Infant Massage Article. Class Begins Soon.

OK. So this may seem terribly incongruent with the “infant massage” information you might be expecting to read about, but in my world EVERYTHING is interrelated. Everything. So I’ll start right off by saying that in this article, I’m pitching infant massage as an antidote to fast, frenzied, distracted parenting. There’s more to the story, of course, but these few paragraphs are devoted to something that I am passionate about: slow parenting, and slow parenting on OUR OWN terms.

As new mothers and fathers, my hunch is that you’re getting a taste of the various ways that life-before-kids is clashing with and harmonizing with life-after-kids. You may be feeling elated one day; terrified, overwhelmed or just plain pissed the next. Although my girls are 6 and 9 now, I have easy access to the beautiful mess I was as a new mom, and how I felt both the wonder and chaos of it all…the still moments…and a deep longing for routine, “me” time, sleep, a shower. Most of all, though, I think I longed for assurance. I wanted more assurance that what I was doing (or not doing) was truly the best for my daughters. Was it? I still don’t know. And I still sometimes quibble with myself as a mother almost 10 years later.

But enough about me. It’s my fellow parents I’m interested in, and especially those among us who are negotiating a new landscape of speed, distraction and data. Those digesting information and opinions at every turn. Publicly advertised rights, wrongs, dos and donts. A myriad of articles written by “experts” about parenting — always about kids who are not our own — which, as opposed to bringing a sense of steadiness and satisfaction in our own parenting — have the potential to uproot our already fragile peace of mind.

I’m straddling the line. I’ve had one kid pre- and one kid post-iPhone. I definitely have a love/hate with the iPhone. And note: I am not saying that help or information is a bad thing. Getting answers and learning from people around us is part of the game. Help, well — helps. I read the articles and sought solid counsel about all kinds of issues as a new mom. I still seek. I AM saying that I sense an insidious kind of deterioration happening both in my experience of life and mothering because I’m mired more in information than in my own life experiences. There are hidden price tags associated with too much of a good thing — information — and I worry that our trust in ourselves is being washed out by the voices of outside “authority" who always. Seem. To know. Better.

What to trust? And how to check out without totally checking out? How about making more meaning in our lives. Anchoring in our own experiences. How about simple, wordless connection? I wonder: how far have we strayed from ourselves in the pursuit of information and assurance about “doing it right?”

There is a middle way. Always.

Discernment and “unplugged” quietude can be critical components in finding it. Preserving and nurturing authentic connections to our intuition, our intellect, our hearts and the people we love can be game changers, too.

I am a massage therapist and a certified educator of infant massage, which means I teach people how to massage their babies. I demonstrate all the strokes on a doll and keep classes small enough to offer unobtrusive, one-on-one guidance as needed. I’m new at teaching, but I am deeply moved by the simplicity and profundity of babies and body work.

Most of all, I love that infant massage “works”. Babies thrive with positive touch. Blocks of trauma are released. Tension melts. All physiological systems are strengthened. Neurological lights fire up. Bonding deepens, and a whole new world of reliable, fascinating communication opens up for parents who take the time to learn this beautiful, ancient art.

The woman who founded The International Foundation of Infant Massage is Vimala McClure. I’ll tell you more about her in class, but she writes:

"Be cautious about what the experts tell you. What sounds complex and clever may have no roots. Wisdom has no cleverness in it. It is pure and simple and when it is practiced, the results are obvious."

There is more to say; this is just a small window into the potential riches of this work, but I will leave much of that to you and your baby to discover!

Please contact me if you have any questions about this new, 2-class series. I hope to see you in a class soon.

Day 11

The young ladies were sort of mad at me so they cozied up to Ben on the sofa instead of with me on the floor. Kind of sad about this, but actually I needed the space. Realizing I was perpetuating this feeling of "poor me", separation -- and honestly I felt miles away from most things good. That sucked. So I began mentally playing with what is truly one of my all time favorite qualities: flexibility. Supported by that night's centering thought...

I attempted to let my cerebral analysis of the sorry scene shift from hurt (they didn't "choose" me) to glad they were giving me some space. From self-blame (why am I such an a**hole) to gratitude for Ben, who typically steps up and effortlessly offers the calm, sweet space our girls need when I can't give it to them. Then, tried to peek out of my self-absorbed little hole to a broader consideration of the other three people in the room. The room itself. Nice room. Warm fire. Cave woman truncation. Maybe they were so happy and settled "over there" that my black temper wasn't as infectious as I had assumed? The gradual settling, the flow, the end of another day. That we were sitting and doing this despite what never feels like opportune conditions; the silence we all contributed to creating and maintaining ... the boundless space I can give to myself when I shift from out of myopic viewpoint and into the broader vista. How can I let go more?

