May Day

Photo taken in April 2008, our first spring on the farm here in Kentucky–nine years ago now!

May Day by Sara Teasdale

A delicate fabric of bird song 
Floats in the air, 
The smell of wet wild earth 
Is everywhere. 

Red small leaves of the maple 
Are clenched like a hand, 
Like girls at their first communion 
The pear trees stand. 

Oh I must pass nothing by 
Without loving it much, 
The raindrop try with my lips, 
The grass with my touch; 

For how can I be sure 
I shall see again 
The world on the first of May Shining after the rain?

"This is going to be some day..."

Much has been written about mindfulness and there are various books, blogs, and classes out there in the ether, and in reality. For some it is a daily practice and complete lifestyle. One of my favorite books is World Enough & Time by Christian McEwen (Bauhan Publishing) and certainly worth another read–I can't recommend it enough. A favorite blog is called "Zen Habits" published by Leo Babauta and I had to laugh when I read his recent entry, "Three Habits for the Overwhelmed, Stressed, Anxious" because that fairly well pegs it right now. Then there is anything written, or said, by Jon Kabat-Zinn (who happened to be the colleague of a family friend, who was also doula for my first child back in 1988, **Ferris Urbanowski. But that is another story...), and certainly Thich Nhat Hanh who composed the lovely Zen calligraphy that I've shared here (a small representation of his work).

Lately I've been struggling with accomplishing basic every day tasks and larger ones related to my writing and potential writing projects. Putting my health first is also a challenge and I've never been very good at "giving myself oxygen first." As I answer to no one, except myself or the flow of the day, this is harder than it might seem. While my time is generally my own––if not involved with making a meal, overseeing a medical issue for a family member that can be all encompassing (like right now), or taking kids to school and back––it would seem that I should have no excuse. I really don't because I can be my own worst enemy when it comes to time management. Even the 2-4 round trips to our boys' school (18 miles each way), which used to translate into 2-4 hours a day sometimes, have been removed because one of our boys is now driving his own car and his brother, too. You'd think with all of that extra time I've have MORE time but it just seems like it's falling through a sieve. [Bouts of depression do not help, either, but fortunately there are pills for that.]

I blame this fleeting time/time wasted phenomenon that I am now experiencing partly on my age and circumstances. A person in their mid-50s has easily lived more than half of their lives and there is no guarantee on the rest. The old adage about "it's all down hill from here," after one turns 50 is apt: after all, one accelerates as they go down hill, while trying not to trip or crash, and time certainly seems to be doing that, too.

I also have two very independent young men in the home–one of whom will be off to college in August and the other with two years still in high school. Yet I hardly see either one of them! Between school, and activities, and driving themselves now, and their after school jobs, it can be a revolving door and they don't need me so much. I'm on the edge of empty nest all over again having gone through it once before when my daughter stayed back in New England, at 20, when we moved here. Then another mini-bout of it in 2012 right before I turned 50 and when she lived here with us for about six months and then headed out west for a new job and new life.

It was Ferris, actually, who said to me something I have never forgotten. When my daughter was born, Ferris said, "She is no longer yours and the rest of your life will be a continued journey of 'letting go'..." That resonated then and even more so now. Empty nest is a real thing but so is each milestone of a child's life: eventually we let them go into the world, but every day when they leave the house we are letting go, too, and hoping that they will be alright. Then one day you wake up and realize they are almost grown, and gone.

The Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali, 1931, MOMA

So there's that. Meanwhile, in my 20s, life seemed limitless and boundless and that I could do anything with it. At some point the reality creeps in that maybe you can't do everything you want, or wanted, to do. As someone with so many different interests, and an innate attention deficit issue, this can be cold comfort.

I have often written about my Old-Order Mennonite friend Anna who has been my primary glimpse into the world of a certain kind of mindfulness. She lives very much in the task–whether it be laundry (no electricity), baking, quilting, or gardening. Yes, she ponders but she primarily lives in her hands and is rarely idle–much like the Shaker saying of "Hands to work and Hearts to God." I get that but like so many things that I fully understand it is often the practical application that is the hardest. My mother is another person who always likes to be doing something–like gardening–and I have few memories of her actually sitting down except at the end of a long day. Both women are productive "do-ers" and it never ceases to amaze me that my mother worked on her feet five days a week as a nurse and then came home to care for three teenagers and her mother. And here I am, with no full-time job, fewer mothering tasks, and nothing but time all around me.

Well, that's enough pondering and "living in my head" for one day. Only so much we can do in the world (and what a world it is becoming) so it's always best to focus on the home front and what's right in front of me. Life is good and I am very blessed, despite the occasional glitch or hurdle (like getting in my own way).

Back to the spring cleaning! And it helps me to listen to a favorite album like "Big Science" (1982) by Laurie Anderson while doing so. One thing at a time, one moment at a time. It is all that we have.

"This is going to be some day...this is the time and this is the record of the time."

You come back when you're ready!

