a particular color. Response to a color is not uniform. So it is important to study how each color affects you and use them accordingly. For example, red gives me a feeling of power and competence.

The impact of color on a person's mood cannot be underestimated nor overstated. I have friends who just love neutrals, and friends who love pastels, and I'm always struck by the sense of calm that goes with their color choices. But I also sense that people who are shy about color are also shy about living.

Having color around you stimulates your creativity, enhances your mood, gives you courage, changes your outlook. Dorothy didn't have ruby slippers for nothing.

So, if you're feeling depressed or merely wish to evoke a certain mood, try some color therapy. Unlike retail therapy, it doesn't have to be costly. A little paint or fabric will do. But forget the beige! Mood change calls for bright color. Try some red. Try some green.

Better still, make it vermilion and olive.


Copyright starfishdoc 2008

Abundance

I’m sitting at a picnic table at the edge of the sea. It’s a beautiful sunny day, sweetened by the songs of finches and the scent of lilacs and beach roses. The gulls are splashing in the pools that form at low tide. From where I sit I can see the markers for more than forty lobster traps.

A dozen common eiders swim toward shore in a row so straight they put the Rockettes to shame. This is Pemaquid Point, one of perhaps a hundred peninsulas that decorate the Maine coastline like fringe on a flapper’s dress. I am surrounded by abundance.

I owe this glorious experience to the generosity of a prosperous friend who is renting this cottage and has given it to me for the week. Chris is the embodiment of my favorite word - abundance. The more money he makes, the more he gives away to other people. The more money he makes, the more he does for others.

Now, you may think, well sure, he has money so he can afford to be generous. But that’s where you’d be mistaken. Chris is not generous because he has money; he’s generous because that’s who he is. It is his nature. Embedded in his character is the spirit of abundance, the expression of which is generosity. People like Chris always have a sense that there's plenty to go around. They are human cornucopias.

Sadly, we all know wealthy people who’d never give a nickel to a beggar. But hoarding has never led to happiness. My friend Chris is always smiling, and his joyous disposition is contagious.

Abundance is an attitude. It’s not about money or even material goods necessarily. It’s about sharing, giving away, whatever it is you have to offer. It comes from knowing that we all have gifts that someone else needs, and there’s no better way to feel connected to other people and to the planet itself than to share your gifts.

Thanks Chris for being who you are.

Copyright 2008 starfishdoc

A Note to Readers

I just want you to know that I try to post a response to every comment made by my readers. Recently, a reader was surprised to have just found a response I had left for her weeks ago. There is a way for you to be notified whenever I respond to your comments. When you open the "Post a Comment" window, notice the item at the bottom that says, "Email follow-up comments to". Check the box there and you'll be notified when I've responded.

The Scoop on Routine and Change

In my last post I talked about "agency" and "communion," those polar opposites that require frequent balance and calibration. Well, that's not the only balance we need to strike in life to be mentally healthy. Another is the balance between "routine" and "change."

I had a conversation the other day with someone who had just recently moved a great distance. The furniture is not in place. The washer is not hooked up. The boxes containing those things that make life comfy and familiar haven't been located yet. My sincere sympathies. Having made a major move not so long ago, I know this discomfort all too well.

In another conversation, a friend with a disability described how the routine of being at home makes life easier. To venture into unfamiliar places creates anxiety and tension. The challenges imposed by a handicap make routine all the more important, even necessary.

We rely on routine to make our lives predictable and orderly. We put things in certain places so we can find them easily. A routine is something we do without having to think about it much.

At the opposite end of the continuum is change. Change teaches us flexibility, adaptability, resilience. Although there is a resistant part in all of us, healthy people recognize that change helps us push our personal envelope. Just as lack of routine suggests a problem, so does a high degree of resistance to change.

When life throws you into turmoil, finding ways to reintroduce some routine is a good thing. And when your life is so routine that you won't venture out of your comfort zone, you need a little change. So periodically, it's a good idea to check your routine/change continuum to see if re-balancing is in order.

Yesterday I noticed that a new ice cream stand has opened just about two miles from home. Normally, I'm not tempted by ice cream, but Gifford's is an exception. There's no doubt that I'll go. The only question is: should I order my old standby, French Vanilla or take a chance on Chocolate Moose Tracks?