Hell. We aren't being bombed. We are not hungry. There is safety and connection here. We say "I love you" often enough so it's the norm -- not a consolation, or back peddling into making nice. There are days when I have absolutely no, NO problems whatsoever and enough time, space, joy, resources and energy to do everything I want to do.

...there are 100 billions neurons in our brains waiting for our cue, our efforts, to jump to something that makes our days a little better. Neuroplasticity is powerful science. Remember that old Cherokee Proverb? There is a battle of two wolfs inside us all. One is evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, lies, inferiority and ego. The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy and truth. The wolf that wins if the one you feed.
The one that wins is the one you feed.

10th Day

We were rushed this evening but the gotta do all of these mentality took us by storm so we ate Mac n Cheese and organized DVDs on the floor while we fake meditated...time went by and it was kind of cool to see some reverence in the children. We decided no talking, so Phoebe madly lip synched something to Willoree that totally could have waited. At least two or three times. Willoree had an irritated face and kept quiet, but ended up yelling at Phoebe because she was messing up the DVD stack. The irony of the topic being FOCUS and tonight's play by play does not escape me.

Day 9

Very cool happening tonight in the Geitner/Ford household. The four of us were apres-dinner doing our own things: I am fighting a cold and was sitting in a pile of paperwork sorting on the floor; kids were in various states of getting ready for bed, talking up their tiredness; Ben was finishing up a book. Tonight's meditation could easily have been skipped because of apathy, tiredness, not feeling well, bedtime -- you name it. But I hit play anyways, right in the middle of typically average, busy evening. I didn't wait around for anything approximating perfect timing. I just called it. And once Oprah started talking the energy of the room -- and we -- kind of gelled into this single stream kind of thing. We never hear much of what Oprah has to say, same goes for Deepak some evenings (no offense) but by the time the little bell rings us into silence we're ready to collectively enjoy our quiet home. Which means quieter bodies. Eventually. 

It took about 3 or 4 minutes to settle, realize, and fall into our new habit -- but when it happened (and maybe even when it was happening) I could feel it. My experience was that we went from disparate, self-absorbed people into the new-found (and quite easily come by, I'm realizing) comfort of unified focus and quiet, together-in-end-of-day silence. It struck me (again!) that there isn't often an ideal time, optimal conditions, or a cohesive affirmation that dictates the pauses in our lives. Someone is usually just awesome enough to midwife a pause in.

So in the spirit of birthing new ideas, awareness, and gratitude for this experiment in our home, I am getting more and more comfortable serving up "the pause". Really wonderful how inviting in peace, stillness, a change of focus from independent, busy, distracted, chores, etc. can so quickly make like a cohesive field. Perhaps I'm stuck on "intention" here -- but so loving the practicality, elegance, simplicity, of this concept. I think, too, that "intention/attention" is a graspable concept and nice intersection between parents and children.

1/3 of the way through - Day 7

One week down. Day 7 is done!

I sat on a chair by myself in a somewhat black temper ... but by the end I was feeling better. Took a bath and went to bed early.

It was late; too late. Pushing limits. The set up was haphazard. Deliberate creation and intention is the game here and I was realizing that I just didn't deliberately set anything up, nor did I prioritize and help usher in a reasonable family affair. I had my head in my studies and it wasn't OK to blame Ben for the lack of preparation, etc.

All me. Hence my bad mood!

Ah well.

Day 8

Feeling so grateful for the hope and openness these are offering me and my family! As I'm sitting each evening with them, now completing Day 8, I can't help wonder why it's so much easier to focus on the wiggling, the irritations, interruptions, the things that are challenges to peace vs. peace itself. I wouldn't trade this strange new experience of meditation -- I know it's "best enjoyed" in a distraction-free zone, but this is part of my experiment: can I invite peace in no matter the circumstance? And the answer is yes. At times. I'm noticing that there is a whole new layer of awareness about how challenging old habits are to break, but these mantras and this family ritual we've adopted are beautiful assurance that peace is here now, despite and around circumstance...and when and if I fall away from that understanding, I can get back up and accept whatever flavor of peace and harmony that's present. Here's to the Patron Saint of Second (and third, etc.) chances!

Day 6 - Attention...

Day 6.

Love this: "Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager." — Susan Sontag. We came, we sat. It was so late and our day was so big and fun we all lay on the floor toppled over one another like Dominoes and fell asleep. Hence the morning after post...

Day 5 - Shreem Kleem Namah

"I deserve complete fulfillment."

Shreem Kleem Namah. I attract abundance from my true self.

Tonight's installment left me kinda longing. Nothing much more to say about that, in this white box, at least. Kids were fine, predictable, throughout tonight's meditation and I feel the weather turning
from summery fall to wintery fall.