Catherine

PS I have often thought about **Ferris through the years and have not seen her for almost two decades. She was a big part of the lives of my family for many years as she worked with my mother, a former nurse, at Whole Health Center in Peterborough, NH where Ferris was a counselor. In the 1970s, not far from our family farm, Ferris built a small off-grid cabin in the woods along with a like-minded community of other cabin builders well before it was the trend. She drove a school bus while putting herself through graduate school and raising two daughters, one of whom went to school with one of my brothers. She even put in a good word for a great job in public relations at Antioch New England back in the day, where she had studied (yes, it is about talent but I've also discovered it can be about connections–which is probably one reason it has been so difficult for me to get non-writing jobs in Kentucky).

She was also right beside me, and my mother and former stepfather, when I had my daughter, all naturally, on a hot June day in 1988. Long before her work in counseling and mindfulness, Ferris was featured in the natural childbirth Lamaze work of Elizabeth Bing when she lived in New York in the 1960s. I knew she had struggled with a brain tumor in recent years and could no longer find her website when I looked last year. I just Googled and found this video that she posted last fall. I can't tell you how it means to hear her voice across the miles, to hear about her struggles and continued triumphs despite obstacles, and to realize how her words mean the world right now. I encourage you to listen, also, to the video below and you, too might find magic–and more mindfulness-in your life.

"May we come home to our hearts."

Two Women Sitting Around Talking (...and Listening)

The main reason I left Facebook recently is because so many people I have known (in person or as a "Friend") were at each other's throats, no matter their politics or persuasions. [As soon as Lent is over I will be back, but not much more than a few minutes a day and only for a quick check or a garden, farm, book, article, food-related post–and a vow never to post anything political there for the rest of my days!] Several acquaintances as far back from high school–and even a few here locally in the past few years–had also unfriended me because of our differences of opinion. That, as well as the negativity and constant political sharing, was my tipping point. I've always prided myself on having a wide swath of friends–on Facebook and in real life–who have different backgrounds, perspectives, religious views, and politics.

I am objective enough to see that there are impermeable bubbles on all sides and that so many of us have the need to be right, including myself. But perhaps what we really want is just to be heard? And that requires real time conversation, validation, or at least the lost art of listening.

Everyone has their thoughts on something and everyone has a right to them but then there is the whole fact vs. fiction thing and that, to me, is even more disturbing than disparate views on issues that affect us all. I don't want to make things political on my blog, either, but I will say this: we need to do more listening and less talking. And to do so with empathy and understanding and an objective mind. It starts within each of us. That is how I was raised: to enjoy a lively debate in the right forum or with others who are willing, but to not shove my beliefs on everyone else. But if you ask for my opinion or thoughts on anything, I am delighted to tell you.

This quiet, warm Sunday afternoon a strange man stopped at our door. I said "come on in!" because one of our boys said, "Oh Dad, that's the man you met at work." As soon as the man walked in and started speaking, I thought I was back in New Hampshire. His accent was spot on old-school Yankee: broad "ar"s as in "BAHN" (just the way my husband says it) and the kind of speech and cadence you don't hear much any more in New England unless you are on a back road or with an old farm family (both also increasingly rare).

Turns out he and his wife moved here last year for many of the same reasons we did: shorter/warmer winters, better cost of living, a different way of life, and a rural experience that is increasingly (and less affordably) difficult to find back in New Hampshire, or in much of New England for that matter.

So my husband and his friend went off to the shop and his wife and I spent time talking in the house over a cup of coffee. She was as politically interested and aware as I have been, and as engaged as I was on TV and other media until about a month or so ago. To be honest, I've enjoyed a welcome break from it all.

I was prepared to make small talk about New England and various places we'd lived or things we'd done or animals that we love (she trains horses). But she brought it all up first and, as she was a guest in our home, I was determined to be polite. Rather than spewing my own thoughts I listened to hers and only pushed back sometimes, and respectfully, just to make sure she knew I didn't agree with everything being said. Initially she seemed surprised but then she said, "You know, the only way to learn is from each other and the only way to do that is by listening." No truer words.

We had a real conversation without huffing or shaming or getting upset. Since living in Kentucky I have seen and heard other viewpoints and approaches to a wide variety of things. Because of that I knew the drums were beating loudly and consistently in the direction that they went in November 2016–at least from much of rural America. [But the pundits and pollsters were not interested in this reality, and neither were some of the politicians.]

All I will say now, before forever holding my peace on the subject, is that the conversation was very enlightening in both directions. She even said so. We are very different women from very different upbringings and perspectives and, like many people I've met or heard about, she voted for the first time in her life because she felt inspired to do so. Like others, she's been holding out for a hero.

We talked but we also listened to each other. We spoke of the great divide in the country right now but recognized that there was also some common ground between us–that we all as humans basically want the same things: a roof over our heads, the ability to work and earn a living, affordable healthcare, a safe(r) world.

In the old days people used to go around "visiting" on a Sunday afternoon. It was generally an open door "we're at home" policy. We have found that tradition exists here, too, especially among our Old Order Mennonite friends.


