Sufficient Grace

It can be as small the fluttering wings of a hummingbird hovering over a purple petunia, or as expansive as a doctor’s smile offering a clean bill of health after a lingering illness. You can find it brewing in a china teapot, between the covers of a book, or in the melody of your favorite song. You feel it when a baby leans his head against your shoulder or when your husband takes your hand during an evening walk. I will never be this happy again, you think to yourself. Nothing could be more beautiful than this.

Grace.

The word grace has two familiar meanings, and in my mind they combine to create a complete definition of the concept. ”Seemingly effortless beauty, charm, and refinement,” says the Oxford Dictionary, but also “Divine love and protection bestowed freely by God.” When we acknowledge the effortlessly beautiful moments of our lives and relationships, then we are most aware of something divine, something that offers us protection from the harsh realities of life.

Sunday’s are grace-full days for me, and part of me that wishes the world closed up on Sunday’s, the way it used to when I was young (oh now I’ve become one of those women who hearkens back to the good old days). But I wish more people could have a day to savor, to slow down their pace and experience whatever grace life brings their way. I like the idea of setting aside one day in the week to honor grace, notice it where it falls, give it as a gift. Even though I’ve lately fallen out of the church-going habit, I find myself going quiet on Sunday mornings, giving myself some time to be still and notice some of the things I think of as belonging to God – the changing seasons, the blue sky, the faithful companionship of my animals. I’m thankful for waking up with a healthy body and mind, because for so many it is otherwise. I’m grateful for this beautiful home and the loved ones who share it with me. I allow myself the luxury of time on Sundays, time to take the dogs for a longer walk than usual, time to read one more chapter in my book, time to search through all my music until I find just what I need to hear. I will myself to be patient and to move slowly when my usual weekday tendency is to rush and hurry through the hours.

These are the ways I let grace into my life, acknowledge it’s presence as a gift. How full of grace is this life, when you wake in the morning with heath and love, surrounded by food and warmth, when you rise from a soft bed and put on clean and comfortable clothes that fit your body. When you speak daily with people who care about you and are willing to listen to your stories, and when you sit quietly and listen to theirs.

This is Grace, this beautiful and charming life of mine. A gift from God, it’s sufficient to lead me from hour to hour, year to year, decade to decade.

The Feel Good Shot

There must have been a bad moon rising last week. Every day brought with it some disruption, upset, or annoyance - computer glitches, household mechanical failures, sleepless nights, sick dogs. It was in pursuit of a remedy for the latter that I became acquainted with the notion of a Feel Good Shot. Both of my little dogs are prone to digestive upsets, Magic in particular. We never know what brings on these occasional bouts of abdominal distress, because he's not a forager - is in fact, a rather picky eater. But they definitely make him miserable for a few days.

And when one of my dogs is miserable, than I'm miserable too. That's just the way of it.

My vet offered a new medication that's akin to a miracle drug for all manner of canine intestinal distress. She gave Magic an injection which was supposed to take effect immediately. "He should feel better by the time you get home," she promised. "We call it the Feel Good shot."

Ah, a Feel Good shot. At the end of the week, I desperately needed one of those for myself.

The thing about a series of upsets - even relatively minor ones like those of last week - it that they derail me from my carefully laid plans and routines. I am a creature of habit, I love my daily routines, and when they get disrupted I don't feel good. They also prevent me from putting myself first, and though that sounds completely self absorbed, I finally understand that if I don't take care of myself and my own emotional and physical needs, I can't possibly take care of the other people and things in my life.

But that means recognizing what Feeling Good means. Like most women, I'm more likely to think about what's going to make other people feel good than what it takes for me to feel that way myself. To even devote the time to consider what's necessary for my own happiness seemed self-indulgent. There's certainly nothing wrong with being considerate of other people, or with the desire to care for them and make them happy. But I've finally accepted the fact that I have to put myself at the top of that list, because if I don't Feel Good about myself and my own life, there's nothing I can do to make the people I love feel good about theirs.

Feeling Good for me is the sense of peace that comes from feeling energized, organized, confident, attractive, and loved. How do I get to that place? What's my Feel Good Shot?

