New Home for My Blog

I've been writing up a storm and posting on my website: annegregson.com.

So read the word, bird.

Warmly,

Annie                                 

Bouncing Back ... FAST

"We come. We go. And in between we try to understand."  - Rod Steiger

Today I woke up happy. Peaceful contentment. It's as though all the big and little pieces of my past aligned into this great big blob of gratitude.

I put on my warm clothes and walked with Little Big Dog into the snowy woods: sunshine, a sky so incredibly blue, it was hard to believe, the tree trunk shadows patterning the snowy path. I thought "I love my life." Then the little nagging voices started.

Oh, COME ON!!!! Can't I just have some peace for a while??? They attempted to sour my mood by picking apart what I'd done the night before. Enter my gremlins Assumption, Self Doubt and Worry. They began spinning their tales in my mind, their voices so familiar. But this time, I shut them up fast - I changed my attention to the beauty around me. The NOW. The HERE. On this path in the woods. With my dog. Peace. Contentment. Gratitude. It worked. They shut up! 

I wonder why I could finally make this switch so quickly? Maybe it's because last week I let those three have their way with me for 2 days straight, sending me into a mental tailspin of believing Worry and Self Doubt all based on what Assumption had to say.

Maybe it's because I am an artist with a large capacity to imagine. And sometimes imagine the worst. (It turned out, what I had imagined last week was total bullshit.)

Maybe it's because I had spent the day before in my studio with 4 friends who are all artists. We all felt the nourishment of learning, sharing and creating around the printing press.

Maybe it's because I am savoring the unfolding of a friendship with a man I am not afraid to be myself with.

Maybe it's witnessing a coaching client shift towards happiness.

Maybe it's that I'm living my life on my own terms.

All the life junk that used to send me diving under the covers still comes and goes. But I'm making great progress. Gratitude really is the path to joy. It creates a warm inner flame no gremlin can stand up to. 

And the House Comes Tumbling Down

I am building 5 clay houses that will fit over my deck lights, allowing the light to shine through their little windows. My friend Mary has generously invited me into her clay studio to create them. So far  there's a tall stucco-ish ode to Santa Fe, a short hobbit house, another with trees growing all over it. All the roofs will all be made of copper, aging to a beautiful verdisgris.

I brought one unadorned house home to finish, to cut into and add onto. The other day I sat down to finish it because tomorrow I'm going to Mary's with number 4 in tow and to make the 5th, final house.
I was feeling pretty groovy about this house, diving in without a plan, carving, adding on. Then I thought I better see if it still fit over the post it would sit on. I placed it on top of a scrap of post. Oops. A bit tight. That's when it began to come apart. Okay, no sweat - with 23 years experience helping kids build with clay, I was sure of my repair skills.

I added coils, expanding the house to fit over the post. I cut in here, took out large areas there, played around with the clay until I felt I'd done enough.

I let it sit up awhile and harden, then when I moved it again, it came apart into 2 pieces. No big deal - each side had a hole in it to screw it to the post so that wouldn't matter. I moved it again and it fell into 4 pieces. Not so good.

Alright, time to give up. I had taken too much clay away and it was better to start over.

The thing that really struck me was how I didn't really care. All the work building it, time spent, all gone to pieces. And I didn't feel any remorse or regret. Had I gone stone cold?

Then I realized I've finally gotten to that place in my life where some things that go wrong just aren't worth one single nano-second of my time boo-hooing over. As this great post from Tiny Buddha suggests, I've made acceptance a priority. The word "fair" is no longer in my vocabulary, I know this problem is teenie tiny and not a big deal, and I can start again, lesson learned.

I think I'm finally learning to be more like my dog. Living in the moment, moving on quickly to the next. The lack of drama is lovely. And I can't wait to see how the last 2 houses turn out. Life is grand.

Death Sucks

Death sucks.

In my tiny community, death has been strolling around lately, visiting mostly older folks. Not a shock, but still sadder than any words I know can express.

Last week, a very fit forty-year-old man I had just met died in his sleep. He was going to get married soon. In 2007, my forty-four-year-old husband fell far and died. He was just hitting his stride. Then there's Sandy Hook.

We all have our stories. And the enormous sadness of being left behind. What got me thinking is the random, sneakiness of death.

Many of us do what we can to live longer - wear our seat belts, eat right most of the time, exercise, take vitamins, whatever we can manage in the hopes we will live long, healthy lives. And science says it works. And we have a sense of control over how we feel and age.