Real Time vs. Facebook Time is so much better, even if you don't agree or know each other well. Do we like having our opinions and ideas shared by people and friends who agree with us? Of course. But as long as we can talk with each other civilly about our differences, while also saying when something is wrong, I think we'll be alright. The rest is just noise, distraction, and diversion–even in much of the media. We just need to occasionally look up from our Smartphones and our computers, and our televisions, and have a real conversation.

You come back when you're ready!

Catherine

Unsocial Media

The title of this post is rather an oxymoron, I realize. But how "social" is media, really? Since I read it (and clipped it, and fortunately it's on line, too–so then why did I clip it, you ask? You'll have to talk to my inner hoarder...), this article by Andrew Sullivan has haunted me. "I Used to Be a Human Being," appeared as the cover story of September 16, 2016's New York Magazine. It is about what Sullivan calls "distraction sickness" and being bombarded by a constant stream of media, requests, emails, posts and commentary about every subject, as well as useless information. [Do I really need to know that Beyonce is having twins?]

Sullivan has a Smart Phone like most of the rest of the world. I do not. I have a cheap TracPhone that I load with more minutes every six months or so and I use it when on the road or in emergencies, or to text my kids when they're not here. I enjoy that part of it. I can't imagine having a more advanced phone near me 24/7 or the constant temptation to tune out–I was doing enough of that on my home computer, on Facebook, for the past eight years (since August 2008, in fact).

As you know we live on a farm. Stuff happens and phones are necessary. But I've never been able to justify a fancier phone and neither do I want one. If I had a job off-farm or traveled more than I do, perhaps I could justify having one (and yes, Instagram would be a blast but as it is I'm hardly on Pinterest–I enjoy it but it's not tactile enough for me: again, it's the recipe/article clipper hoarder in me). We got our oldest son, nineteen, an iPhone for Christmas on a basic plan. Three years ago my boys and husband each got an iPad (and my husband and other son, almost 17, each have a TracPhone, also). Since that time, with the iPads and the iPhone, everyone is in their devices on much of their down time. There is no letting the genie back into that bottle! So I am glad that we waited so long to computer-ize them (it was also my husband's first computer experience).

It's not that we're luddites (although you could argue that), it's that we're cautious. For a while I've seen how individually isolating this kind of thing is-even the home computer can be a kind of incubus for me. It is seductive, alluring, there all the time and where I can Google virtually anything in an instant and get way too many answers. I can send something to an editor in an instant, I can find many recipes for the same thing, I can spend hours just looking at different websites or searching and collecting things on eBay (that's another thing altogether). For someone with ADD, it is ironic that a computer can provide focus in its hypnotic capabilities. Sometimes I will be on the computer, whether writing, emailing, tweaking and organizing photographs, or, on Facebook, and I'm not even aware how much time has passed.

If I spent the same amount of time doing something productive (well, writing for pleasure, or money, is a form of production) that I spent on Facebook in a given day–without checking the time–I could probably move mountains (or at least laundry piles).

So for me, a Smart Phone has never been an option–not only am I "all thumbs," but I am used to keyboarding the old fashioned-way as I learned on a typewriter after twelve weeks of night classes that I took in high school (because I couldn't fit it in during the day). This summer, before he goes off to college, I will make my son do an on-line typing course, too. Invaluable. I type as fast as I think and, well, that can be a dangerous thing–especially on social media.

I'd reached the same saturation point that Sullivan spoke about, about two weeks ago. In the post-election and inauguration I was saturated by negativity and opinions from all sides and still continuing to give my own. It was a no-win and it was draining. I realize that some people need to vent and need to organize or whatever else they need to do. But for me it was keeping me away from more important things-like my own work, or ideas, or just doing different things with my day.

Obama was our first social media president in that most people over 40 joined Facebook during his presidency (he, too, used social media effectively and positively to help win his elections). During this time, the kids moved on to other social outlets and Facebook became hijacked by adults. For the first time in our lives everyone had a public voice, a forum, and a place to vent and share information about their opinions in an immediate way. I believe this also gave strength to false or alternative facts. We stopped fact-checking or thinking for ourselves and everyone, no matter what their political inclinations, seems locked in their own impermeable bubbles. And it can be exhausting if you let yourself go beyond family photos and sharing recipes or silly Youtube videos.

I've been off of Facebook for almost a week. I honestly don't miss it. I do miss some of my Friends there but they know where to find me (and I do enjoy keeping in touch with old friends who wouldn't otherwise write or even be in touch). I have to say that Facebook is an invaluable resource and I will likely return again, but more sporadically and then for just a quick check-in or post about something on the farm or when I've had an article out.

What have I done to fill that void? Well, I've started blogging again, and walking again. I have a better flow of thoughts and ideas–it's like a valve has been turned back on. There is less "mind clutter" bombarding me throughout the day and it's already cluttered enough.

I've also been writing with a new kind of energy because I'm not putting that same energy into trying to be right on Facebook or to prove a point. The fact is, no one is listening. No one cares. In person, they might but not when you are pontificating or ranting. People shut down, sometimes even if they agree with you. And if you are singing to the choir, wouldn't you rather save that energy for singing with them?

I have many bad habits but this one required my immediate attention. So far, it's working.

Now, about those "Real Housewives"...

You come back when you're ready! 

Catherine