The daily routine, of course, which means my morning coffee and book time,  exercise, productive work, being outdoors, regular dinner time, evening relaxation with a good TV program or movie, and a relaxing bath before bed. But beyond that, it's being able to do the things I find fulfilling - writing, reading widely, playing music, keeping a nice home, spending quality time with my family.

When I was young, I got allergy shots every week, and the allergist would specially blend the injection each time depending on the time of year or the particular allergens that were affecting me. Like those allergy shots, I think our feel good shots need to be blended exactly the same way, with specific and very individualized ingredients depending on our emotional and physical needs of the day.  There are times when all I want to do is play music, or read books. There are other times when my legs just itch for a long bike ride or walk. Sometimes nothing makes me feel better than scrubbing the bathtub until it shines or cleaning all the clutter out of my closet.

The point is to learn what makes you feel good - what calms your anxious heart, makes your inner spirit smile, fills you with a sense of well being. Take notice of the things you do as you go about the business of your own precious Life in General. Is it that first cup of coffee in the morning that makes getting out of bed worthwhile? Or is it a bracing hot shower and singing along with your  favorite tunes as they blast through the steamy air? What energizes you through your workday? Does a comforting, healthy lunch you packed at home the night before or joining with your co-workers around a common table, sharing a meal and conversation give you the extra boost you need to make it until quitting time. And what sets you up for a restful sleep? Curling up on the couch with your significant other and watching a good movie, reading bedtime stories to your kids, doing yoga or meditating, writing in a gratitude journal?

I promise you that feeling good can be just that simple and routine. If you start to notice those times throughout your normal day when you're the most happy, the most content, the most productive, and then look around to see why, you'll find all the ingredients for your own Feel Good Shot right there for the taking.

Give it a try. And come back and tell me what works for you.

Feel good shots are meant to be shared.

Slow Reading

As if often the case, I have two books on the go at once, and these particular books, more than any two I've read together in some time, are a dichotomy in subject, in writing style, and in thematic material. The Faraway Nearby, by Rebecca Solnit, is the kind of book that invites slow reading, practically begging the reader to stop and re-read a paragraph or a line, swirl it around in your mind like an oenophile would do with a sip of fine Burgundy. It invites reflection, it sets the mind racing in a kaleidoscope of directions. There are only a handful of writers who can do this, can pull the reader up short so they must stop, go back, say to themselves "Let me try that part again."

And then there is the other book (which will remain unnamed at the moment because it is a book for eventual review), a novel with stock characters, choppy sentences, hackneyed descriptions - no slow reading here. On the contrary, I find myself reading this one as quickly as possible, speeding through the pages in the same way I drive on the expressway, barely noticing the surroundings just getting from one place to the other as fast as possible.

But there's nothing wrong with that, is there? Sometimes we need a way to get from place to place quickly and efficiently, without a lot of moodling in between. Sometimes it's the middle of the night and we need to be distracted from the myriad of heavy thoughts that have disrupted our sleep. Sometimes we're just relaxing by the pool and want to be entertained by a story.  Other times, on a fresh new morning with our minds and bodies refreshed, we want to be stimulated, want to challenge our thoughts, want to meander along the back roads stopping at interesting little villages along the way.

In our Reading Life, just like Life in General, we need a variety of choices, a balance of experiences, to round us out and make us whole.

Here's a passage from Solnit's book that I read this morning. She's talking about Mary Shelley, and Frankenstein...

In the years she gave birth to all those too-mortal children, she also created a work of art that yet lives, a monster of sorts in its depth of horror, and a beauty in the strength of tis vision and its acuity in describing the modern world that in 1816 was just emerging. This is the strange life of books that you enter alone as a writer, mapping an unknown territory that arises as you travel. If you succeed in the voyage, others enter after, one at a time, also alone, but in communion with your imagination, traversing your route. Books are solitudes in which we meet.

Entering into communion with a writer's imagination is always a fascinating adventure, especially when a writer leads you - compels you, even - to take the slow road and savor the journey.