Sense of control. That's good for many things. And an illusion for others. Like when death decides to come knocking. We can reduce our chances, err on the side of safety, wear our helmets when we ski or bike and keep a rubber mat on the shower floor.

But death sometimes just shows up. And this reminded me that in some cases, control can be an illusion. I can control my own actions, thoughts, what I pay attention to. As a teacher, I controlled class after class of children. I was pretty good at it. I control the amount of dust that accumulates on my dresser.

But I am sadly reminded that death will not always tolerate the notion of control. It will just show up. And I'm not afraid.

Get Up Laughing

I have started downhill skiing again. I skied a little thirty years ago, self-taught. Did okay, guess you'd say I was an intermediate skier. A couple of years ago, I skied Telluride in Colorado, where they slapped a helmet on my head, terrifying, and I spent the entire time trying not to stiffen up with fear and fall. Not so much fun.

Fast forward to last Friday and I once again found myself on top of a mountain on skis, but this time in the extremely competent hands of a fine ski instructor. Seems so simple it's stupid but the first thing he taught me was how to stop. Yup. Muy importante. Then demonstrations, explanations, drawing in the snow to show me, practice, praise, drills, "let's just ski". And the views. I was in heaven. 

For 23 years I was a teacher of art and life, learning, questioning, perfecting the art of teaching. I have the deepest respect for good teaching. The proof of my instructor's talent was in the black diamond trail I was able to ski down, with no fear. (Well, maybe a little healthy fear.) 

Then he showed me the glades. Glade skiing is skiing in the woods. I live in the woods, walk in the woods everyday. Twice. The woods speak to me. I loved being in the glades. The thing is, there are all those trees you need to maneuver around. This is not a place for the easily distracted. (Clearing my throat.) I fell, over and over again, got up and did some more. I was getting tired. 

And then it occurred to me that skiing is like how my life has evolved: lovely long runs, able to swoosh down the mountain with strength and balance because I've done the work to get my body there. Then, into the glades where I could have easily been fearful but I chose to be more aware.  It was just like life, going along, then WHOA, here comes a tree straight at me! Sometimes I could turn but other times I would fall. But I would always get right up. Laughing. Then I'd put the fall behind me and turn just a tad sooner the next time a tree was in front of me. Learning. 

How great would it be to live like you're skiing in the glades? Life's hard. Shit (trees) pops up. Turn.  Another one pops up, fall to avoid the tree. Okay, a misstep. Don't stay down, don't cry (okay, okay, sometimes I cry) but get up, keep going and bring more awareness to the next tree that pops up. I'm realistic enough to know some falls take longer to get up from than others. But getting up laughing is where I want to be. Because it all works out one way or the other in the end. I trust that however I land, I will be able to handle it, get up laughing or, if the damn tree has really injured me, there will be a time when I will recover. Trust. 

And one last word: please honor good teachers. My gratitude to this ski instructor for the world he has opened up to me is off the charts. Good teachers are gifts to the world. Now go out and ski the glades. 

Feelin' It

This is a great time for everyone to plan goals for the year. I keep advocating for focusing on how you want to feel. Goals are good, they're grounding, a place to start planning, a concrete something to end up with. But what if your goal was to feel a certain way? Feel strong. Feel loved. Creative. Filled with abundance. Don't we spend much of our time in the land of feelings? And what if ways for you to feel these feelings show up that aren't on your goals list? If you stress the feeling and not the goal, you will be more receptive to these wonderful surprises.

This was the question I posed to the wise women who attended the Bona Fide Butterflies' Women's Retreat this past weekend. Under the guidance of Debbie Philp of True North Yoga, they turned inward using restorative yoga, meditation and ritual. With help from freelance writer Beti Spangel, they were introduced to the power of writing and the many ways to journal. I was the Life Coach/Artist, encouraging them to play with art supplies and asking questions only each individual woman could answer for herself. And the biggy was "How do you want to feel in 2013?"

They took the weekend to distill their thoughts into wishes for this year. What we, the co-facilitators, did not expect was winding up with our own wishes.

One of mine was Patience.  I have oodles of patience for just about anything and anyone. Except myself. This dovetails on last year's lesson of learning to be more gentle with myself. And it is nurtured by my new found love of Letting Go.

