Retail Therapy

Once upon a time, before recessions and job losses, I shopped a lot - or at least it seems like a lot when I look back on it. In comparison to some women, I suppose it was trifling. But in my younger days, I enjoyed a good bit of retail therapy.  It was fun to get new things.  A shiny pair of earrings for instance, or a cute little purse. Some fun throw pillows for the bed, or new placemats for the kitchen table. And books. Lots of books.

I've about outgrown my love of shopping, at least in terms of feeling the need to shop to lift my spirits. I don't want any more "stuff" for my house (at least, not this house), and clothes don't excite me the way they once did. I'd usually rather spend my time walking around a nice park than a shopping mall, and I'm just as happy with getting most of my books from the library.

It's probably a good thing that age has eliminated some of my need to buy, because unless I take up online sports betting and develop a pretty good winning streak, I can't see throwing money away on needless stuff. I'd rather save it up for trips to Dallas to visit my grandson, or to the brand new Disney resort in Hawaii. Besides, someday people around here (namely my husband) are going to want to retire, and with the investment markets as insecure as they are, no matter how much money we save I have a feeling it won't be enough. Unless  our mutual fund managers also start to place bets on the Detroit Tigers while they're still winning.

So I look for "therapy" in places other than stores - in a walk around the block, a cuddle with my puppies, a nice glass of wine and a good movie on the DVR.  All relatively cheap, and very therapeutic.

Recovery Mode

Yesterday was an "old school" kind of day that involved a long rehearsal in the morning followed by grocery shopping, early dinner preparation, and then helping out at evening auditions for a new community theater group. I'm moving a little slower than normal this morning, but after doing a three mile walk with my buddy Leslie and downing a 10 ounce bottle of water, I'm well on my way to a solid recovery. For many years, when days like yesterday were the norm, I'd slog an extra cup of coffee into my empty stomach and head out the door. At 55, I'm finally learning to listen to my body and honor what it's telling me about its needs.  I have to credit my daughter-in-law with inspiring me toward a better diet, and toward developing a new attitude about the body's powers of healing and rejuvenation.  The Asian culture has ancient wisdom about the body and how it works, and how to use nature to help it work better. Having been raised in the latter part of the 20th century with all its advances in medical technology, I was steeped in the outside interventionist mode of treatment.  When something is wrong, you take a pill for it. If it doesn't get better, you go to doctors who can blast it with chemicals.  If all else fails, they'll happily cut it right out for you.

Now I'm more inclined to give my body a chance to heal itself, and to do what I can to help that natural progression along.  I've made exercise a part of my daily life, I drink a lot of water (from a BPH free plastic bottle, or even an actual glass!), and I eat smaller portions of healthier foods, I try to get at least seven hours of sleep.  I'm not perfect at any of this, but I'm getting better.  For the past 18 months I've not been sick once - not even one of the chronic sinus infections that have plagued me for years.

Like so many things in life,  self-education and responsibility are key. Dr. Andrew Weil, a long time advocate of natural health care practices and integrative medicine, wrote something that makes a lot of sense to me. "We are too occupied with managing cases of established diseases, most of which are lifestyle related and preventable. The essence of prevention is not colonoscopies and mammograms; it is understanding how our life choices reduce or increase the risk of disease." Obviously there are times when modern medical treatment is necessary and valuable.  But I'd like to do everything I can to avoid that situation in my life.

At the Table

On Friday noon I sat at the table with three very good friends whom I hadn't seen in far too long. In the course of our friendship, we've spent a lot of time "at the table"...more specifically, the six-foot tables from which we played handbells. The three of them were my teachers in the art of handbell ringing, the ones who taught me everything I know about that very beautiful yet very challenging instrument. Our gathering that day was purely social, a chance to catch up on each other's life in general. And catch up we did, sitting down at noon and not getting up until almost four o'clock, letting the lunch crowd ebb and flow around us until the restaurant was deserted and the servers were starting to set up for dinner.

The next day I sat at the table with some other friends whom I hadn't seen in a while, and we chatted about life in general. But we also talked at length about one life in particular, that of a friend whom we had come to memorialize, a friend who had died much too suddenly, much too soon.

It was a planned surgery she was having, one which in the world of surgery is not minor but not normally considered life-threatening. The surgery was a success, we heard - her son sending the message on Facebook. Her family, assured that all was well, went home to sleep.

Yet somehow, sometime in the night, death came creeping into the room and stole her away.

Away from a husband who had counted on her presence beside him as they continued their retirement together. Away from the three young men she had raised with great love and devotion, away from little granddaughter who loved to watch Disney movies and sing-along with her Nana, away from the new baby not yet born who would never know this grandmother's love. Away from a dear friend fighting cancer who had relied on her strength in this great battle.

So much happens around the table, the place where we eat and drink, but also the place where we find communion with our family and our friends. Something I regret about my younger life is that we did not, as a family, spend much time around the table. My husband worked long and erratic hours in those days, and it simply wasn't practical to wait meals for him. Now I would like to have memories of those missed times at the table, would like to know that the three of us had spent hours in communion with one another sharing sustenance for our bodies but also our spirits. It isn't a coincidence that one of the most important sacraments in the Christian religion, one of the most momentous occasions in the life of Jesus Christ, involved sitting at the table with his disciples. In this commonplace activity, there is an element of the sacred, a sharing of life's elemental need which creates a bond between those who partake of it.

I want to think that lunches like the one on Friday will happen more often, that we four friends will make the effort to step out of our busy lives and sit down together at the table. Realistically, I know it probably won't happen and once again too much time will pass before we meet in that setting.