I'd be lying if I wrote I wasn't more distracted than normal tonight. I was also aware that repeating the bit about deserving complete fulfillment over and over left me wondering about places where complete fulfillment just isn't happening. It's like that thing about asking people about peace and they talk about war, or asking them about belonging and they talk about the times when they were left out. (Brene Brown talks in depth about this.) I don't think that you can consider complete fulfillment without considering the areas where you sense you'd like more. Maybe that's part of the the point.
I note too that not long before this gig started I preferred my lap free during my meditation time but I'm beginning to prefer two girl heads in it. At least tonight I did.

In any case, it's been and long luscious week and this lady's calling it done.

Until tomorrow...

Day 4 - Ahrah Kahrah

Day 4. Ahrah Kahrah.

Perhaps the cutest thing about this undertaking is listening to Willoree pull some serious Alex Trebek moves and pronounce the Sanskrit with alarmingly exaggerated, but close to perfect inflection and pronunciation.

Another cool thing is that the room where we're sitting truly transforms into a little peace den while we're meditating. No longer an entryway or a place to socialize...neither the place where we throw our shoes nor the kinda of laundry room. This living room -- just by intention and what we're all doing in it, together -- basically morphs into a little room of enormous ideals.

Neat.

Day 3 - Ananta Swa Bhava

Day 3 – Ananta Swa Bhava
My Being is without beginning or end.

Feeling spacious and unhurried is a really welcome (and rare) goodness in my life — especially where mothering is concerned. I guess for me one of the hardest things about being a mother is that feeling of not enough time. It’s so easy to rush. It’s so easy to feel like there are more important things to do than be present with kids, and, truth be told: sometimes there are. There’s no arguing the “time and a place” logic. I do my best to relish and create little moments that bring more good, simple things to light. Sometime’s it’s easy, sometimes it’s work. The cool thing about this 21-Day challenge is that I’m/we’re committed. So ultimately it doesn’t matter whether I’m in the mood or not; we’re doing it. Something about ritual…

For twenty one and a half minutes I welcomed the unbeatable feeling of having nowhere else to be but here, and this mantra just lulled me to happy. Love the reminder of the non-beginning and non-ending of it all. (Truly, what better backdrop for slowing down? There is time.) 

Tonight our now evening ritual was accompanied by a little whining, moderately violent sounding hiccups, parent lap hopping and finally snoring. Managed to sit through it all without needing to talk, address, solve, worry, manage anything. Eventually the whole house was quiet.

I bet injecting more meaning to the everyday grind would elongate time like nothing else. But how ever am I going to find routine in the day to day of child-rearing?

Oh wait. Never mind.

Day 2 - Rasa Hum

2
Rasa Hum
I am the essence of life.

Yes.

And THIS is life. I'm sitting in it, and it's sitting on me.

Phoebe's been bustling to turn off lights, find a suitable cushion, settling as close to me as possible and squirming in my lap trying to find her seat. More moving, adjusting, fidgeting, wanting things to be just so. Willoree is sitting facing me. We sit cross legged with our knees touching while Phoebe squirms between us. I have my hand on Willoree’s knee, and her hand is on top of mine. It's like we are the tolerant mothers of Phoebe, so is so perfectly four years old.

I can hear Willoree saying quietly to herself Rasa Hum, and she and I exchange a quick smile of acknowledgment before we close our eyes and deepen into our silent meditation time. Phoebe eventually falls asleep in my lap; I know this because I can feel her head dropping down into my lap off my arm, which was serving as her cushion. I think to myself: this is exceptional! This indeed is what meditation looks like in this crazy modern world, surrounded by a loud and needy family, the noises of an older home. It smells like dinner and feels like the end of a long day. It takes a minute or two to find my way into the quiet, but I do. And the kids do. Once there I get excited: the message is so simple: you absolutely can find peace and silence and connection in a world filled with chaos. We must! We don’t always have the pleasure of fine tune our surroundings to create what we want peace to give us...peace is inside. I am the pudgy, not too fit runner on the high school track racing after a peaceful feeling, trying to catch it, and peace is the team of encouraging running partners who, no matter where I go, fast or slow, are always cheering me on...waiting up, reminding me that the "finish line" is here, now, and always; giving great perspective and a cool drink of water.

Desire for peace is inside, and taking the time to touch in to that desire that puts me closer to living it. This is the essence of life.

Ben was on the sofa the whole time, but after we talked this morning about last night’s meditation and the cat puke, etc. I know he was attuned to the mantras yesterday and tonight as much as we were. And he was right there with us. Ben is the metronome in our lives: steady, steady, steady and reliable, quietly ticking and moving forward with all of us.

The 21-DAY Challenge BEGINS

Hi. I'm back.

I'm trying an experiment -- both in posting and in trying this out...DAY ONE (from yesterday.)