But faster than a dog can throw a biscuit in the air and catch it, MY Life Coach, Ed, had me expand on the word and I realized this was really about my age old life work of learning to TRUST. Trusting that it will all work out the way it is supposed to. Or the way it works out, I'll either love it or learn from it. Might suck. But I'm still standing. And smiling. I realized how the simple word Trust pulled me back to right now. It is a simple method of mindfulness. It shuts off my overactive analytical mind. It gives me peace.

But. Did Ed stop there? Nooooo. He had me try on the shift from "I am trusting" to "I am trust." Wow. Try saying that sucker out loud. "I AM TRUST." Talk about down and dirty totally personal and mine to wear. I tried repeating my three wishes in yoga class meditation this morning: "I am passion. I am trust. I am love." It was calming and exhilarating all at once.

So as you think about your goals, I implore you to think about how you want to feel and put that into the sentence. "I AM ________________." Believe it. Breath it. Experience the calm.  Feel your way into the new year.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough." Meister Eckhart

In an attempt to calmly glide into my day, I sat down this morning in a sunny corner and set the timer for 15 minutes to meditate.  Unable to control my monkey mind, I lay my hands gently on my heart and decided to focus on being grateful. WHOOSH, my heart opened and I almost started to cry. Okay, interesting. Off for the morning walk with Cooper. I wasn't in the mood for a big fat cry.

In yoga class, I was filled with appreciation of this body I grew up loathing. Three years of yoga and I feel so strong. No back ache. No shoulder ache. Movement and balance and breath. I almost even stilled my monkey mind. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


Then coffee with my dear friend and yoga teacher, Debbie. I realized she is the closest witness to three years of my latest transformation. In her calm presence, I survived a mad crush on a musician (I'm still convinced he put a spell on me with his hugs and kisses backstage - that's how he sells Cd's! I bought them ALL!) Then there was the on-again-off-again, 2-year, half-the-year-long-distance boyfriend. I got my groove back and will forever be grateful to this dear man who wasn't right for me. I cried on Debbie's shoulder, would show up nearly manic with joy, then fill up with doubt a week later. WHAT A RIDE. All while she calmly watched me work it out, maybe throwing me a cryptic comment or two. Always hugs. Two years later, a steadier place. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

At 4:00, I took Cooper for another walk. It was gently snowing and beautiful. Here's my gratitude list from this walk:

Beautiful hand warmers made by an appreciative coaching client.

The most macho of soles on my boots so I don't fall down - lots of research before I bought them.

    Sending a text to a man. A grown man. 

Super nice neighbors who give me the most delicious homemade cookies, fudge, you name it, every Christmas.

 

Little Big Dog. (Cooper)
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I was really groovin' on the grateful record. But, just in case you think I've gone off the deep end of La-La Land, Cooper disappeared. Second time today (first time made me late for yoga class. Bitch.)



So she burst my little G-bubble. Here's my mad teacher face, with the groove down the middle of my forehead and my hat off so I can better hear her coming.

Yep, gratitude lists work, then shit happens and

the groove appears in my forehead. But I've found some kind of faster way back to some sort of balance. I dare say, I am feeling pretty darn fearless these days. There are so many reasons: events, people, realizations, and, most of all, a bone-deep understanding of Letting Go that has brought me to this place.  

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The Gift of Too Much News

Nothing seems right to write about except the shootings in Newtown, Conn.

I heard the news from a friend but it took me a while to feel the news. As one who is constantly nagging my coaching clients to get in touch with their hearts, I realized the mighty brain sometimes steps in to perhaps save us. The radio ran nothing but this story and I found myself wanting news and analysis. Comfort in facts. Reassurance that kids are still safer in schools than outside of them. Experts advocating screening kids for depression because it is so easily hidden. My fact-collecting brain kept my heart well insulated from feeling the tragedy.

Then I woke up Saturday morning and remembered the years after my husband died of not wanting to wake up in the morning, of wanting to sleep forever. The insulation fell apart and the tears came. I feel lucky that I don't watch TV. If I saw the faces of anyone in Newton, I would have found it unbearable.

Later in the morning, as I assumed child's pose on my yoga mat, I looked for comfort by visualizing connecting directly to the earth and I felt a deep, deep sadness. So many people have been asked to bear the unbearable.

People are already complaining about the nonstop media coverage. You can always turn it off. But I think in trying to make sense of senseless acts, information helps. And maybe we need a break from feeling our hearts break.