Copyright 2008 Starfishdoc

A Tisket, A Tasket...

For the past few weeks I have been making fabric baskets. I hope to sell them and donate some of the proceeds to charity. (I've been experimenting with technique, color, size and shape, so I'd love your feedback, dear reader.)

My samples are beginning to collect everywhere, and I'm running out of places to put them. At this point they have taken over the supper table. It's been fascinating to see the reactions they evoke in visitors.

When women first seem them, there is an almost uniform tone of reverence in their voices. But then, I never met a woman who didn't love a basket, or containers in general for that matter. If you're like me, you have purchased a basket, a bowl or a bag, feeling like you had to have it, without knowing what you would put inside.

I suspect it's quite primal. We women are containers ourselves, aren't we? Doesn't every bowl or basket resonate with the womb inside us? Isn't a basket something that magical things spring from? Don't they represent the very spirit of giving life and holding abundance?

Now the men on the other hand: a completely different story. Every man who has seen the baskets has picked one up and put it on his head! Aside from the comic moment, I think there's something primal in the male response, too. Men are much more interested in what a thing can do, what it's good for.

These gender based responses are the manifestation of the tension between two forces within each of us, whether male or female. Within each of us are two opposing, competing sides, both of which need to be developed and nurtured, and both of which need to be reconciled with one another. We need to find balance between the expression of the two. They are called "agency" and "communion."

Agency is that side of us bold enough to venture out and do things on our own. It is that independent side. That innovative side. It is the assertive, sometimes aggressive side. It is the side that men come by more naturally than women do.

Then there is communion: that side of us that is relational, that cares for others, that serves, that gives, that holds. It is that interdependent, sometimes dependent side. Women come by communion more naturally than men.

But both genders need the development of both sides in order to be truly complete, mature, well-rounded. And it's not hard to see that the extreme over-emphasis of one side over the other can lead to problems. A woman who fails to develop her agency side will end up either being dependent on others to get her needs met or over-extending herself to others while neglecting her own needs. A man who is overly independent, will have no skills for being in a relationship, no ability to nurture his children.

Whenever you are feeling upset or uncomfortable, when something is the matter but you can't say what it is, try checking to see if there is balance between these two sides. You will usually find that you are over utilizing one side to the neglect of the other.

Sometimes you just need to check to see if you need a basket or a hat.

Copyright starfishdoc 2008

More about Fish

"Fish will be the last to discover water. "

That's not exactly how Einstein put it, but that's how we like to say it around here.

If you're not one who waxes allegorical, let me explain. Each of us swims in a personal soup that is invisible to us. The soup consists of all the blind spots that cause us to make the same mistakes over and over. Ironically, other people can easily see the blind spots that we cannot.

Discovering water is probably the most difficult and challenging task of existence. Separating ourselves from our water is frightening because it feels so much a part of us. But until we see the water, we can't see the world of new possibilities that opens up.

Discovering water can come about in many ways, such as:

• a crisis or traumatic event shakes you loose from all your previous assumptions about life
  
• while reading a book, some idea strikes you so hard that it dislodges you from your usual ways of thinking
• you ask someone you trust to help you see what you yourself cannot see

An example. A mother is in my office complaining about her teenager. She's frustrated that all her efforts to be a good mother seem to be having no effect. What she can't see is this: it's not what she's doing that's sabotaging her results, it's that she's doing it at all. She's doing the work that her child needs to be doing.

Another example. A woman is asking me for the twentieth time, "What is it that I do that make my husband lash out at me like that?" I say, "He's got an anger problem. It really doesn't seem to matter what you do!"


I used to have a water garden containing brightly colored koi. One day, glancing out from my kitchen window, I was horrified to see one of the fish flopping around on the grass. Fortunately, I was able to rescue it and return it alive and safe to the pond.

Now that's a fish who has discovered water!

Copyright starfishdoc 2008

If you like my fishy stories, don't miss this one.

Pipes and Haircuts

Supposedly Warren Buffet once said: "Never ask your barber if you need a haircut." You can apply this advice to surgeons, dentists, and auto mechanics, too: all professionals tend to see their work as necessary, whether we agree or not.

Considering this, I asked myself this question:

"If you came to me and asked me if I thought you "needed" therapy, what would I say?"

