Zen and the Howling Hour

I live in a small town in Vermont, atop a hill overlooking the CT River Valley.  There are approximately 2500 residents in our little town and between my husband serving on the planning commission and me directing the 5th and 6th-grade musical, we've met most folks in town.  I also attend the Congregational Church on Thetford Hill which is a lovely community church with a very affirming congregation.  I'm extremely proud of my state of Vermont and my county (Orange) that have both done so well in addressing the current health crisis.  Vermont is one of four states that has been touted as "flattening the curve" as swiftly as almost anywhere else.

Having moved to this town ten years ago from the Boston area and a town ten times the size, I have been slowly acclimating to a different pace of life.  Most people move to Vermont for the beauty of the place, the wide-open space.  I once complained to a friend that I was frustrated that people were so slow to respond to emails.  He reminded me that many people move to Vermont so they won't have to respond to email, at least not in a big hurry.

When we bought our house we knew that we would inherit some challenges. It is a farmhouse built in 1850 on 4 acres, But I fell in love with it. Our home inspector, in his report, noted the age of the furnace, the foundation with some crumbling bits, the roof that would need to be replaced sometime soon and then at the very end of the report, he said this- "despite all of the inevitable problems the house will present- when you're sitting on that screened porch, looking out over the view, sippng a glass of port, life won't get any better than that." It all turned out to be quite true, except for the bit about the port. I'm more of a chardonnay girl.  It is a beautiful place and all the more so now that we are quarantined at home.  There are endless projects to tackle, gardens to tend. I even have a camp tent which goes up in the summer for afternoon naps. Talk about social distancing.

But it is a small town and it's a rare event when we have the opportunity to really feel connected to our neighbors.  This weekend as we sat watching the PBS Newshour, there was a segment about a town in Montana that does a "howling hour" every evening at 8:00.  Residents come out of their houses and essentially howl into the night.  This is all in support of the front line workers who are helping us all stay safe.  It's the healthcare workers and folks manning the grocery stores and pharmacies.  The gratitude that we should be expressing to these folks is boundless. So I thought that we should give it a whirl on our little hill in Thetford.  I sent an email around to some neighbors, many of whom had seen the same news program and suggested we try it.  I wish I could say it was a rousing success.  We did howl on that first night.  My neighbor up the hill had a friend visiting who joined our chorus enthusiastically and I heard some neighbors through the woods let out a howl or two.  I did my part by howing from our porch.  It felt pretty exhilerating, I must admit, but then we all went back to our quiet, peaceful lives.  We didn't do it again and I realized that most people who live here like things to stay quiet and peaceful. We'll let the coyotes do the howling and we'll appreciate our front line workers each night from our own living rooms.

(This post was originally penned on April 26, 2020) 

The struggle is real

One look at the home screen of my iPad reveals my valiant attempts to keep my head above water since the beginning of the pandemic. (see previous post- "What happened to my sunny disposition?)

I wish I could claim that I have found that sunny disposition but that could not be further from the truth. I have slumped into a seething vat of aimlessness, of decrepitude and of gloom. (Too dramatic?) This is so not me.  But there it is.  The collection of newly installed apps on my iPad shows how I have tried to combat the slump.  Here is the list-

Acapella- (surely there must be some way that I can sing with my friends) 

Broadway HD- (or go to the theatre)

DailyOm- (or move my stiff. tired body)  

Simply Piano- (or brush up on my piano skills)

Photoshop-  (or once and for all learn how to use photoshop, you're a marketer for God's sake)

Disney + - (or watch Hamilton obsessively until I know all of the lyrics) 

Breethe (or learn to breathe and meditate and get some sleep!!)

Audible- (if you can't read, surely you can listen to a book)

I wish I could tell you that I am practicing the piano every day, singing with friends, reading fabulous books, moving these tired old bones.  Alas, that would not be the truth.

A quick tour of my house further reveals the struggle.  There are corners of the house that are orderly and resemble the suburban home we once lived in with regular visits from the cleaning lady.  Other areas of the house show the truth of living on a farm. There is chicken shit on the floor of the bathroom, there are fruit flies swirling in the air above the vegetables in the wooden bowl on the kitchen table. The pantry and refrigerator overflow with vestiges of our stockpiling for quarantine. In my office, there are craft projects begun but never finished. In my beloved tent where I while away summer afternoons, there is a pile of books that are unfinished, books about numerology, theatre, about children and dogs.  I chip away at them but without much urgency.  It seems time is fluid now.  There are no deadlines, no guardrails to contain my activity. 