Let Go Or Be Dragged

Whoa! This magnet in a cute little shop in Rhode Island stopped me in my tracks. I burst out laughing, then realized "Letting go" has been something that has been in my peripheral vision all year, something that I focus on now and then. So I ask the Captain Obvious Question, "Let go of what?" Here are some of the answers that came to mind:

1. Too much stuff. As I wrote in my last post, too many things taking up my space are irritating me. Some of it is entangled in emotional attachment but as I've begun to wrap my brain around the freedom of letting go, I'm feeling a new ease in, well, letting things go. I am looking forward to the space I create and the welcoming in of what? How about THE FUTURE. 

2. Judgement. Oh, this is such a gift. I can recalibrate my thinking pretty quickly when it comes to most people. But when it comes to family, it has taken me more time and effort to get to this place of non-judgement. I'm learning to let go of wishing they understood me, really knew me, shared my values, didn't judge me. But I can't change them. I  can accept them as they are and relax in the cushy hammock of my own truth. The flip side is compassion, a handy "tool" I use when I feel the judgement beast sneakin' in. We all have our struggles.

3. Expectations/Control. A wise person I once knew used to say "Hope is for losers." Ouch. This person had a dark sense of humor but a generous heart. And I think this was a caustic way of saying we  really don't know what will happen with our best laid plans. I may expect Uncle Ed to be critical of his sister, as he has done every Christmas that I can remember. Then one year, he doesn't. People change. Life is filled with change. I planned a life with someone. Then they died. Not what I expected and out of my control. At first I hoped for more control over my life because life had whacked me too damn hard. But I know now that's a waste of energy and a misery-generator. So I hold onto the handle of life and let the wind carry me, with my feelings as my guide and no one at the wheel of control. Well, most of the time. 

Let go or be dragged. http://anirreverentwhirl.blogspot.com/2012_11_01_archive.html

The Urge to Purge

I have too much stuff.

1. Toys & puppets. Just in case a kid comes over, they'll be entertained. (Isn't that what the pool     

 table's for? It's the perfect toddler's toy - colors, patterns, noise.)

2. Clothes. I crave variety (but seem to wear the same thing over and over again.)

3. Recipes I want to try. (There are so many that I can't even look at that pile without reaching for matches.)

4. Books on finance. (I'll have a brain transplant one day and finally understand them.)

5. Big scary man tools. One day I'll learn to use them.  (Yeah, like when they invent flexible steel gloves, heck, A BODY SUIT, so I don't cut something off.)
                                                                                                                                                                               6. Costumes out the wah-zoo. Because
Mardi Gras may come to the North Country
one day and I'll have to outfit all my friends.
(Laugh, but I have been known to do this.)

7. Gigantic painter's easel. Not totally out there since I am an artist. (There's no way to get it's humongousness up into my studio.)

8. Full tilt workout bench and weights. (We all know this dream, right?)

9. My mother's baby clothes. Quaint, sentimental. (I can hear all these women saying, "Awwwww.")

10. An accordion. Because when family begins to get edgy and mean, nothing breaks tension like a good loud accordion tune. (Spiders have long ago woven the case shut.)

In my defense, most of these things are not in my living space, crowding me out. But I do feel the urge to purge. And if you haven't guessed by now, listing these things publicly is a way for me to begin to bust a move. I think I'll hold onto the accordion, though - doesn't God bless the peacemakers?

Transforming the Mighty Gremlin

I'm an artist so really strong visual images catch my attention. I'm also a life coach and in my coach training, we learned about "The Gremlin", a metaphor for that voice in your head; that judge, the inner critic who pipes up anytime you want to try something new. I will forever be indebted to the fabulous Rick Carson, who wrote and illustrated the book, "Taming Your Gremlins", and I highly recommend it. He created this great metaphor and it has helped me notice, talk to and conquer those inner voices that were keeping me from growing.

The word "gremlin" worked for me - it was something to kick to the curb, shove off a cliff. It worked for me for years. I even designed workshops around the concept, culminating in Gremlin masks and Gremlin finger puppets: meet Howie, ("How-ie ya gonna do THAT?") and the finger puppet I still can't name because he creepily looks a bit like my ex-boyfriend.

