Notes from Solitude

"I need to remember that if I'm true to my own nature, I'll be making the contribution I was meant to make, even if everyone else disapproves."

Robert Kull, Solitude

TGIF

Friends. Family.

Good Books.

30 minutes of laps in the pool.

Meditation.

Wanda Sykes tonight, LIVE.

Have a great weekend!

Cold. Day Six.

Cold.  Day Six.

Yogi Throatcoat tea this morning read, "The purpose of life is to enjoy every moment."  Cruel sonsabitches.

How can I possibly feel worse today than when this started?  I felt pretty good yesterday, ran a few errands and went to a concert.  Thank goodness for the respite.

When I get sick, I get down.  Life becomes very small and isolated.  Thank goodness for books.  I just started (and am halfway through) Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  Yes, it was one of the Oprah book club books, but never mind.   It's the memoir of a young woman whose life is in a mess and she decides to hike the Pacific Crest Trail.  A newbie to backpacking, she had chosen a doozey of a trail to hike.  Mistakes were made.  Lessons learned.  Her description of the landscape makes me feel as if I am out there with her.  I've done a fair amount of backpacking in my life, and I miss it.  Her writing brings it all back to me, and is a great escape from the common cold.

The Dance of Connection

Here I am on a typical week night (and often weekend evenings).  I don't know what I'd do without books.  I have several going at one time, always.

As I posted a few days ago, I'm on a quest of sorts and have been blazing through self-help books.  Isn't there a better name for them?  Psychology and Human Behavior tomes?  The latest is Harriet Lerner's The Dance of Connection.  It's about the verbal challenges of life's most painful conversations -- speaking your truth in a way that owns your feelings without devaluing the other person, but still, knowing what your values are and what your bottom line is.  It's available on Kindle and I am making so many highlights that I might as well go ahead and highlight the whole darned thing.  The book is reinforcing the others I've been reading about self-knowledge, intimacy and authenticity. 

Lerner is a Psychotherapist who has many "Dance" books under her belt: The Dance of Anger, The Dance of Intimacy, The Dance of Deception and The Mother Dance.  This is the first I've heard of her, and I can't even remember how I found out about this book.  It's all a blur.

If you love books as much as I do, go on over to Mountain Musings and see what NC Mountainwoman has to recommend.  She's never steered me wrong, and she's got some great reads lined up. 

BTW, I'm equally enamored of books that are printed on paper as I am of books on Kindle or other readers.  One of the things I like about Kindle is that I've got all the books stored there, I can go back quickly and see the books I've read.  That's helpful for me, as I tend to have a rotten memory and can't remember book titles or authors!  I also love going to our little neighborhood library with my folks and checking out a giant stack of books.  Seriously.  We check out about 10 books every 2 weeks.  My parents are avid readers as well.  Must be where I got it.

The Gifts of Imperfection

From Brene Brown's book, a very though-provoking bit of words that bolster my own thinking over the last several years since early retirement:

The same gremlins that tells us we're too busy to play and waste time fooling around are the ones that whisper:

• One more hour of work!  You can catch up on your sleep this weekend.
• Napping is for slackers
• Push through. You can handle it.

But the truth is, we can't handle it.  We are a nation of exhausted and overstressed adults raising over scheduled children.  We use our spare time to desperately search for joy and meaning in our lives.  We think accomplishments and acquisitions will bring joy and meaning, but that pursuit could be the very thing that's keeping us so tired and afraid to slow down.

Making the choice to rest and play is, at best, counterculture.  The decision to let go of exhaustion and productivity as badges of honor made total sense...to me....

What if we're normal and quiet and happy? Does that count?
I guess the answer to this is only yes if it counts to us.  If what matters to us is what we're concerned about, then play and rest is important.  If what matters to us is what other people think of say or value, then it's back to exhaustion and producing for self-worth.  Today, I choose play and rest.

I'm with you, Ms. Brown.  I like to envision a nation where more people adopted this style of living, where calm and stillness are practices to be inspired by.  Where how many cell phones, laptops, ipads and other devices are not indicative of how busy and important you are.  Working 7 days a week is insane and inhuman.  Yet many people to do this to "get ahead" in their organization.  But really, does your organzation need your talents if you are burned to a crisp from stress?

I know people who brag about going to work when they are very ill -- look how tough I am, look how valuable to the company I am.  I risk my health and well-being to serve these people in order to advance in the group.  This is some kind of craziness, if you ask me.

What a different place this country would be if we all put the breaks on, and public service announcements encouraged napping, spending time with friends and family, and showcased playtime as admirable attributes to a life well-lived.

