Diana's Blog: Quirky Words and Book Reviews

December 31, 2008
It is turning into 2009 around the world, and soon it will be the Pacific Northwest's turn. I am quiet today, not solemn, but calm, with gratitude pulsing through my veins. I am spending this New Year's Eve creating. I've been writing and rewriting my novel, and I just read THE VISION BOARD: THE SECRET TO AN EXTRAORDINARY LIFE by Joyce Schwarz, with the intention of beginning a vision board as I did last year on New Year's Eve. I have two large vision boards, and the other is from several years ago. That one has pictures of eyes and mentions of angels and promises of transformation. It is nearly impossible to measure, but I feel changed in those ways since I did that board -- I am aware, I feel magical, and I have transformed my life. I didn't realize until I was telling a friend yesterday what I'd be doing tonight that one of the few physical images I put on the board came true. There, on the bottom, is a silver Mercedes Benz. I traded in my 2000 silver Mustang with 162,000 miles this past January for a 1999 Benz with 55,000 miles. I just glued it on -- and it happened!
Schwarz suggests choosing images and words after meditation, or, onversely, choosing images from magazines that appeal to you, and then divining the theme.
A lot of the images haven't come true yet. Divine Timing is one reason. And, it's possible that I had been blocking the blessings. I put that in the past tense.
If nothing else, Vision Boards are fun to do. They access the left brain and joyfulness and reveal new information. Schwarz suggests gluing ticket stubs or making collages out of ragged pieces from magazines or any other impulse that grabs you. Oh, GRABS -- that's her succes realization system:
G for gratitude; R for release and receive; A for acknowledge and ask; B for be and believe; and S for share.
And when you're done with your vision board, display it proudly. I let my 2008 vision board curl over onto itself, where it was propped in my hallway on top of the stereo. Even if I did pass it dozens of times a day, I couldn't see it. Finally about two months ago, I noticed it all curled over and said "now what kind of message am I sending to the Universe about my desires?" And, I tacked up the laminated poster, and following that, each time I walked by, I would rub my hand over an area of the board. I felt drawn particularly to the passport, which I hadn't used in about four years. Just before Thanksgiving, I received a free trip to Barcelona where I hosted and produced a podcast.
Benz. Barcelona. There's magic in this process, if only to clarify your own personal destiny.
I can't wait to see what I find for my 2009 Vision Board. See you next year ;-)

Labels: book review., divine timing, manifesting your destiny, VISION BOARD: THE SECRET TO AN EXTRAORDINARY LIFE by Joyce Schwarz

December 30, 2008
Arielle Ford, the brilliant publicist who helped launch the careers of Deepak Chopra, Neale Donald Walsch, and Jack Canfield, talked with me this morning about using those same principles to find a soulmate. She says she was too focused on her career to be concerned about finding her soulmate until she was about 44 -- and then the light went on! She could use the very same visualization, meditative, and spiritual principles to find her man. And, they worked!
Arielle says there is no secret to THE SOULMATE SECRET -- the answers have been out there in many cultures for centuries. She simply scooped up the best ones and refined them to fit this particular dream goal -- finding her soulmate.
Big Love, she says, is possible.
She says Brian, her soulmate, wasn't as intentional as she, but he had actually dreamt about her, and he knew she was on her way. At the time, Arielle was working in a small office in California where the only men she saw were the FedEx guy, the mail carrier, and the water guy -- and they were all married. Turns out Brian was the man who was asked to go to the airport to pick her up when she came to town -- to Portland, Oregon -- to oversee a shoot with Brian's colleague. Kismet.
Oh, but she was ready. She'd done her Dream Board -- which some people call Vision Board or Treasure Map -- and she'd made her list of the qualities she wanted in a soulmate, and she'd written her goodbye letters to men she had loved, and she had severed their energetic cords, and she had forgiven herself for whatever we women and men do that need forgiving. And then...the trickiest part of all...she let go of all expectations. It was up to Divine Timing.
I thought about the "deserving" part of finding a soulmate -- did I really deserve to find my soulmate. I've been working hard on that, healing the emotional damage within. After our interview I mentioned to Arielle that I am doing EMDR, which she thought was terrific.
I found resonance with her message, and let it play on me the rest of the day. I hadn't really connected the dots that I might use her material midday in therapy.
When I get into my therapist's room, I decide I don't want to live in the pain anymore -- I've been dealing with the childhood rape, abandonment, parental alcoholism, neglect and the requisite reverberations for the past year and a half, and no matter what I take into the EMDR experience, I always find myself in the middle of yet another rape or violent situation. And, yes, these situations generalize after awhile, but -- today, I decide -- no more. Instead, I want to focus on my dreams and successes and -- win for a change. For a moment my child mind gets hung up on Success and yells NO NO NO! And, I'm aware that my "reward" for succeeding as a child was often another round of sex with my stepfather. This time, I choose another direction. And, we go into EMDR with a memory of a good, healthy feeling -- there is a visual, suddenly, it's the Blue Angel -- and I feel a warm buzz in my heart. Then I feel swaddled as a baby would be, and rocked, and I receive a vibration of healing. I can't sing it to repeat what I've heard, but I can hum it. And when I get home, I pull from the top bookshelf a crystal bowl, and I rub the rim, and it is that precise key. The bowl was a gift a decade ago, and as I recall, the tone is associated with the color blue and the throat.
When we are done with EMDR for the session, I am dizzy and I feel different. Welcome, my therapist says, to a new world.
A thought from my interview with Arielle returns, and she says Anyone can do it, find their soulmate. It just takes an open heart and an open mind.