And all the while, I look for the elusive silver linings.  I putter (The fine art of puttering around) and languish and hope for better days.  I know the old me lies in wait ready to re-emerge. To hug her friends and start projects and create things of beauty.  For now, I play in my garden and become mesmerized by my fish pond and nap in my tent and try to remember that I am luckier than most.

And the Children Will Lead the Way

As so many of us are struggling to find our way through the current crisis, we are looking for strategies and ideas.  Where are the silver linings?  What is working to distract us from the horrors of the evening news?

I listened to a fascinating interview yesterday on the podcast Lovett or Leave It from Crooked Media.  A psychologist shared some very tangible strategies for keeping our mental health strong. Strategies include turning off the TV as the images can stay with us long after we want them to disappear, finding things to do that bring us joy (his favorite was watching Tiger King..um okay).  Getting outdoors and moving our bodies is another great tried and true tactic.

But I think the best guides for us in these difficult times are children.  If you have children or grandchildren, you know that they are experts at finding joy and fun in most everything they do. Their secret weapon is their imagination.  They dress up, they make friends from their stuffed animal collection, they play with sticks and rocks.   They lose themselves in books whether they can read them or not.  They run around outdoors in all kinds of weather.  Visit the neighboring elementary school playground during their afterschool program and you will see kids wearing shorts and t-shirts even when there is still snow on the ground.  Weather, what weather?

Kids have an uncanny way of being in the present.  At my beloved summer camp, I watch girls throw themselves into all kinds of fun.  From lying on their belly in the field looking for four-leaf clovers to hooting and hollering in the dining room when a special dessert comes out of the kitchen. Camp provides endless opportunities for boisterous fun and for quiet contemplation which is why it is such a special place for both children and adults.

And at the heart of the simple philosophy of camp is the practice of imagining yourself as the person you want to be.  If I were the person I want to be in this time of being quarantined at home, what would I be doing?  I would be exercising my creativity. I would be trying to be kind and loving to my husband.  I would be reaching out to friends and family.  I would be appreciating the beauty that surrounds us. I would be exercising compassion for myself and others and I would be looking for ways to experience joy.  Many of these practices come quite naturally to children.

My granddaughter Mabel is a bundle of energy and spirit and joy.  She lives every day filled with exuberance and fun.  Would that we could all be so lucky to live that way. Here's to finding your youthful spirit friends and to being the person you want to be, even through the most challenging times.

The Fine Art of Puttering Around

My Dad was a great putterer. My husband is pretty good at it too.  Me?  Not so much.  But I'm working on developing this skill.  Here is how Merriam Webster defines it:

To spend time in a relaxed way doing small jobs and other things that are not very important. 

There is an element of aimlessness in this activity.  That's probably why I've never been very good at it as I don't really do "aimless".  I'm a girl with a plan who likes to get things done. I'm a girl who likes to feel accomplished.  I'm a girl who has spent way too much of my life striving to stay busy. Now there are lots of people who are really busy these days. Of course there are the health care workers who are crushed. There are the teachers who are learning how to teach students remotely.  There are the parents who are working at home all the while trying to home school their children.  These folks are really busy.  But for many of us without the distractions of life and people and purpose, we are learning to putter around.

Here's what puttering looks like in my household.  I have a wonderful office that I love.  I look out the window at a beautiful Vermont landscape, complete with a gorgeous barn. I know.  Lucky, right?

I have lots of pictures and books and projects nearby.  I have a piano in the other room with stacks of music.  I have a ukelele that I have sworn to learn how to play.  I have a collection of percussion instruments from my days as a camp counselor and a music teacher.

I have a craft collection just waiting for me to jump into a project. Bead wind chimes anyone? Beaded handle salad servers? The supplies are there, I just need the will to actually do it.  I have stacks of books and plays just waiting to be read.  There are boxes of photos- a lifetime of photos of moments both precious and every day calling to be organized. The garden calls to me. The asparagus, strawberries, garlic, and raspberries are all doing their thing. I have big plans for a cutting garden this summer. 

Shockingly, it feels that some days I do none of these things.  The kitchen stays empty, the books unread, the photos in their storage box.

I need strategies to putter around?  Lose the to-do list.  Let go of the pressure and deadlines. Add music or not?  Is puttering better when there is smooth jazz or show tunes in the background? Is puttering better with a buddy?  I think not.  It's probably fine to putter alongside someone else but the point it to move slowly doing small jobs that are not important. The buddy system inevitably introduces the "honey do list".  Of course, the expectations from someone else about the things you should be doing aren't exactly in the spirit of puttering around. 