A few days ago I decided to take on the meditation challenge WITH MY family, including our two young girls Willoree (8) and Phoebe (4). They’re into it; we’ve dabbled, and I have done enough meditation to know that it’s in my blood and spirit for the haul, so without thinking much more about it, we sat down to join Oprah and Deepk on their 21-Day Meditation experience about the Energy of Attraction.

I like a challenge…it keeps me humble and open to life.

The girls and I sat in front of our wood stove snuggled close, holding hands; husband Ben in the background probably sleeping on the sofa. Eventually Phoebe gets up to snuggle with Papa. Willoree’s sitting like she’s been taught in Montessori school: hands on her lap, back straight, sitting criss cross applesauce, feeling her love. A few minutes later Phoebe is back on my lap in a strange combination of lying down and sitting up. My posture’s suffering: the angle I must assume to accommodate Willoree’s slipping head, who’s scrapped the “perfect posture” for the pull of sweet, warm gravity, is now on my lap and Phoebe is trying to lay on my lap without bothering her sister. This is not what they teach in meditation class. I go with it. Oprah talks a bunch about alignment and my heart feels full, happy, sweetened by this funny, natural moment in life — and then the cat begins to puke on the yoga mat where we’re all sitting. She’s a long-haired Maine Coon kind of cat who leaves hairballs all over the place. She moves to the fireplace and pukes on the hearth. “Shit”, Ben says, and comes over with some paper towels to wipe it up. I say to myself: Eecha Shakti Namah, about three times, and I am somehow still smiling on the inside.

Maybe I’m just happy that I’m so warm, my girls are falling asleep in the afterglow of our new bedtime routine, and I am holding their hands and tearing up and laughing in the inside at the same time at the strange wonder of it all ... and my back is somehow hanging in there.

Not mine. But Loved Her.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/glennon-melton/the-questions-that-will-save-your-relationships_b_4618254.html

The Questions That Will Save Your Relationships

When I was a mama of three very tiny, very messy, very beautiful rug rats, we had DAYS THAT WENT ON FOR LIFETIMES. Craig left at 6:00 a.m. every morning and as I watched his showered, ironed self leave the house I felt incredibly blessed and thrilled to have so much time alone with my babies and incredibly terrified and bitter to have so much time alone with my babies. If you don't believe that all of those feelings can exist at once -- well, you've never been a parent to many tiny, messy, beautiful rug rats.

 

When Craig returned each day at 6:00 p.m. (he actually returned at 5:50 but took a STUNNINGLY LONG TIME TO GET THE MAIL) he'd walk through the door, smile and say -- "So! How was your day?"

 

This question was like a spotlight pointed directly at the chasm between his experience of a "DAY" and my experience of a "DAY." How was my day?

 

The question would linger in the air for a moment while I stared at Craig and the baby shoved her hand in my mouth like they do -- while the oldest screamed MOMMY I NEED HELP POOING from the bathroom and the middle one cried in the corner because I NEVER EVER EVER let her drink the dishwasher detergent. NOT EVER EVEN ONCE, MOMMY!!! And I'd look down at my spaghetti-stained pajama top, unwashed hair, and gorgeous baby on my hip -- and my eyes would wander around the room, pausing to notice the toys peppering the floor and the kids' stunning new art on the fridge...

 

And I'd want to say:

How was my day? Today has been a lifetime. It was the best of times and the worst of times. There were moments when my heart was so full I thought I might explode, and there were other moments when my senses were under such intense assault that I was CERTAIN I'd explode. I was both lonely and absolutely desperate to be alone. I was saturated -- just BOMBARDED with touch and then the second I put down this baby I yearned to smell her sweet skin again. I was simultaneously bored out of my skull and completely overwhelmed with so much to do. Today was too much and not enough. It was loud and silent. It was brutal and beautiful. I was at my very best today and then, just a moment later, at my very worst. At 3:30 today I decided that we should adopt four more children, and then at 3:35 I decided that we should give up the kids we already have for adoption. Husband -- when your day is completely and totally dependent upon the moods and needs and schedules of tiny, messy, beautiful rug rats your day is ALL OF THE THINGS and NONE OF THE THINGS, sometimes within the same three minute period. But I'm not complaining. This is not a complaint, so don't try to FIX IT. I wouldn't have my day Any.Other.Way. I'm just saying -- it's a hell of a hard thing to explain -- an entire day with lots of babies.

But I'd be too tired to say all of that. So I'd just cry, or yell, or smile and say "fine," and then hand the baby over and run to Target to wander aisles aimlessly, because that's all I ever really wanted. But I'd be a little sad because love is about really being seen and known and I wasn't being seen or known then. Everything was really hard to explain. It made me lonely.