In the long days of grieving ahead of them, I hope that my friend's family will often sit at the table together, to share memories of her, to gather strength from one another, and to find their way into life without her.

You Can't Do it Wrong

Leslie Sansone is my favorite exercise guru. I love her Walk At Home dvd's, and over the past couple of years I've built up a hefty collection.  The routines are all familiar by now, and so is Leslie's patter.  She has a number of stock phrases she uses to get us through our powered up paces.  "This isn't just a stroll around the block!"; "It doesn't matter which leg you choose - any leg is the right one!" and "We're cookin'! We're cookin' with gas!" My favorite encouraging phrase shows up in every video - "You can't do it wrong, people!"  Leslie's workouts are perfect for the fitness-challenged folks who aren't quite sure they have what it takes to be physically fit.  She's designed the movements and the pep talks to make it easy to succeed. "As long as you keep moving at this pace and stay on the beat," she assures us, "you don't have to follow a bunch of fancy steps. You can't do it wrong!"

Wouldn't it be wonderful if more things in life were foolproof? If, at the end of the wedding ceremony, the minister pronounced that we were man and wife, and added, "Don't worry, you can't do it wrong." If, when our kids were born, the doctor handed over this tiny bundle of fresh new life and said, "Don't worry, mom and dad, you can't do it wrong!"  If, in starting a new job, our boss patted us on the shoulder with a hearty, "Don't worry! You can't do it wrong!"

As someone particularly prone to being fearful, I'd love to have that kind of assurance before I embark on a new venture.  When Leslie shouts out those words during my morning power walk,  I'm miraculously invigorated, start lifting my feet higher, pumping my arms harder, tucking my tummy in tighter.  What the heck  - I might as well go for it, because I can't do it wrong!

The fear of making mistakes, of doing it wrong, stops us all in our tracks. But some people seem immune to that fear and are willing to take those risks, large and small, believing that it's far worse to remain sedentary in life than to move forward, even at the risk of putting a foot wrong and stumbling along the way.  As my morning workout progresses, I hear more of Leslie's familiar motivational phrases.   "Get off the couch! Move the furniture! Make some noise!" Fear of failure can be paralyzing, and without movement we turn to stone, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I need to remember Leslie's words after my power walk is over and take them into my daily walk through life.  Even though I know they aren't entirely true, at least when applied to the complexities of life in general, there is more truth in them than I allow myself to believe.  When I sit down at the piano or the computer and suddenly feel paralyzed with ineptitude,  when I wonder whether I should look for another job, when I think about selling the houses and buying a new place, I need someone to whisper those words in my ear. I need the surge of positive energy that phrase can give me.

Don't worry. You can't do it wrong.

How about you? Does fear often stop you in your tracks? Or do you get off the couch, move the furniture, and make some noise?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-u8kM50NbQ&feature=related]

Focal Point

My daughter-in-law and son attended their first childbirth class this weekend, which naturally started me thinking about my own childbirth classes (way back in the olden days). While learning the various breathing techniques designed to help you manage labor, we were encouraged to have a "focal point" - something on which to focus our vision and our attention during contractions.  This focal point could be anything - a picture, a figurine, a piece of jewelry, a stuffed toy - something on which to direct concentration and ostensibly divert our attention from our suffering. You probably won't be surprised when I tell you my focal point was a book. My copy of Little Women had a cover that I had always found particularly soothing - the four girls gathered on the floor around Marmee, their long skirts in various shades of pastel draped in graceful folds about them. I decided that was the perfect focal point - and if I got bored, I could always read it.

In actuality, my son was born so quickly and easily, I didn't even need the darn focal point (and I hope my grandson follows his dad's example!)  It's probably a good thing too, because I have a feeling that relying on my ability to focus on a book cover would not have been very effective.

Truth is, I'm not very good at maintaining a focus on anything, a problem that seems to be intensifying with every passing year. My mind seems to dart all over the place, and my body just goes along for the ride. For instance, I might start out to clean up the breakfast dishes, but, after putting the coffee cups into the dishwasher, I remember that I haven't taken my calcium supplement, so I do that, and then remember that I need to start cooking the chicken for the dogs, so I do that, and then remember I need to look up the recipe I'm cooking for dinner so I can make a market list, so I do that...

You get the picture.

This behavior is not just domestic - I'm afraid it extends to my working life as well.  Within the space of an hour, I can find myself with half a dozen "windows" open on my computer screen, each one with a project at various stages of incompletion. The only place I can focus my attention for any length of time is at the piano.  I can spend an hour working on one page of one movement of one sonata, and be surprised that it's been 60 minutes instead of six.

I blame my latent attention deficit disorder on two things - age and the internet.

Age, because my sense of impending doom due to my advanced years compels me to complete as many tasks as possible in the amount of time left to me; and the internet because the constant call of information overload leads me down one garden path after another, causing my mind to break into fragments that can only handle small increments of activity.

So, how to combat this situation? I've been making lists, which I categorize and prioritize by project, ticking off each item when it's completed. I've also been making a concerted effort to complete ONE thing before moving on to something else.  It definitely takes some focus to make THAT happen.  By the time I get through a complete project without veering off in sixteen other directions, I'm as tired as if I've given birth. (Well, almost.) And I've been limiting my time on the internet to specified intervals at certain times of the day.

Of course, if none of this works, I can try hauling out my copy of Little Women and see if that helps me stay on task.  Never underestimate the power of a focal point.

How about you? Do you have difficulty maintaining your focus these days?