This will be a work in progress for sure. For the expert putterers out there- what are your pro tips? Sharing them will be a great gift to those of us who are GOING INSANE.

But for now, here's the vision I am holding onto.  One day soon It will be warm and sunny.  We'll be singing around the piano, creating fabulous garden art, talking about the wonderful books we have read, eating delicious tomatoes from the garden, scheming about our next theatrical adventure.  And we'll be doing it TOGETHER.  Dear God, I cannot wait.  Who's in? 

What Happened to My Sunny Disposition?

As I return to this blog after a protracted dry spell, I am struck by the irony in the name of the blog-  Remember What You Know.  When I began writing here 5 years ago, I felt that there was often deep wisdom to access as we move through life, that even as new experiences presented themselves, there was some "knowing"  that would help me navigate and understand. So I try to always remind myself to trust my instincts, my intuition, my innate knowing.

But here's the rub.  Nothing about what is happening to our lives right now feels familiar.  There is no "knowing'. There is no historical context.  And it all happened so damn fast.

I have been thinking alot lately about optimism and the power of positive thinking.  I am truly one of those eternal optimists.  I wake up just about every morning feeling cheerful and hopeful.  Or at least I used to.  My husband and I joke about our diametrically opposite outlooks.  He, a trained architect, is always thinking about the worse case scenario, anticipating the worse.  I, on the other hand, choose to focus on the promise and the possibilities. This makes for an interesting marital dynamic. As the current nightmare began to unfold, I held out hope for as long as I could that all would be well and we would get through it with minimal disruption and heartbreak.  And as my anxiety mounted, my husband remained cool as a cucumber looking at me with a shrug and that "told you so, I knew it was going to be bad" look that is so insanely irritating from a spouse.

So now we have been housebound for almost 5 weeks and the daily news reports have been an avalanche of bad news- an empath's worst nightmare.  How can there be this much suffering, this much horror?  What kind of dystopian nightmare are we actually living through?

The other dynamic at play is that apart from being an optimist,  I am also an extreme extrovert.  I thrive on being out in the world with people.  I thrive on doing what I love which is making theatre and music.  This theatre-making that I love so much is a team sport.  Not only do actors love to perform for an audience but they thrive on doing it together, with other creative souls.  All of my upcoming theatre projects have been put on pause with no clear sense of when we might return to the spaces where we gather.

The other great joy in my life is spending summers at a camp for girls in Vermont.  I live for the summerime when I can be at my beloved summer camp, surrounded by children and young adults, perched on the side of a beautiful lake, singing and playing and living in a warm and vibrant community.  It is unclear whether camp will happen this summer and if it does, how will the experience be altered. If we are unable to return to camp it will be a devastating blow not only to me, but to the hundreds of kids and their families who yearn to return to this special place where they can be their best selves.

So in the face of all of this, it's very hard to stay upbeat and cheerful,  to maintain my optmistic nature.  So I do the best I can and appreciate what we have.  We live in a beautiful place.  We have space, we have a big garden that will no doubt be spectacular this summer.  I have a devoted dog who is about the best companion a girl could have in a pandemic.  I have a new flock of chickens and 12 fish who survived the winter in our fish pond. And of course I have a wonderful husband.  We've had 36 years to practice "getting along" and we're doing just fine.  So these are my companions for now.  I sit with all of them every day and dream of a brighter future.  I miss my friends dearly.  I weep when I think about how long it will be before I can see my sweet granddaughter, Mabel, or my kids in Denver. But it won't be forever.  Sitting at home for a while longer is a small price to pay to help us get through this horror.  And I trust that my sunny disposition will return soon. And on the bright side, here I am returning to this blog.  That is definitely something to celebrate.

Leaving a Legacy in Song

What do we do in our lifetime that lives on?  I am thinking about having an impact, about leaving a legacy.  Some might associate the word legacy with money but that is not what I am talking about.  I am thinking about something far more meaningful.

A young woman who I work with at my summer camp told me earlier this summer that she desperately wanted to find a way to have a meaningful impact in the world.  It was a curious thing to share to a group early on in our time together.  We were just getting started building our team and our community, but I know she felt it deeply.  We all want to leave a mark in one way or another. Whether we are starting out in adulthood or transitioning out of the workplace, many of us ponder where and how we will be able to make a difference.   What is it that we have done that will live on in the hearts and minds of our friends and family and community?