But three experiences, years apart, have gelled together to give me a deeper and kinder way. Nearly two years ago, Debbie Philp of True North Yoga led us through a visualization that was powerful for me. In my capsulized version, she asked that we think of a picture of our young selves, step out of the picture, do whatever we would be doing, notice how we felt, then step in as our grown selves and give our young selves what we needed. I needed love and attention. My second experience happened this year, a year of physical pain and physical therapy and through all that, a new knowing to be kinder and gentler to myself. Finally, a retreat with the wise and wonderful Jennifer Louden helped me reframe the gremlin. We imagined our young selves and, and when the gremlins begin their chatter in my head, she reminded us that they are part of us, remembering a past hurt. As my coach Ed would remind me, they think they're protecting us. Then Jen had us imagine them as a frightened child. I remembered that little girl who wanted to be loved. And my promise to be kinder and gentler to myself.

That's when it hit me - if I'm going to love myself, then I must love all those pieces and parts, even the scary gremlins. I don't have to LIKE all my parts but I can imagine them morphing from a scary gremlin into a frightened child (me) that I can wrap my arms around and reassure that it will be fine if I take that next step, whatever it is. (Okay, sky diving NOT included!) This will help me honor the promise I made to myself to be kinder to me, to love the little girl inside that is filled with joy. Thank you Rick Carson, Debbie, Jennifer, Ed and all those gremlins that helped bring me to this place of greater love. I am truly blessed.

The Good, the Bad and the Barky

 Every morning (and afternoon) I walk my trusty pooch, Cooper. Living in the woods, she can run without a leash, though I have to keep my eye on her. She does like to follow a hunch every now and then. My husband, Lance, and I used to walk the top of Charley Hill Rd. every morning, down to Rose and Keith's mailbox and back. He'd pull out their newspaper, check the weather report, and carefully put the paper back. At one of our Christmas tree trimming parties, Rose and Keith brought us a newspaper weather report on a hook as their contribution to the ornament collection. A decade later, I still love pulling that frayed and fragile weather report out as a reminder of the audacity of my husband and the humor of my friends.

I rarely take that whole route anymore and I miss it. Lance is no longer here (in physical form, anyway) and the folks who moved into a house along the way have a scary dog who is always chained up outside and gets very upset if we go by. I sometimes walk in that direction, but turn back way before their house.

Last Friday, I got up before it was light outside to hit an early yoga class. I headed in that direction and, as we got to the crest of the hill, here came the scary dog and its owner. (Much to my relief, she walks him on a leash.) Fortunately, I diverted Cooper's attention before she saw them by playfully running back to my house. It wasn't easy because inside I was grumbling and annoyed that this dog owner had ruined our walk. I reached my front yard and was greeted with a spectacular sunrise. Run-inside-the-house-and-get-the-camera worthy.

What a splendid and humbling reminder to trust that all is as it is supposed to be. Thank you, scary dog. If you hadn't come along, I would have missed it.

Tears Tell Tall Tales

One late August night, under the covers with my laptop, I registered for The Luscious, Creative Comfort Retreat at Kripalu, a yoga and health center.  I was excited to meet the effervescent and wise facilitator, Jennifer Louden. And The Bona Fide Butterflies, my cohorts in designing programs for women, would soon be planning our January winter retreat, Turning Inward. I thought it would be great to experience a retreat as a participant rather than facilitator.

What I didn’t expect was the enormous resistance I felt the week before. Those annoying voices in my head saying things like “You don’t need this.” and “Stop looking at other people’s ways of doing things and trust yourself.” “You can’t afford it – it’s not too late to cancel!” Even “My animals will miss me too much.” (?!?!) I got into a funk, didn’t want to go. What I knew deep down was that I was afraid. But off I went anyway.

When I drove up to the Kripalu building I was shocked. It looked like a hospital. Or a mental institution! (Can they sue me for that?) But I knew what mattered was what was inside the building (how metaphoric.) I entered and met an incredibly pleasant desk clerk, took an invigorating yoga class, ate a delicious meal, and then our group met. We journaled, shared our stories, collected pictures that spoke to us, began peeling away the layers that were hiding our true desires.

That’s when my tears started, no sobbing,

just a steady flow down my face. Off switch broken. Crying because I was crying. But I was held in a safe place by a group of women who were there, not to fix me but to listen, to witness. No judgment. Jennifer had set it up this way.  My fears surfaced, I got to look them squarely in the eye and say, “Thank you for thinking you’re keeping me safe but you are also keeping me from growing. From standing in my truth.  Please move over.”