Let's start with the word "need." There are three categories: Desperate Need, Pressing Need, and Maintenance.

First, Desperate Need. If you were in this category, you'd have a diagnosable mental disorder causing great suffering to you or to the people you love. Less than twenty percent of the people I work with fall into this category.

Pressing Need. People who have no diagnosable mental illness (but life is throwing them some curves) fall into this category. Maybe your relationship has soured, you're unhappy at work, or you've lost a loved one. Talking to an objective, trained person can help you find new ways of looking at your situation and open up new pathways. This category represents the bulk of my practice.

Finally, Maintenance. This category is for those who have no current problem but who are determined to live life in top mental/emotional shape. It is analogous to good car care. If you want to keep your vehicle running smoothly and extend its years of road worthiness, you rotate the tires and change the oil regularly.

Maintenance:

• gives you the chance to routinely reflect on your own life.
• provides you with the opportunity to see and try new approaches to life.
• strengthens your ability to know and say what's on your mind.
  
• enables you to identify and change aspects of yourself that have been holding you back.
  
• helps you to anticipate trouble ahead, and deal with it more effectively.

Unfortunately, very few people recognize the value of Maintenance. I'm hoping to change that.

In my absolute favorite movie, Moonstruck, Vincent Gardenia plays Cher's father and a successful plumber. In talking to a yuppie couple about the repairs needed in their bathroom, he says:

"There are three kinds of pipe. There's the kind you've got, which is garbage...and you can see where that's gotten you.
Then there's bronze, which is very good...until something goes wrong...and something always goes wrong.
And then there's copper, which is the only pipe I use. It costs money...it costs money, because it saves money!"

So, if you asked me if you need therapy, I would say "yes." And furthermore I'd suggest you go for the copper pipes.

Copyright 2008 starfishdoc

PS If you would like more information about Maintenance for yourself, contact me at the email address listed in my profile.

Beginner's Mind

My daily meditation book offered this quote for the day:

If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities; in the expert's mind there are few.
-Shunryu Suzuki-roshi

So yesterday I decided to practice my beginner's mind. And a good thing it was.

It started out well enough. I had a morning meeting to attend: one that does not always inspire. As I sipped my pre-dawn coffee, my expert mind not only reminded me that this meeting is often tedious but also predicted that today's meeting would be no different. But my beginner's mind said, " You might be surprised."

Indeed, I was. The meeting was lively, fruitful and informative. Cool. This beginner's mind thing is working.

Next, I headed off to Portland to teach my afternoon class. It's the week before spring break, and one look at the sea of faces in this normally effervescent group told me most of them were in the Bahamas already. My expert mind had a sizable lecture planned, but my beginner's mind said, "Let's just see what arises." A lively discussion resulted, one more valuable than the planned lecture. Beginner's mind works again.

Here are the characteristics of beginner's mind.
1. It is not already made up.
2. It is not compelled to know something ahead of time.
3. It is open to possibility.
4. It is empty of preconceived notions.
5. It is ready to see what arises.
6. It is curious.
7. It is present to the experience at hand.

As I drove home that day, I thought more about beginner's mind in relation to the quilt I just finished. I realized that beginner's mind comes much more naturally to me as a quilter than as a teacher. I suppose the difference has a lot to do with the fact that I've been teaching for 30 years and quilting for less than 2. But the point is well taken: the longer you've been doing something the more essential beginner's mind becomes.

Beginner's mind contributes to mental health. Many of the emotional problems people have are obsessions and ruminations that they gnaw at like a dog with a bone. Somehow they believe that more gnawing will bring the resolution they seek. Actually, what will bring relief is clearing your mind so that you have a chance to look at that bone in a new way.

So as I drew closer to home I came to the conclusion that beginner's mind needs to be part of my daily practice, not just one day's meditation. Good thing, too, because what greeted me upon arrival was a leaking roof and a broken toilet. (I have no choice but to be present to the experience at hand, but I'm not sure I want to see what arises.)

Oh well. I'll let you know what happens on the home repair front. Meanwhile, here's my latest quilt. As I reflect on its construction, I recall that all 7 characteristics informed its creation. That's why I'm calling it, "Beginner's Mind."




copyright starfishdoc 2008

Scusate la mia assenza.

