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Seeing What Is Right in front of Us
We find ourselves by looking out at what looks back…
—Poet David Whyte in Lon’s Fort (Many Rivers Press, 2012)
As we celebrate the resurrection of the retaining wall out front,
meant to keep the dogs in and the water out, I take my daily walk.
Everywhere I look, I see walls…rock, metal, brick, vinyl, cement.
Some crumbling, some reinforced. Some peeling, some painted fresh.
Some leaning, some erect. Some clean and bare, some covered in growth.
Some walls are ornamental, some utilitarian. Some provide privacy, some protect.
Some are new; some are old…boundaries then, gardens now.
Some have spikes delivering a clear STAY OUT, some offer a deliberate way in.
Nothing says WELCOME like an open gate.
Together, the walls I see around me remind me of the the walls I’ve built inside me:
WHO were my walls meant to keep in and out?
WHAT do they look like from the other side?
WHEN did I build them and do they still serve?
WHERE do I let others through?
WHY do I keep my walls in place?
HOW can I reinforce them? HOW can I tear them down?
In the midst of all this, I see a wall doubling as a lost and found,
a pair of pink plastic sunglasses resting on top.
I wonder who left them and what adventure they were on.
I remember when our kids were young, the way walls inspired climbing, balancing, jumping…
simpler times for sure.
And so I walk on, a smile on my face, grateful that finding the answers isn’t always necessary,
that sometimes just seeing the questions is enough.
A Giant Lesson in Mindfulness
While friends welcome grandkids, we welcome grandpets. The spirited beagle and her three-legged feline sidekick have moved south, so this post is dedicated to Tula who turns three today.
A novice when it came to caring for giant breeds, I needed help coaching Tula’s Great Pyrenees instinct to scare off intruders like the pizza guy and UPS.
“If we consider a dog’s reactivity on a scale of zero to ten, the sooner we offer distraction from stressors, the more effective the intervention will be,” said Starla, the dog trainer, on day one. In other words, if we redirect Tula when she’s at level two arousal, we’re going to be a lot more successful than waiting ‘til she’s at seven, when gentle snowflake has become howling blizzard.
Sent home with the assignment to practice sit and heel and redirect attention at the first sign of reactivity, we set to work. Empowered with the tools of awareness and consistency, I was eager to take Tula on neighborhood strolls that were more intentional, less intense.
To this day, a year later, walks with Tula remind me of how I respond to my own rising stress: to her puffs I compare my held breath, to her stiff posture my clenched jaw, to her upright tail my hunched shoulders, to her low growls my deep sighs. So focused on what’s going on around me, I sometimes miss what’s happening inside me. It can take a cold sore on my face to remind me to shift focus. Like Tula, I benefit from noticing the initial signals so that I can redirect my energy before the stress boils over in unnecessary, ineffective, and even self-destructive ways.
In the midst of that first training session, I’d been incorporating mindfulness into my work.
“Mindfulness training involves the practice of bringing one’s attention to the present moment, to what we are doing and what we are feeling, without judgement…via simple exercises of breathing, body scanning, gratitude, and kindness towards oneself and others. The emerging data are promising, showing that children who participate in mindfulness programs show less anxiety, greater concentration and memory skills, and handle difficult emotions better.”—Johanna Calderon, PhD, Harvard Medical School, “Executive function in children: Why it matters and how to help,” (December 16, 2020).
As academic coach, noting the signs of a student’s stress and offering useful coping strategies are key; helping students to recognize the signs and use the strategies on their own, like the dog trainer did for me, can be life-changing. This means slowing the learning process down: checking in to see what’s up, naming the place the student may be getting stuck, stepping outside (literally and figuratively) for a breath of fresh air, offering company and encouragement, and doing my best to bring lightness and fun while also keeping it real, each step of the way (for a great coping strategy, see Dr. Kristin Neff’s Self-Compassion Break).
Recently, while getting to know a new student, I recognized once again the importance of learning how stress shows itself in others, so that we can offer support in a way that is timely. I don’t mean to suggest that mindfulness is easy. If my walks with Tula teach me anything, it’s that this is not a short-term fix, but a lifetime practice…one that ebbs and flows, and when committed to, can change everything.
There’s no question that Tula has good reason to react the way she does, to internal and external cues. We all do. The question is whether our reactions diminish or improve our quality of life. It helps to have others in our lives who gently and consistently remind us to take care of ourselves, so that we stay on the path and even enjoy the view.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TULA!
1, 2, 3…ready or not, here we come: Douglas the Rabbit’s Fall Field Trip
With autumn in sight, I’m eager to share another fun story:
The third book in the series, this one is dedicated to my cousin Margie (“Pea-Wea”) who fondly recalls Dad’s yarns and joins me on adventures of our own, making me laugh every step of the way (note above photo, circa 1976). I’m grateful for friends like her who offer encouragement while keeping it real, and also help me recall the details so that we can reminisce long after.
The drawings of Brown’s farm were inspired by Margie’s childhood home in Waterville, Maine, where we played all kinds of rambunctious games with her siblings, Andy and Beth. I appreciate how their parents, Uncle Bill and Ainty Joano, kept the doors open and the treats hidden… where we could easily find ’em!