Elizabeth and Hazel

Two Women of Little Rock.  by David Margolick.  It's the story of Elizabeth Eckford and Hazel Bryan, pictured above.  This photo, taken by photographer Will Counts, is the best known photograph of the day, Sept. 4, 1957, where 9 black students tried to go to school at Central High in Little Rock, Arkansas. 

Though I was only a few months old when this event took place, I've seen this photo time and time again over the course of my life.  There are many iconic photos of the civil rights movement in the US, but this one is especially gruesome.  The image of a crowd surrounding a 15 year old child, jeering and taunting her, sends chills up my spine.

The book explores the childhoods of these two girls, the brave and stoic Elizabeth and the hateful screaming Hazel, and that fateful day, and the days that followed.  A powerful read.

Currently Reading

Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection is a gem of a read.  So much to consider.  She's a researcher and specializes in what she calls "wholeheartedly living."  Her earliest research is on the subject of shame and how it keeps us from loving ourselves and others.  Lest this put you off, we all have shame.  And her approach is lighthearted and often humorous.  One of my favorite quotes from her book is

Wake up in the morning and think, "No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough," and ... go to bed at night thinking, "Yes, I am sometimes afraid, but I am also brave. And, yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable, but that doesn't change the truth that I am worthy of love and belonging."

There is so much in the book, and I'm scribbling notes on the pages, with lots of "a-has!"  I guess 'the work' is never done, is it?  I reach a certain understanding and ease with myself, and time passes and it feels as if I need to learn an entire new set of lessons.

For a lovely easy read, as in a break from intense introspection, I am on the 3rd book in the series of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith.  The NY Times calls the protagonist the "Miss Marple of Botswana."  Well, I never liked Miss Marple much, but I love Precious Ramotswe: she is a kind and generous woman, and one smart cookie.  To read a book set in such a forgein country as Botswana is a treat indeed:  the flora and fauna, the climate, the customs, all brand new to me and I love it.  Reading the books makes me want to travel there.

I also just finished a fascinating book called The Bolter, a true story of Idina Sackville, cousin of Vita Sackville-West, written by Idina's great grand daughter.  Married 5 times, and a child of the British aristocracy, it is a story of people with way too much money and time on their hands.  Granted, they lived through the trauma of World War I and II, but their endless frantic search for parties, sex, drugs and alcohol reminds me very much of the neuvea riche celebrities I groan over today.  Kenya was their English playground, first occupied by the British as a protectorate, and then an independent state.  Many of the truly scandalous were obliged to skip their tiny island (and London in particular) and head out to the wilds of Africa where they could largely carry-on un-noticed.  Interesting from a historical perspective, I grew exasperated with their endless child-like behavior.  Never mind, they all died in the end.  Some had better deaths than others.  They were boorish and they drank took much and shot up too much morphine.  Then they died.  The end.  Oh, and yes, they had sex with anybody and everybody.  Yawn.

Love Me Some Rachel

I'm a big fan of Rachel Maddow. I listened to an interview with her on Terry Gross' Fresh Air today, and my admiration is even greater, if that's possible.

Rachel talked about her on-going cyclical depression, which she's had since childhood. She is forthright and factual, and has not a hint of embarrassment or shame around it: it's a medical issue. She manages it, she can tell when it's coming, she gets physical as well as psychological symptoms. I admire anyone who talks openly about mental health issues, because there is such discrimination and misinformation about a wide variety of mental diseases. 

Maddow's new book is Drift: The Unmooring of the American Military. She obtained a positive review from Roger Ailes of all people. This ability to reach out to people of very different politic views is one of the reasons I like her reporting. She may seem exceptionally radical to some, but I see she uses reason and intellect. So she uses Ailes to get buy-in from conservatives who might otherwise never read her book. And, as Ira Glass says, "she espouses some of the most conservative values: a suspicion of big government and unbridled federal power, a zeal to cut wasteful spending and a yearning to return to the intentions of the Founding Fathers.” That would appeal to Fox News viewer, would it not?

The lighter side of Ms. Maddow, on the Today Show.
The book is available for Kindle.  I will be downloading it.

Now Reading

I have time to be reading multiple books.  The first one is Incognito; I've heard the author interviewed twice and the subject matter is just too compelling to miss.  He is also a fluid and accessible communicator, which is necessary in order to get me involved in such a complex topic: how our brains function, how little of it we control and are conscious of, and the nature of free will.

The second book is American Eden, both a history of private and public gardens in America, and our human impulse to create garden spaces.