So we went went to therapy, like we do.

Through therapy, we learned to ask each other better questions. We learned that if we really want to know our people, if we really care to know them -- we need to ask them better questions and then really listen to their answers. We need to ask questions that carry along with them this message: "I'm not just checking the box here. I really care what you have to say and how you feel. I really want to know you." If we don't want throwaway answers, we can't ask throwaway questions. A caring question is a key that will unlock a room inside the person you love.

So Craig and I don't ask "How was your day?" anymore. After a few years of practicing increasingly intimate question asking, now we find ourselves asking each other questions like these:

When did you feel loved today?
When did you feel lonely?
What did I do today that made you feel appreciated?
What did I say that made you feel unnoticed?

What can I do to help you right now?

I know. WEEEEEIRRD at first. But not after a while. Not any weirder than asking the same damn empty questions you've always asked that elicit the same damn empty answers you've always gotten.
And so now when our kids get home from school, we don't say: "How was your day?" Because they don't know. Their day was lots of things.

Instead we ask: 

How did you feel during your spelling test?
What did you say to the new girl when you all went out to recess?
Did you feel lonely at all today?
Were there any times you felt proud of yourself today?

And I never ask my friends: "How are you?" Because they don't know either.

Instead I ask: 

How is your mom's chemo going?
How'd that conference with Ben's teacher turn out?
What's going really well with work right now?

Questions are like gifts -- it's the thought behind them that the receiver really FEELS. We have to know the receiver to give the right gift and to ask the right question. Generic gifts and questions are all right, but personal gifts and questions feel better. Love is specific, I think. It's an art. The more attention and time you give to your questions, the more beautiful the answers become.
Life is a conversation. Make it a good one.



This post originally appeared on Momastery.

What a Warm Washcloth Can Do

Willoree was watching Homeward Bound the other night. I was in the kitchen making an incredible meal during one of the best rain storms of my life and witnessed the raddest thing witnessed around here in a while...

Phoebe, two years old, was sitting perched on the sofa watching it, too -- but mostly she was captivated by Willoree, because Willoree gets so completely engrossed by movies and by life in general that her emotional response cannot be ignored. 

Willoree is six. Willoree is probably the most precious and deeply sensitive person I know, and she cried her eyes out at least five times during this movie. She cried when the cat fell into the river. She cried when the mountain lion was on the prowl. She cried a couple other times. She cried when the animals made their great escape from the pound (which, by the way, was totally pushing it emotionally in my opinion, Walt & Co. -- after all these animals had gone through and you're going to serve up that crazy mishap?) Anyway. At the end of the movie, Willoree cried tears of pure joy and relief when the old dog who we all thought died in the mud emerged out of the magical wood and greeted his BBF, the older boy who was seemed to be getting too old for miracles. She may have screamed, actually.

So maybe you can imagine this. Willoree with these three poor animals. Phoebe, bored by the animals but mesmerized and affected by her sister, who was mysteriously freaking out every 15 minutes.

So here's what made mama cry...and just explode with that feeling that all mothers feel on these wondrous and occasional intersections of simplicity, love and awareness. At about three cries in, Phoebe comes into the kitchen and tells me, in her broken choppy almost indecipherable language: "Mama. I'm going down the hall and will get a washcloth. I'm going to get a warm washcloth and take it over and wipe Willoree's tears from her face. I will help Willoree be happy."

I am remembering now that when I was a kid, seeing animals -- or bad things happening to animals -- impressed me more than bad things happening to people.

And we all went to bed in a pouring down rain, and the souls' of our plants grew 19' that night.

Showing Up, Crying Babies, What's Your Limit? Take Ten.

Just went back after the call: “Mama, Help Me -- !!”. This among Phoebe’s few clear expressions…well, not really but the babe still not talking a ton. She still seems so young to me! Like a little one. High vibrating, faster than me, Willoree, Ben…fast. Hummingbird purple speedy swift BIRD Phoebe fast. I go back. Hold her hand in the now dark night. Tuck her in for the 100^th time. She holds my hand fast to her heart. "My mommy. My mommy." She says. I tear up. And hold her so steady. And just kind of hang with the wisdom and knowledge that yes, I am her mommy. HUGE. Fucking HUGE. What does that even mean? I'm still learning what it means to have a mom.

And Willoree’s mommy, too! Now, a few years ago. That day that I was a total raging asshole, the day I was the best mom in the world…all these days. And all the days to come. What an occasion, to be showing in a life as MOTHER.

And I just cried a quiet little cry in that moment and was glad that I decided to come back and hold her hand and tell her, yes. I’m your mommy. Forever and ever and ever and ever. There was a shared moment. I felt the cortisol decrease on both our parts. Like and renewal of a love contract: an “I do” between mother and daughter. And all the frustration of a child who just won’t go the fuck to sleep melted away and now –

Of course!