If ever there was a way to leave a lasting legacy, it is through creative work (think Shakespeare or Hal Prince) or through music.  The soundtracks of our lives give context and harbor memories for us over the years.

I was lucky enough to spend several days this week with a man who has become a legend at our summer camp in VT.  His name is Biff Fink and he has penned a collection of the most beloved songs that we sing. A career educator and musician, he lives in Nashville now and continues to write songs.  If you are a camp person you probably remember the boisterous singing that happens at camp.  And with luck, you also remember the reflective songs that help us slow down and appreciate our world and our loved ones.  This man has written songs of each kind.

This week he turned his pen and his heart to a small little play based on the children's book, "What Do You Do With a Chance".  I have no doubt that he worked on the script and the song that goes with it for some time before arriving to share it with us.  He certainly made it look easy.  We had about 20 little girls come and work with us to create our show.  We created simple costumes and made some fun wands with streamers.  We rehearsed the text that our actors would say and the movement that our dancers would do. We had girls playing simple instruments as accompaniment.  We called them the Jinglettes.  And then we learned the new song.

I was lucky to hear the song before he taught it to the girls and it was a moment I will never forget.  He had sent me the music and an MP3 of the accompaniment so I was able to read along as I listened to the music.  And I knew at that moment that I was listening to a song that would live on at our camp- probably for generations.  I am a fourth-generation camp person.  My grandmother and mother went to this camp and so have both of my children, along with a large extended family.  I now have a granddaughter who I hope, one day will be lucky enough to don her own green shorts and white shirt. And I am fairly certain that when she does, she will sing this beautiful song.  Here's a taste.

Aloha in the Hills

Another sun is rising in the sky.
Another breeze is blowing down the lake
Can't you hear the call of all that longs to be
In every single, sacred breath you take?

Whatever makes an ordinary day
Turn fresh and new and beautiful to see?
Well, it's not the things that we're so certain of
But chances that we take that make us free

Aloha in the hills, Aloha in the skies
Aloha in our hearts, Aloha in our eyes
And when at close of day
That ol' moon begins to rise
We'll bless this very day
(we'll bless this very day)
We'll bless this day
With thanks that we're alive. 

Of course, these are the lyrics which need the music to accompany them for full effect. But back to the question of our impact.  How lucky would we all be to know that something we had done had wriggled its way into the psyche of other people?  Our words, our deeds, even the smallest gestures might do that.  It could be something we have built or created, a recipe that we shared,  a nickname that we invented, a trip that we took together. (Think RV trip across the country with two girlfriends and a dog- "Ten Legs and a Tail"- see blog entries). Maybe it's a question that we ask someone at just the right time to help them start seeing things in a new way.  Maybe it's a funny joke that we told.  Maybe it's a tree or garden that we planted that we know will be there for years to come. There are countless moments in our lives, both large and small,  that will be remembered and yes, even cherished by others.

I for one, am awed by people like my friend Biff Fink, who have written a collection of beautiful songs that will stay with me for life.  What is the impact that you hope to leave?

One Dog for a Lifetime

Wouldn't it be wonderful, for the dog lovers among us, if there was one dog who shared our whole lives with us?  This is what many people hope to find in a partner or a spouse.  But of course, that is not always how it goes, and sadly, it never goes that way with our beloved dogs. There is a theory however, that we actually have only one dog in our lifetime.  It's the same being who returns to us in different forms to teach us lessons along the way. In my case, it was Morganetta,  Punky, Noodle, Otis, Gussie, and finally Smooch. 

We all have times in our lives of great transition.   There's the time when you move out of your parents' house and start life on your own.  There are the big passages of moving to a distant city and starting a new job and a new life.  There is the monumental passage of parenthood.  That one lasts for decades.  And of course, then there is the big transition out of a professional career to a third act, whatever that may be.

When I consider how my dogs have walked the road with me through these transitions, I see clearly what their job was.  In the wonderful book, A Dog's Purpose, the dog is reincarnated in different lives with different humans, searching for his/her purpose.  But I'd like to think about one person's life and the dog that they love who accompanies them through each chapter. 

My first beloved dog, Morganetta, a blond Labrador retriever,  came into my life shortly after I had graduated from college. I was figuring out how to be a grown-up and make a living.  This dog was the perfect dog to help me navigate my single-hood, my twenties, when I lived in a number of different places with different people.  From three different houses on the ocean in Nahant, Massachusetts to a series of apartments in San Francisco with roommates and boyfriends and then back east to Boston where I met the man who would become my husband.  She was a dog that everyone loved- devoted, flexible, always up for anything.