Both are compelling, and I find myself jumping back and forth between them.  Like candy, I'm tellin' ya.

Coincidences

So, I'm reading  A Blue Hand by Deborah Baker.

The Tragicomic, Mind-Altering Odyssey of Allen Ginsberg, a Holy Fool, a Lost Muse, a Dharma Bum, and His Prickly Bride in India 

It's a well-researched book on the beat poets, primarily Ginsberg, and his quest to find god (or perhaps his sanity) and figure out what he's supposed to be writing about -- if he's supposed to be writing at all.  The latest literary figure to drift into Ginsberg's story is Paul Bowles, who I don't know of.  He wrote the Sheltering Sky in 1949 and his fame from that publication is discussed in A Blue Hand.

Here comes the really interesting part: I was in the public library helping my mom negotiate her walker among the stacks, and the first set of shelves we come to, I look up at eye level and what do I see?  The Sheltering Sky.  Crap. Crappity Crap Crap.  Am I gonna pick it up and check it out of the library?  Of course I am.  The sheer randomness of it all gives me a big belly laugh.

Happy New Year

The Christmas tree's come down, the last of the candy and cookies tossed out, and a resolve to move forward has overtaken me.

A new year is always a good occasion to reflect on one's life, both personal and collective. I've been reading "This I Believe" which came out in 2006. The original, the first set of essays were published in the 1950s. Who knew? Not I.

These short essays written by a cross-section of people living in the US, were also read on National Public Radio. The writers were instructed to keep the writing positive, personal and specific. As a result, I am finding gems throughout. Some of the essays are from the 1950s collection, and I'm struck by their enduring immediacy...hurrah for perspective!

Sunday Morning

The dogs escaped the yard for the second morning in a row. How bad does that make us look? Irresponsible pet owners....sheesh. Good news, several neighbors contacted us to alert us to their route and we were able to retrieve them.

After a rough start like that, I really needed my latte.

Bliss in a glass.

Espresso che fa nell'azione.

(Espresso machine in action.)

Check out that crema.

I'm so very happy with my new machine, and it is a much easier process than I thought it would be. Yes, I was intimidated. Nient'altro! I even had a latte at 5 pm yesterday to boost me after an afternoon nap. And to fortify me for my 6 pm martini.

I am steeped (no pun intended) in Italian coltura right now, what with reading The City of Falling Angels. How I long to sit in an cafe near the Grand Canal in Venice, sipping espresso from a tiny cup. There are a couple of characters in the book that I would especially like to visit: a retired minister and his wife, ex-pats from England who have their martinis every day at five. They live next door to the home Ezra Pound and his mistress and child. The intrigue surrounding Pound's family after his death is remarkable. In his lifetime as well, there was a period during the war when the wife, the mistress, and Pound all shared the home because the army took over their country villa. Can you imagine? And these women did not like each other. It was not a happy a'tu di famiglia. Che mess!!

Here at the ranchito de Soquel, we are a tame bunch. Dogs breaking free is about the wildest thing that happens around here. Buon.

Now Reading

City of Falling Angels by John Berendt.  Published in 2005 (where have I been?) by the author of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.  'City' is on sale at Amazon for a mere $6.99.

I've never been to Venice.  Nor have I ever been to Savannah.  Just like Mr. Berendt did in his first book, the Venice book reads like a novel, but it is work of non-fiction.  I'm enjoying it immensly and of course now I want to go to Venice -- in the off-season of course.  I prefer to go any place in the off-season.

I just love Italians and their culture.  I feel a kinship there, but there is no Italian blood coarsing through my viens (at least not any detectable amount).  My daughter, however, is from a long line of Italians on her father's side.  So, if I couldn't be one, I at least gave birth to one, eh?

Legga il libro!  Goda!

My Place

Once again, one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems speaks to me about present circumstances:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

I am spending time with my dear L., who has always affirmed my basic goodness as a human being. I don't have to walk on my knees for this woman, nor she for me. We are who we are.

She was taken off the steroids and her mental functioning has improved greatly - turns out all the paranoia, mental hyperactivity and visual hallucinations were steriod induced. We've got her back again - for awhile anyway. She was moved to a lovely hospice facility since we lost electrical power during the storm.

I am deeply aware that the world goes on. So is she. She wants the news, she loves having the newspaper read to her. The world is still offering itself to her imagination, and she is willing to still go there and engage. It is a humbling experience to watch the body fail....Puts things into perspective and surely announces our place 'in the family of things.'

The dear woman still has a gleam in her eye when a friend walks through the door.