She’s quiet. Oh, the irony.

Please note: this isn’t a recipe for quieting a child. Believe me. I’ve done these moves before and it hasn’t “worked”; kid’s either still screaming or I’ve been much, much more impatient and angrier than I am now. This is a story about an occasionally reluctant and OMG I NEED SOME ME TIME mother sharing a personal narrative about putting aside her own agenda once again...when I don't think I can do it ONE more time...and just showing up. So simple. I just showed up. Something happened, call it grace, call it? And I bet you've all had your moments JUST like these.

Ben is a master at this, by the way. MASTER.

Say Wha?

Am I getting old, or wast this annoyingly hard to get to all of a sudden given Google (PLUS)'s just balls to the wall go get em tiger take over the W W W prowling situation?

OK.

All about that for now.

Geez, guys, 1000000000004 and counting.

Perfect New Year's Day

My morning began quietly and out of town, then a chai.

Then surprise visitors, crayons, pencils, intention-writing.

A nice walk, some tears shed, an excellent unconventional dinner from South of the border.

I am so happy it's 2012. Welcome to whatever!

Authenticity, and Needlepoint for Men

From Wikipedia:

Roosevelt "Rosey" Grier (born July 14, 1932) is an American actor, singer, Christian minister, and former professional American football player. He was a notable college football player for The Pennsylvania State University who earned a retrospective place in the National Collegiate Athletic Association 100th anniversary list of 100 most influential student athletes. As a professional player, Grier was a member of the New York Giants and the original Fearsome Foursome of the Los Angeles Rams. He played in the Pro Bowl twice.

After Grier's professional sports career he worked as a bodyguard for Robert Kennedy during the 1968 presidential campaign and was guarding the senator's wife, Ethel Kennedy, during the Robert F. Kennedy assassination. Although unable to prevent that killing, Grier took control of the gun and subdued the shooter, Sirhan Sirhan.

Grier's other activities have been colorful and varied. He hosted his own Los Angeles television show and made approximately 70 guest appearances on various shows during the 1960s and 1970s.
As a singer, Grier first released singles on the A label in 1960, and over the following twenty-five years he continued to record on various labels including Liberty, Ric, MGM and A&M.^[1] His recording of a tribute to Robert Kennedy, "People Make The World" (written by Bobby Womack) was his only chart single, peaking at #128 in 1968.

Grier is known for his serious pursuit of hobbies not traditionally associated with men such as macrame and needlepoint. He has authored several books, including Rosey Grier's Needlepoint for Men in 1973. Grier became an ordained Christian minister in 1983 and travels as an inspirational speaker. He founded American Neighborhood Enterprises, a nonprofit organization that serves inner city youth.

---

A note from me. I love this man.

You never know when you're making an impression, good or bad. What you do and who you are matters -- whether you're big or small, public or private.

Be bold and unique, be yourself and relish in it. Take your 100 or so years on our little rock in the galaxy and what you do...and be proud of yourself.

Decisions to Be: Grateful

Since that last post I’ve felt gratitude, and I’ve felt not so much gratitude. For several moments I have been down on myself: I thought I was schizophrenic, or too moody. Was I really grateful, or what that a bunch of lip service? Where does being grateful go when it “goes away”?

I want to remind myself today that above all else, gratitude is a choice. And it’s a gift. And it’s closely related to the word grace, also a gift, also free. Both will get you back to feeling good in no time. And when things are looking bleak, it really helps to remember that we choose to be, or not to be, grateful.

There are two speeds in my life I’m interested in looking at this morning: the speed of my moods and emotional states, and the speed of the actual circumstances I encounter in my life. For the most part, and save the occasional drastic shift of life events, circumstances move slowly. They involve mass, inertia, other people; they are physical and dense and seem more or less “set”.

Circumstances can be things like a partner, a job, a home, mortgage payment schedule, your childrens’ personalities — and usually they don’t change, or not quickly at least. But moods do, and do again. My moods fly around fast like little birds, hopping from one tree to another, her feeder, his day-old bread, flitting from one neighborhood to the next, one view to the next. Does this sound familiar: I love my partner, I hate my partner. I am patient with my children, I am not patient with my children. I can afford to go out to lunch. No, no I shouldn’t go out to lunch. I am happy in my home, it’s perfect. I want to move; this place is too small for us. My moods migrate from one expansive emotional territory to another, and they’re as light — or as dark — as air. Quick. I move through them relatively fast, and I often don’t even know what causes, sustains or changes them.