  

In the morning, we continued our journey together, mixing it up with dance and laughter. My tear ducts were not empty yet and I wondered if I’d ever stop feeling so emotional. Much to my relief, I got to that place by the end of the morning.  I was done (for now) with the fear, the sadness, the story I was allowing to loop around in my head. And ready to move forward. 

With kindness. 

To myself.

 The focus on self-acceptance was exactly what I needed. I had allowed the parts of me that want me to take the same old paths to muddy up the road. The weekend was a reminder that the road to the wisdom of my heart is a new road. Yeah, it’s scary but if I remember to get quiet and take amazing care of myself, the rewards will be fulfillment.
Joy.

                    

As Jennifer told us, a retreat is a chance to slow down and hit the reset button. I’ve come back into my life with a better understanding of self-acceptance and trust in myself. My Retreat has turned into My Advance. Two steps forward. yeah, there will be one step back but I keep collecting tools to get back on track sooner. And there are always those luscious retreats to sign up for. Under the covers. 

What's Your Inbox Telling You?

"In art and dream may you proceed with abandon. In life may you proceed with balance and stealth."

Patti Smith

April is here and with it, a little snow, a little sun, tentative buds, brave crocuses, and the happiness of knowing warm weather is comin’ with all it’s implications of rebirth, growth and drinks on the deck!


Out of curiosity, I made a list of links to the affirmations, posts and newsletters I read daily. What an  eye opener. Here's what's dominating my inbox:                                                                                    

• Jennifer Louden
• Right Brain Business Plan
• Seth Godin 
• Zen Habits

The list tilts heavily to personal coaching topics. And I'm interested in so many things! Where are the artsy musings? Latest science discoveries? And why don't I have funny stuff rolling in like thunder??? I get some gardening, yoga, home improvement, cooking, coupon, clothing sales stuff. But the real meaty stuff is this link list. Am I out of balance or is it a matter of what’s on the front burner with the others simmering behind to be pulled forward when it’s time to give ‘em a stir? That's the image that feels right. On a really large stovetop. Gas.

Everyday I reevaluate what will bring me back to center. Self employment brings with it the freedom and challenge of choosing what to do every single day. And as much as I've tried structures that are designed so I pay equal attention to each area I love, guess what. They're not my children! They'll always be there, patiently waiting, kind of like my dog in the morning. And structures tend to bring out the outlaw in me. I might use a pie chart of my week or a stupid to-do list for a few days, then I rebel and do what the *!#^ I want. The truth is, what needs to get done gets done, nudged forward by a deadline. The whole idea of jumping off the ship of a structured job was to get into a Flow, really feel the freedom of choice and balance this with getting things done. 


Once I figured out how to get safe and secure in my head about money, (a whole other topic to be discussed later), I could put my passion on the front burner. On Power Boil. At first I thought this was my coaching business. But then I remembered the #1 reason I left my teaching career - to start taking really good care of myself; to borrow a phrase from a favorite Life Coach Cheryl Richardson , I am now able to practice Extreme Self Care. This was the key to having the mental and physical strength to transform myself into a business owner. And a better artist, home owner, gardener, cook, friend, lover and dog owner.


But in all seriosity, would someone PLEASE send me something funny to look at each morning? I thrive on a good belly laugh. The balancing act is ongoing and I’d like to picture myself at the gigantic stove, stirring, sauteing, tasting and laughing.

Learning in Slow Motion

"Instant gratification takes too long." - Carrie Fisher

Patience. Ugh. I can have all the patience in the world for other people. But myself? Not so much. In this case, patience when I want to change an annoying habit. Like Procrastination (linked directly to the FEAR quadrant of my cranium). I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't struggle with that bad boy, Procrastination. (And Fear.) Fear is usually lurking behind Procrastination. Fear of failure, Fear of change, Fear of feeling stupid, even Fear of boredom. But this isn't about Fear. It's about patience and really understanding that change can be slow. Painfully slow, especially for a whirling dervish like me.

As a Life Coach, I often point out to my clients that change takes time. A lifetime of habitual thinking and acting is not going to change overnight. So I'm learning patience as I learn to procrastinate less.