She was also the dog who gracefully made way for my husband when he entered my life and then moved over again to welcome my two children.  I was utterly wrecked when she died at age 14. 

The next set of dogs taught me some painful lessons.  This was during the very stressful period of learning how to be a parent while working full time.  The first one of these dogs, Punky, a chocolate standard poodle, was run over in front of our house at five months old.  She had never ventured beyond the yard but spotted a squirrel on the other side of the road and made a mad dash.  The sound of the screeching tires and my wailing stayed with me for a long time.  I literally sobbed in my garage while my neighbor tried to spare my daughter from watching me crumble.  We were all heartbroken and I felt terrible guilt for months and months.  

Not to be deterred, we then got another dog, this time Noodle, a black Labrador retriever.  She misbehaved pretty much full time.  Whose fault was that?  Hmmm..  It was not until my mother-in-law came to visit and watched my three-year-old literally climb onto the kitchen table to avoid getting bowled over by this dog, that I began to learn the next lesson.  My dear mother-in-law looked me directly in the eye and said, 'you need to get rid of this dog."  I was stunned.  It had never occurred to me to get an animal and then give it up.  But the truth was we were not taking good care of this dog.  We had not given her good training. I was pregnant again and working full-time as was my husband, and we just simply didn't have the time and energy left over for the dog.  More guilt.  And the realization that there are limits to how many loved ones you can take care of- including yourself and your spouse.  Mercifully, our next-door neighbor offered to train Noodle and find her a home which he did.  

There was a bit of a gap before we got Otis, a black standard poodle.  Along the way, we had learned that my son was allergic to dogs.  We of course assumed he could probably live with a non-allergenic poodle,  despite the admonition of our allergist, who told us there was no such thing as a non-allergenic dog.  I would not be dissuaded.  Otis was a good family dog.  And he was soon followed by another black standard poodle who we named Gussie.  We thought that two dogs would be easier than one.  They'd keep each other company and tire each other out. It was pretty much a hump fest all day every day.  For all of Otis' smarts and good manners, Gussie was neurotic and needy.  Who knows what genetics or early trauma was at play.  I remember when we went to pick him up, he was the last puppy in the litter. The minute I picked him up to hold him,  he peed on me   Could it have been another sign that I simply did not wish to see?  Over time, it felt like I was the only person who actually appreciated this dog.  Or better said, I loved him despite all of his annoying qualities.  He taught me patience and to look for the best in others.  

These poodles accompanied us through the years of parenthood, of raising our children.  Busy lives, busy schedules and two dogs who went along for the ride. 

Which brings us to Smooch.  Smooch is three years old.  I had been waiting for over 25 years since Morganetta to get another wonderful lab.  We pondered getting a rescue as so many people feel that is the only thing to do.  But finally, my husband said to me- "just get the dog you want.  You know you want another lab."  So, we did.  I had recently left my company and for the first time in 30 years, I was not devoting most of my time and energy to a company.  I was living full time in Vermont with my kids long gone and a blank slate in front of me. Enter Smooch.  

If ever there was a moment to believe in reincarnation, this was it.  She was Morganetta reincarnated.  These two dogs were eerily similar in every way.  They looked identical, they had virtually all of the same qualities.  Perhaps it's the breed, but I also think it was us.  We were so ready for this dog.  We had lots of time to nurture her, to train her, to love her.  She has learned to co-exist with our backyard chickens.  She has learned to be a camp counselor with me during the summer.  If ever there was a camp dog, Smooch is it.  She is there for all of the kids who left their dogs at home.  She is there to comfort the child who is feeling a bit homesick.  She dispenses kisses all day long. We didn't name her Smooch for nothing.   She is even the perfect dog to win over the child who was afraid of dogs.  It is nearly impossible to be afraid of Smooch.  She has taught me to savor each BVD (Beautiful Vermont Day).  She has taught me to be present and to be outdoors

as much as possible.  She has eased this challenging passage for me.  From a big, busy career to a life that is slower and more measured.  She has been with me as I have welcomed my first grandchild.  Now there is a game changer.  And it is all the more rewarding to have my trusty Smooch by my side.

The lessons from my "dog" have been ongoing.  Each chapter, in whatever form my dog has come to me, has taught me important things.  Now I just need Smooch to live as long as I will.  That will be the perfect end to the story.