I can (and have tried) to blame my crazy moods on my circumstances…but this logic is increasingly failing me, and this morning I’m getting hit over the head with this realization once again. Often times, the exact same circumstances that may piss me off on Tuesday can give offer peace and joy tomorrow morning. So it’s more and more clear to me that my moods and how I feel about things aren’t actually a direct by-product of my outer circumstances. The circumstances, remember, are SLOW, SAME. My moods are FAST, CHANGING. So what’s going on here?

This is the nature of the mind. The mind — maybe not yours, but mine — loves to get its panties in a wad about stuff. I remember how excited I was as a kid when I was allowed to get a soda at some fast food place. My favorite soda flavor was the suicide. Remember that? It was every flavor: Coke, Dr. Pepper, Sprite, Root Beer, Diet Coke (maybe), Lemonade. All in one cup. Totally gross, and yes: we called this a suicide. What an interesting name! A little of everything in one cup = suicide. This is what I feel like when I’m all over the place, spinning out, trying every flavor, compiling it all in one cup to drink. Enjoyable? Tasty? Not sure. Does feeling and thinking a hundred different thoughts which cancel themselves out and contradict one another taste delicious. I think not. The mind can make me feel crazy if I let it. To the inner state of peace that’s ever waiting just under the turbulence of my monkey monkey thoughts, it must feel a lot like a murder…

What I’m aware of, and what I’m practicing on any given day, is that I COULD, theoretically, choose to find something to be grateful for. No matter how my circumstances appear, no matter how they may compare to hers or his…I could choose to be grateful.

This morning, I’m grateful for an empty house. Some time to drink my coffee in silence. An allotted space in which to do my creative work, and get organized. The same things that put me into a black temper last evening, two afternoons ago, etc. haven’t gone away. But what were they again? Rather than feeling crazy, I will just assume that this is the mind’s play…the ongoing drama…that we’re all eventually going to see for what it’s worth. Mind stuff. Fluff. Ego. Me stepping out of the mystery, the miracle, and thinking that I’ve got how it “is” dialed.

God: let’s hope not.

I am grateful for perspective, choice and space today.

Peek up through something in your way and take a moment and ask yourself what you’re grateful for? Just one small thing can help turn the corner. It’s a choice, and a [FREE] gift.

Grateful

Yes: I have a belly full, some not much but some money, a loving husband, a nice dog who sheds too much, an old but functioning vacuum. I've got two door bell kids, and windchimes that are chiming outside my windows, open on this moonless, cold night, letting some fresh air inside and mingling with the heat coming off our new wood stove. One hard decision I made today was whether or not to continue with the iCal set-up, or move back to writing things down in the Quo Vadis. Analog, digital. Analog, digital. Really.

I note: if these are the kinds of things that are making me scratch my head what breed of fortunate am I not? It's easy to consider myself lucky a day after Thanksgiving. The gratitude pump is all primed and we're formally kicked into our season of abundance, overeating, extremes, intensity, socializing and -- ideally -- loving each other a little bit harder. For me, at least, it's a good time.

I've noticed, though, that my Thanksgiving seasons are getting longer, and longer and longer. They extend well into December and up until and through Christmas. I was at King Sooper's night before last and went up to greet all the cut down trees awaiting the crank down of dusty Christmas tree stands, dry heat, and neglectful watering. I inhaled their woodsy upbringing. I teared up and began laughing at the same time. I could try to explain, but I won't. Gratitude.

There's usually a little blip for me around December 25th where I'm American style psycho stressed and predictably straddling the love/hate line of the holiday season. Kids are helping me get over myself more and more. And then, after a lot of doing stuff, January comes and I'm grateful for the new evident longer days...detox, clean surfaces, new beginnings, that Quo Vadis I bought today. I have an intense invitation and impulse to de-clutter. I appreciate white walls, re-potted plants, simply steamed greens. I celebrate my birthday, I soak in hot springs with dear friends. And I reinvigorate my practices and good habits. January is a gentle, strange month. Somewhat of a let down, used to be, but actually quite welcome now.

And then comes pink and red and short snowy February. Valentine's Day is an easy target -- I used to detest it. But then I loved to hate it, I graduated to making fun of it, of lovers, of being a lover and calling myself "lover" and generally just overusing that word. But now I actually kind of love VD, and February, and making things your own -- that whole creative challenge. Feb 14 is my dad's anniversary and a day after my daughter Phoebe's birthday. It's such a short month, and wow: Black History month. Gotta love all of that. All months should be so lucky. And yes: OK. Here's March. Longer, dreary still, but crocuses start smiling nearby and my crappy hiking shoes are getting a breath of air, muddy soles, toe stank, some good fecund life stories.

School feels different for the kids, and there's usually a trip to take somewhere -- maybe this spring break we'll actually plan something? A little drive...a picnic somewhere new...at least sleep in regularly? Most people do this around now. I know what I'll be Googling tomorrow. In April, my other favorite month, Willoree will turn 6. It might rain some more. I love rain so much, maybe you do too?