The first step in changing a behavior is to NOTICE it. Pay attention. I've gotten real good at noticing that I'm Procrastinating. Suddenly have the urge to bake cookies? There must be a real scary art project I'm supposed to start. The dog needs a bath? Ohhhh, I was going to start my will today. So I made a list one day of all the things I did INSTEAD OF the task at hand (doing my own taxes, which terrifies me.)

• Didn't get right up out of bed when I woke up.
• Cooked a big 'ol pot of red beans 'n' rice.
• Hand washed a sweater (one of my least favorite domestic chores).
• Created a new way to remember to take items somewhere to be fixed/returned/donated (now I place them in a spiffy red basket that's in a room I frequent).
• Cleared off as many surfaces as possible (fear of being a hoarder/feng shui/feeling of control).
• Read email.

I gave myself a good talking to about what I had to gain if I procrastinated less. Writing these down is a good idea. Make them concrete.

Then I made a second list: the classic Procrastination behaviors I've practiced in the past that I almost did but made a conscious point of NOT doing.

• The next day I got out of bed an hour earlier. (Next step, get up as soon as I wake up.)
• Didn't read every single email and even deleted and unsubscribed to some.
• Didn't water all the plants in the house.
• Didn't clean the kitchen cupboard doors.

I even told myself at one point that it was time to get back to the task at hand. Maybe no big deal to you but for me, this is progress. I also gave myself time limits, 2 hour chunks, then a break, so it felt more doable. 

So, are the taxes done? Not quite. They're started and in the plan for the week. And the up side of Procrastinating is, I take care of chores I don't like because something even more distasteful has nudged me there. The beans and rice were delicious, items are being fixed, returned and donated and feng shui is flowing. The lists were a big help - documenting progress feels good, providing evidence of learning. It can even push some of that Fear away. And it's easier to be patient when I see there's progress. 

So next time you want to change a habit, notice it, write down the benefits of changing it, document your progress and, for goodness sake, don't beat yourself up if change doesn't happen overnight. If that was true, I'd be black and blue. And now that all those stalling behaviors are out in the open, you can bet your bootie taxes will be done by the end of the week. Now that's something to leap out of bed for!

A Lorax Libretto

                Anxious seeds settling into the slushy snow. 
                                      

                                                        Frosted stream edges mimic froth on root beer.

  STOMP THE SLUSH.  I had forgotten how much fun it is to test the exact fall-through-itness of layers of ice, licking trickling ice water slicking the underbelly of the snow. Thank you little Gage, for reminding me with your two-footed STOMPS in the driveway puddles.

     Trees hold up trees hold up trees hold up          trees.

Big trees hold up big trees.

Wow. Two chums, both TREES but different kinds, different ages,  grow

 leanin' on each other. 

Oh, strong and flexible Wolf Tree, unchanging, 57 years a mere minute in your cycles of sap, 

new growth, lightning strikes, swaying in the wind forever. 

Home Sweet Home

Assignment: go on an adventure, take a path you've never been. So, it's 5 degrees outside, I slap on my "sleeping bag with arms", warmest gloves and hat and head up the road with my dog Cooper. We're going to find our way to Matt's pond. He's my nephew. When I met my late husband Lance, he owned 10 acres near where I live, which he promptly sold to Matt. I'd been there a few times when we first met, when Lance was 26. In his late teens, he actually lived in what was once their campground's bathhouse. Pretty rough but hell, I lived in a house with no water for a month in my twenties. Same attraction as he had - it was free. I'd forgotten all about that bathhouse.

What surprised me most was that I felt no emotion. My husband's been dead a little over 4 years and I never know what will trigger the sadness that has become part of me. This was not a trigger.

Cooper and I found a convenient road down to the pond. Again, I'd been there a few times with Lance when we first met but I barely recognized it. Mother Nature can change things in 21 years.

So another lesson learned about how I grieve - things/places that weren't a big part of my life with Lance don't necessarily bring on the tears, even if they were a big part of his life before we met. Plus I am currently well rested and in a very good place mentally. Fatigue and feeling vulnerable brings the sad closer to the surface. Or maybe I'm processing things differently as time goes by.

As I walked home, I thought it was too cold for a pretty sunset sky. I had hoped for a picture of the pond with color behind the trees' silhouettes. As I got nearer to my house, I realized I was wrong about the temperature affecting the color. The sky glowed behind the trees, behind my home, the place Lance and I shared it all. No tears. Just Home Sweet Home.