TLC Book Tours: The Widows of Braxton County

Jess McConkey's novel,  The Widows of Braxton County, explores over a century's worth of dark secrets in an Iowa farm family. When Kate Krause relinquishes her city life to move to her new husband's 140 year old farm, she has no idea what she's getting herself into. And it's more than just a cranky mother-in-law and long days doing back-breaking, unfamiliar chores. The Krause family is harboring a  secret, one the whole town has been speculating about for decades. Kate finds herself drawn into a chain of mysterious and dangerous events, as she is haunted by a death that occurred long before her time. Kate Krause, and her 19th century counterpart, Hannah Krause are both abused women, and I always find stories about abusive relationships difficult to read. They make me angry - and I don't always want to be angry when I'm reading a novel. Nevertheless, I love historical novels, and I especially enjoy those (like this one) that show how the past influences the future. McConkey conveys life on the farm in the 1800's through flashbacks, showing just how difficult daily living was for farmer's wives in those times.  The author resides in a small Iowa town herself, and her descriptions paint a vivid picture of life in both eras.

Thanks to TLC Tours for the opportunity to read this book.

The Sunday Salon: Handling the Truth

No one can or should tell you what to write about. But if you don't know where the memoir impulse is coming from, if you can't trace it, can't defend it, can't articulate an answer when somebody asks "Why'd you want to write a memoir anyway?" - stop. Hold those memoir horses. Either the mind has been teased for years upon years, or there's that small thing that won't be refused, or there's something else genuine and worthy. But nobody wants to hear that you're writing memoir because you need some quick cash, or because you think it will make you famous, or because your boyfriend said there's a movie in this, or because you're so mad and it's about time you get to tell your version.  from Handling the Truth, on the writing of memoir, by Beth Kephart

I love Beth Kephart's writing. I love every lyrical, magical, evocative word of it.  I wallow in a Kephart book, marvel at the way she uses language like a paintbrush, eat up her daily blog posts like part of my healthy breakfast.

So how happy am I that she has finally written a book about writing?

Ecstatic.

Handling the Truth distills the wisdom from Kephart's own experience as a writer of memoir, from her class at the University of Pennsylvania, and from the work of those writers  whom she most admires. It's chock full of sound writing principles and  imaginative exercises, set out in a systematic way to prepare you for the actual writing of your memoir.  If you follow it, you will have a firm foundation for writing your personal story.

But what I love most about Handling the Truth is that it reveals a side of Beth Kephart I've not seen before. She is fierce in this book, like a mama bear protecting her cub. Kephart has written five memoirs of her own, each one astoundingly good, each one proving anew her passion for this genre. And throughout handling the truth she exhorts all of us - we fledgling, aspiring memoir writers - not to take this work she loves and mess it up. In the opening pages, she gives us a forthright and adamant list of what memoir is NOT - not "a lecture, a lesson, a stew of information and facts." NOT "a self-administered therapy session." NOT "an exercise in self-glorification." NOT a "trumped-up, fantastical idea of what an interesting life might have been, if only."

What must we do, then, in order to write the stuff of our lives that is good and strong and true? The stuff that speaks?  Real memoirists "open themselves to self-discovery," she says, "and, in the process, make themselves vulnerable...They yearn, and they are yearned with. They declare a want to know. They seek out loud. They quest. They lessen the distance. They lean toward."

Makers of memoir "shape what they have lived and what they have seen. They honor what they love and defend what they believe. They dwell with ideas and language and with themselves, countering complexity with clarity and manipulating time. They locate stories inside the contradictions of their lives...they write the stories once; they write them several times. (...) And when their voices are true, we hear them."

If there is something in your mind that's been "teasing you for years," if there is "some small thing that won't be refused," if you are brave enough to take up the memoir standard, then Handling the Truth is the book you must read.

I have purchased a copy of Handling the Truth to give away to an interested reader. Simply leave a comment with the name of your favorite memoir.  Winner will be chosen at random on August 18.

Handling the Truth, by Beth Kephart

Copyright 2013, Gotham Books, published by the Penguin Group

ISBN: 978-1-592-40815-3

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