I am beginning to plant rows of peas, Willoree will arrange them and sing to them. I am saving money for gardening things, cooking differently, and eventually I'll uproot (finally) last year's thick, neglected stalks of kale, collards, cauliflower. Weeds even seeming OK, welcome. If I have snow tires I might thing of taking them off, but that will be premature. I am grateful; life's running me at a pretty good clip. Where does the time go?

May is this harbinger of all things good, loud, yang to come. People are getting social, I notice. When I lived in NYC I called it boobie season. Warm weather comes and all the girls are wearing skimpy tank tops, and their breasts are bobbing all over the place as they walk, fast, all over the place. Probably more than 4 million girls = 8 millions boobies just out swaying in the springtime breeze. I guess I was one of them. Life's looking brighter. Days qualify as being long now, and we're all getting senior-itis in our own ways.

Perhaps Quella's shedding is under control. I am sleeping as well as ever, and eating and working and always feeling the balancing act that is my life. I am working out. I usually take out all the old Abraham recordings and give them a listen, a spring/early summer thing that has inadvertently become a regular thing with me. I am thrilled. Brewing. In love. Tilling. Planting.

Summer whirs, and I never know what summer will bring. It will pass too fast, but seem too slow while it's happening, much in the same way that parents I know have described their kids' childhoods. There will be teeth lost, words learned, miles traveled, new ideas let's hope and memories; aches and pains and a lot of laundry hanging on the line. Mosquito bites and fresh food, farmer's markets, small scrapes and overpowering heat and brown shoulders, more work, late nights, the sounds of box fans in the windows. Ben and I will paint the house, and read more chapters in more books...outloud, to each other, to ourselves. My practice is heavy and juicy and my hair is longer; I will wear new shoes that don't hurt my feet, throw the old ones out I've been wearing now for six years. I deserve some new shoes. I am so grateful. The whir of it all.

The fall comes and I breathe it in deeply. I think to myself: yes, fall is really my favorite season (even though spring comes and I wonder whether spring is actually my favorite season) and we celebrate Ben's birthday, our wedding anniversary, the little NM sunflowers that bloom for Ben and the splay of gnarly fucking 9" long grasshoppers are grossing me out hourly. I use Ben's September 5th birthday as a New Year's Day of sorts: a time to count my blessings, love him better, forgive myself all my asshole moments. I adore our setting, glowing and rich and flowers everywhere...colorful and abundant and home. I am aware and appreciative of the simplicity with which we operate and the complexities I can't seem to escape. I get the sheer retardation of my plodding. I drink some coffee, or tea, or a beer. Definitely good water. I stay curious about peak foods. I am uplifted, renewed, growing; I am still alive. And I'm grateful.

I moved to CO late October years and years ago and October's face -- a first snow, the smell of leaves against that impossibly blue sky, all the nuance of brown and tan around here, pumpkins lying around --  makes me twirl in my heart and head. I delight in the feelings of being in a new place, hopeful of a new relationship, living in a new home, another new beginning. October has become petting zoos, corn mazes, fundraisers at school and (by the way dear god please don't let me NOT buy a butter braid for Willoree next year or she'll be so, so sad) and going inside. I will head to Rebecca's more often. I crave sushi, retreat, and appreciate all over again the yoga retreat I was attending last year with my BBBBBBFs. I sell some of Angela's CDs and DVDs.

I will prepare for another November, as if it just happened yesterday -- and will not have lost sight of the "importance" of things like iCal vs. Quo Vadis. The ludicrous, sweet nature of being a human with planning and organization needs in the 21st century. The spirit underlying all of it, unchanging, unchanging. I sweep up dog hair. On my best days I am truly, deeply grateful. On my worst: I am overwhelmed, and forgetful of the shakti animating all, every, now. Even my lapses of awareness. The dog hair, like my soul, goes on. The CD is on repeat.

I might complain about clutter, have pant in wad when I'm running late. I have spent hours obsessing about which snow tires to put on my car. Dumb shit, life kind of shit. I peep down occasionally and realize that I'm a wealth of OK-ness. I'm one bad ass little boo bunny puja. Gratitude will not let up. 

We can time travel as needed. We do it all the time. We might try the Mexican-themed Thanksgiving next year, and we hope to see you there. Hott. I am hoping that you all are doing OK, and if you're not, you probably will be again. Not to make light of any of us. Maybe a little.

I am grateful right now for this doing pretty well state I find myself in, and I know that it won't last. I'll hit some more walls, fall down, hate and curse and feel oceans of self-pity again, probably. And I'll probably dear diary about that, too.

PS Ira Glass: thanks for bringing a cheer, again, to my hour.