Book Three merges these recollections with adult memories of R’s Farm of Mequon, Wisconsin, where my spouse and I took our own kids, year after year, for fun fall outings. I’m thankful, too, for the examples set by our bunnies, Mocha and Cocoa, who showed us how rabbits do what they do, and by our dogs, Bubby, Daisy and Yaz, who alerted us to visitors when the kids were young.
Here’s to the beauty of the upcoming season—can’t you just smell the warm apple pie?
PS: Click on the book to find it online, or go to your local bookstore and ask for it there. Enjoy!
Up next, just in time for Mom’s birthday: Douglas the Rabbit Makes Some Friends
Douglas the Rabbit is a character that my dad created when I was a girl. The first book, The Original Douglas the Rabbit Story, introduced Douglas and his adventurous spirit. The second book, Douglas the Rabbit Makes Some Friends, goes back to the previous spring to describe how Douglas befriends a bird, a skunk, a chipmunk, and a fox… a diverse group of animals, for sure.
While the first story stayed true to the story my dad told, this one reflects my own everyday adventures with my family and pets, especially our hamster Mischief who showed us how she could store treats in her cheeks.
And too, it reflects Mom’s GO FOR IT approach to new challenges – which I celebrate today, her 91st birthday.
Click on the book photo to find it on Amazon, or go to your local bookstore and ask for it there. Enjoy!
Introducing my next adventure: The Original Douglas the Rabbit Story
When I was young, I loved my dad’s Douglas the Rabbit stories. It’s probably no coincidence that I married a Douglas of my own. When our kids were little, I tucked them into bed at night with Douglas stories too. After my dad died, I decided to write his story down, illustrating it with colored pencils which were easy to use in the midst of our busy family life. I enjoyed this process so much I created three more.
When efforts to publish these stories proved unsuccessful–apparently, he’s not the only rabbit out there!–I tucked that goal away, along with the books, content to share them where I could: with my friend Pam who invited me to read to her second-grade class, with my niece Holly who took Douglas to Tanzania to share with kids there, and with my mom, Laures, who loved to peruse the unpublished books.
Little did my dad know when he made up those stories for us kids, that someday I’d share them with my kids. Little did I know that the stories I wrote to remember my dad after he died, and to save for our kids, would someday entertain my mom (see https://thejoyofcaring.com/2020/04/23/laughter-in-grief-showing-up-the-best-we-can-and-finding-hope-amidst-loss/).
We don’t always anticipate how our dots will connect, only that they somehow do. It’s just plain fun when things turn out all right, after all. In that spirit, I’m excited to offer The Original Douglas the Rabbit Story which celebrates the good things in life: adventure, nature, friendship, homecoming, and more.
You can find The Original Douglas the Rabbit Story at your local book store (just ask) and online at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Sherman’s Maine Coast Book Shops, and Bookshop (just click).
And there are three more on the way – Enjoy!
Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story is launched!
What I am letting go in publishing this book isn’t Mom; it isn’t my caregiving journey; it isn’t even all the reflection I’ve done along the way. What I am letting go is fear, the what ifs, the wish for one more do-over, choosing, instead, to let love fill our sails:
If you or someone you know is interested in reading Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story, it is available to order at your local book store (just ask) and also online at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Sherman’s Maine Coast Book Shops, IndieBound, and Bookshop (just click).
Thank you for your interest and I wish you and your loved ones many blessings this holiday season.
Letting Go, for real
As Lindy and I volley last looks at Living Is for Living: a Caregiver’s Story, I wrestle the same old same old: what if my words upset someone, what if there’s a glaring mistake, what if I’m oversharing, what if Mom wouldn’t like what I wrote?
“In the full realization of our repetitiveness, the best thing is to stop saying anything for a while, and in that saying nothing, something begins to break down and opens us up.”—David Whyte, September 2022 Series: Crossing the Unknown Sea, Life and Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity, Session 2
Heeding Whyte’s words, I quiet my anxious mind and observe:
- a dear friend, in reference to caring for her father, texts: “I remember you asking me, ‘how do I know when [Mom] is ready to let go’, and I told you ‘you will know because it will just happen naturally'”;
- another dear friend, in the midst of caring for her brother, asks about the book and when I share my concerns, offers the warmest of hugs;
- searching Mom’s things for the key to her safety deposit box, I discover Henry Van Dyke’s I Am Standing Upon the Seashore, describing a sailboat reaching the horizon: “Gone from my sight. That is all“; and
- I meet my brother Dave for breakfast and, still keyless, we make up fun stories about what we might find inside Mom’s box before he asks me about the book and advises me to let it go.
I do realize, all this writing has been a way I’ve continued to care for Mom, even after her death. This book has given me space to visit and revisit our lifetime together; it has helped me to grieve, process, and heal. It’s reminded me to laugh.
What if this next stage, publishing, is less about setting myself off for new horizons, and more about sending off the lessons I’ve learned? What if letting go is really more about handing over, and in so doing, setting free? What if I choose love, not fear? What if it’s all going to be okay?
As Van Dyke concludes: “Her diminished size is in me—not in her. And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
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