Of Mice and Me

Mouse-Eye View of my live trap

Here's a cool thing - 31 Days of Adventure. In this post I've combined the 1st & 2nd days' prompts - take a picture from an unusual angle and notice the little things. GREAT! I've been wanting to tell the world about the most amazing mouse. So here it is.

I live rurally in a very old house which will never be mouse proof. I simply share this space with the critters of the North Country. But I draw the line when they start eating my food, leaving deposits and scratching in the walls. Early on, I used the cheap traps. My husband would set them, since I was sure I'd lose a finger doing it. But I was the first one downstairs in the morning and sometimes, the poor mouse would only be partially nabbed, dragging itself across the room to die. I hated it. So I started buying more expensive UBER efficient, you-don't-see-the-dead-little-body traps. They were supposed to be throw-aways but I would eek 4 or 5 uses out of them, turning my head as I unsprung the trap over the garbage can, then taking a peek to see what a smooshed mouse looks like. I thought this was the right thing to do. I considered it nicer than my neighbor's way: rigging a bucket of water so they fall in and drown. I don't like that much. 

Then I realized I really don't like killing them at all. Plus I kept having to buy the darn traps. A-HA! Buy a  live trap! Every morning I walk in the woods so I could release them then. So that's what I've been doing. Then I wondered how far from the house they have to be let out. So I put red nail polish on one mouse's tail so I could see if it would come back. (Then I worried I killed it with the toxicity.) One cold morning I set a trapped mouse on the porch for an hour before my walk. In that time it died. Maybe it froze. So there I was, cuddling it in my mittens as I walked into the woods, trying to revive it. I felt awful. I laid it in a pretty, mossy spot and told it I was sorry. I didn't set the trap for a few days after that. 

I catch mice maybe every other day. I would stare into the cage, trying to notice markings, characteristics, something distinct. Some seemed smaller, others more intent on cleaning themselves, some sticking their little pink noses out the holes. One day, I found a great spot under a tree to release an especially cute little feller. I opened the door and it bounded over a boulder that held a stack of smaller rocks. I watched it go. And then the most amazing thing happened - it came back onto the top of the stack and looked at me. Just for a second. Then it was gone. I couldn't believe my eyes. Suddenly I felt connected to everything around me - the snow was sparkling in the sun, the bare trees spectacular, shadows dancing, beech leaves whispering. Holy smokes, was I connected!!

(Here's a preliminary sketch - the tree on the left is all wrong so the final drawing will be different.)

I put the trap away for a week, kind of my Christmas present to the mice in the neighborhood.
But tonight it's set again and who knows what joy or pain it will bring? What a gift to have such a memory to remind me to pay attention, look around as I walk and notice how beautiful the world is. Thank-you, little mouse.

Let's Have a Look-See

 Last night I wrote about some of the ornaments that adorn my tree. I thought some pictures were called for.

Did I imagine my five-year-old self on that little balcony?






Don't EVER glue pretty paper onto ponytail holders... unless you need a good laugh at what you think is a good idea that turns out to be, well, dumb.  Tracy and I get a really good laugh every year when these come out of the box.

My dear friend Myriam got such a kick out of buying ornaments after a Jewish lifetime of not trimming Christmas trees. When my husband died, I found a story he'd written in which he imagined he was the wind. That fit him well, the freedom, seeing the world from above, the occasional mischief. One December Myr found a bagpipe ornament and thought that was perfect as a memorial to Lance as the wind. Sometime in transporting it, one of the pipes broke. She wondered if she should have it fixed. But being broken seemed a better fit.                                                                                                            

Living in the Adirondacks in the winter is not for wooses. My friend Jane Jenks epitomizes the self reliance Adirondackers learn. Pair this up with her artistic soul and you have someone who has never lost the "eyes of a child", is always learning and lives with joy. She made this little pack basket - I think it's missing little logs. I'll find some in the back yard.

I've known Danielle since she was 5 and now, as a young adult, she gives me beautiful ornaments. Love that.

And here's the clothespin Playboy Bunny by Lillian, my downstairs neighbor when I lived in an apartment in Glens Falls. What a hoot! The boobs are so low, I always wondered if she subconsciously glued them on where hers (and all of our) boobs end up at 80. I wish I'd spent more time talking to her but that was a time in my life when I was holding onto life's ledge with my fingernails, trying to make sense of life from the outside in instead of regaining my original self.

The little girl who gazed at a glittered house and saw magic.

Merry and joy to everyone.