Please forgive me for my long absence. I have missed you and missed making regular contributions to this blog. My ship was sunk by the time constraints of an additional teaching assignment. But now that that has ended, I'm back with renewed excitement.

You know you love blogging when you feel withdrawal symptoms at the thought of being away from your keyboard. I am going to try really hard to prevent anything from interfering with my writing schedule again. Thanks for standing by. New post to follow immediately.

Snow Day

I've never been suited to live where the weather is pretty much the same from day to day. That level of predictability would bore me. Besides, I think an uninterrupted routine makes for dullness and compulsivity. No, I like the variations that keep life interesting.

Any New Englander will tell you that we love the changing of the seasons. And really, that's not such a bad reason to live where layers of clothing are a necessity, not just homage to modesty.

Consider the "snow day." For you Southern types, a snow day is a day when schools, businesses and government offices are closed in order to keep people safe at home while the snow plows clear and sand the roads. It's a total disruption of routine. I love it!

A snow day brings out the kid in all of us.What kid wouldn't prefer a day of sledding over a day of school - especially when that sledding day was supposed to be a school day?

A snow day means flexibility. A snow day means spontaneity. A snow day means hot chocolate. A snow day means fun. A snow day means giving in to the moment.

At dawn this morning I called the storm hot line at the university where I teach and heard those precious words, "All classes are canceled." Yippee!

So today, instead of spending three hours on the road and three hours teaching class, I'll play. Maybe spend some time on my latest quilting project. Maybe some time outdoors. All of it guilt free.

Now where's my sled?


copyright 2008 starfishdoc

Being with My People

Throughout my life, I've done most things alone: not by choice, but by default. Usually it was because I wanted to pursue something that no one else had much interest in.

About eight years ago I decided to take up the accordion. (Spare me the accordion jokes. I've heard them all.) For the most part, I am self taught (oh, the horror) and play alone, unless D talks me into playing out in public with him. When I bought my first new accordion a few years later, a friend told me about an annual accordion and concertina festival in western Massachusetts. D insisted that we go.

It was late September. We got lost trying to find Bucksteep Manor, the home of the Northeast Squeeze-In. (I don't make this stuff up!) Even the local police and mail carriers in Washington, MA couldn't help us. No one seemed to know that there was an accordion festival in town. (It's odd that such a boisterous instrument tends to be played by introverts who don't want you to know where they are.) Finally, we found someone who told us that the entrance to Bucksteep would be on our right, when we came to a flat-roofed church.

We finally arrived at the winding driveway of the campgrounds, and followed it uphill, approaching the main lodge from the side. It wasn't until we came around the corner that we saw the wide front porch, spilling over with close to a hundred accordion players. (Scared yet?)

Though strangers all, it was easy to fall into a comfort zone with one another based on our shared love of the accordion and the desire to play together; which we did in small groups and workshops, culminating in an all-accordion orchestra piece we played at the Saturday night concert.

D has never let me forget what came out of my mouth that day. I swear it came directly from my unconscious and shot out my mouth with no editing:

"I'm with my people!"

You see, no matter how self-directed and self-sufficient a person is, each of us needs to make connections. It's relationships that validate us. It's relationships that make us feel cared about. It's relationships that make us whole. It's relationships that keep us sane. (Well, sometimes they make us crazy, I'll admit.)

Since moving to Maine, making connections has been a lot of hard work. No one has come knocking at my door to say "be my friend." All the legwork's been on my part, and sometimes it's exhausting. But it is necessary. I have no tolerance for people who say, "I have no friends." That's a statement usually made by people who think relationships fall into your lap. They don't. You must seek them out. Sometimes you'll be rejected. But it's so important to your mental health that you must keep trying.

A year later, I returned to the Squeeze-In and won the limerick contest. A small tribute to connections,my poem goes like this:

If you're looking for reeds by the heap-full,
Come to Bucksteep, with chapel, no steeple,
With each pull and each squeeze,
You can play all you please,
And best of all, be with your people.




copyright 2008 starfishdoc



Here's a picture of my favorite accordion.

A Lesson in Humility from Hussey's

Last night I climbed into the driver's seat of some stranger's car.

It started out this way. Here it is mid-January, and every calendar in the house reads December 2007. I was becoming increasingly disoriented, nearly missing a professional breakfast meeting at which I was the featured speaker! Enough! I became a soldier on a mission.

I've been hooked on those beautiful poster calendars for years now. You know, the ones that have a single poster for each month that you hang in a box frame like a painting. So the free calendar from Hussey's General Store that reads, "If we ain't got it, you don't need it," and advertises their three top selling items - guns, wedding gowns, cold beer - just wasn't up to my refined (read "uppity") taste. So off to the upscale gift shop I went, with not a moment to spare before closing time.

I made it into the shop with five minutes left to closing and made my purchases. Mission accomplished. I had to step into a 3-foot snow bank to get from the sidewalk back out to my car. So intent was I on maneuvering through the snow, that I turned right instead of left, and got into the car in front of mine. (In my defense, they were both Subarus and both black.)

Although I sensed something was wrong, I didn't reach the right conclusion immediately. First, I noticed the smell. Every person's car has a unique scent: a mix of how much new car smell is left, and the driver's personal habits. Also, the seat was out of position. Next, I went to place my purchase on the passenger seat, and found that the seat was piled with stuff. I tend to keep my car free of clutter. And of course, at that point I began to realize that the "stuff" wasn't mine! But you know, even then I came to the wrong conclusion: I thought someone else had been in my car, not the reverse.

Finally, just as I was trying to put the key into the ignition, and realized the ignition had moved, I had that flash of true insight. It was followed by horror as I thought someone who knew I was not the owner of this car might think I was stealing it. (I don't want to make Maine sound like the wild west, but lots of people have gun racks around here, and taking justice into one's own hands is not out of the question.)

I must say, I jumped out of that car like my pants were on fire. And that's when I had the biggest shock. Taking up the back seat of the car I tried to hijack was a substantial German Shepherd! That dog never made a sound during my invasion. And good thing: I'm sure I would have fainted on the spot.

So, I'm left with some questions as a result of this event and a final concluding thought.

First, how unusual is it for people to get into the wrong car? Should I start packing my bags for a move to assisted care?

Second, isn't it amazing how much a car will tell you about a person? Maybe therapy sessions should be conducted there.

Third, did the owner find any traces of me? I hope not. There's no worse feeling than that sense of violation when someone has entered your personal space without permission.

And my final thought. There's a lot to learn at Hussey's, like, "If they ain't got it, I don't need it." Now pass me a cold beer.

copyright starfishdoc 2008

Part III: Projection - One Way Shadow Reveals Itself

I found myself muttering the other day, complaining to myself about a certain friend. We go back a long way, she and I. Throughout the friendship, I've harbored this little grudge that I am always the one to reach out, always the first to call when months or years have passed between contacts.

In my muttering state, I found myself painting her in unattractive colors: "withholding," "unfeeling," "fair-weather," "controlling." I heard the voice inside my head vowing that this time I would not be the first to break the silence. Even if it drove me mad and no matter how long it took, I would just wait for her to contact me. My escalating and exaggerated feelings of anger and frustration suggested I might have some shadow work to do. It didn't take long for me to realize that in my refusal to reach out, I was demonstrating those very qualities I was accusing her of!

The above is an example of shadow revealing itself through "projection." Think of projection as a psychological dart game. There is some other person you are feeling excessively upset with. That person is the dart board. You are the one slinging the darts, and as you throw each dart you throw an accusation, like "withholding," "unfeeling." In terms of shadow, the darts are attached to you by an invisible rubber band. Those darts are aspects of you. If you have the courage to draw them back to yourself, you can use them to do some important self examination.

In my case, I thought about the negative qualities I had projected onto her that were really my own. Admitting that I had the capacity to be all those things actually gave me the freedom not to be. The awareness gave me the ability to act in a way that represents my better qualities instead.

So I just picked up the phone and gave her a call. We had a lovely, long chat, catching up on one another's lives. And best of all, I got to hear her say, "Oh, I've been thinking of you! How nice of you to call! I'm not as good at remembering to call as you are. I'm glad you don't hold that against me."

Next time you find yourself getting really worked up about someone else's faults, consider that it might be your shadow talking. Withdraw the projection, take a look at what you should own as parts of yourself, and let better parts take over. You will be rewarded.


copyright 2008 starfishdoc