Labels: angel, Arielle Ford, book review., EMDR, THE SOULMATE SECRET MANIFEST THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE WITH THE LAW OF ATTRACTION, transcending the trauma

December 29, 2008
I woke up really grumpy today, angry even, which rarely happens. Every day, I wake up to K.T. Tunstall's Suddenly I See, and fairly dance out of bed. Not today. Maybe it was the second half of dental surgery on the schedule. Maybe it was that my son Justin has gone back to California. Maybe it was that I don't know what the future will bring, but I damn sure hope 2009 is better than 2008 -- like most Americans these days.
So I journaled, and I prayed for insight, or a magical shift in mood, or an inspiration.
And, it came. First thing this morning, actually.
I interviewed Peggy McColl about her newest book BE A DOG WITH A BONE: ALWAYS GO FOR YOUR DREAMS. We warmed up with a few basic questions and answers -- what's the book about, what sparked the idea, what are some of the life lessons, what if you don't have a dog to model these lessons for you? And suddenly we were on fire. It's okay, she says, if you have some really crappy moments -- it's what you do after that that counts. You can't wallow in it, unless you love feeling crappy, because you'll certainly attract more of what you're feeling. That point has always frightened me. Peggy says, hey we're human! We all have these low points. But we can take a lesson from dogs who get out of the doghouse -- of fear, doubt, and self-defeating beliefs. Peggy says it's a three-step process: (1) be aware, (2) decide whether the thought you are having helps or hurts you, and (3) switch to your new belief system. By the way, she bought a dimmer for her home and labeled it Faith, Confidence, Gratefulness, and Loving, and when she gets a little low, she switches it back up.
Peggy says "be a dog with a bone," and the bone is your goal -- be doggedly determined that you can succeed.
I love her comments about the leash -- you put a dog on a leash, and it is limited to the length of that leash. Push that little button on the leash to release more leash -- think positive thoughts and stretch past your comfort zone. I was on a very short leash as a kid -- call it terrorized, if you will. My comfort zone was about one-square-inch. As I grew older, except for in school and only when I knew the right answer, I did not talk. When my portfolio won me an assistant position in a NY fashion and beauty PR boutique agency after college, I struggled to even call up shops and order slide projectors for events. I fought back my fears each inch of the way, and have now interviewed thousands of famous people from U.S. presidents to authors to inspirational speakers.
One thing that helped this morning, was Peggy's comments about acting as if and paying attention to that inner knowing. Be a little dog with a big dog attitude, she says. Just know you have achieved your dream -- the mind, studies show us, doesn't know the difference between actually acting or feeling as if you are acting. And this attracts your dreams.
My favorite is Wag your tail. Even if you don't have a dog, you know that every dog wags its tail when it is happy and grateful -- and that's how to live your life.
Oh I feel so much better after that conversation. Thanks, Peggy. And, actually, the day got better and better. And the dental surgery? I found myself joking and even laughing in between the drilling.

Labels: BE A DOG WITH A ONE ALWAYS GO FOR YOUR DREAMS, book review, dogs, Peggy McColl, Suddenly I See, transcending the trauma

December 28, 2008
I'm writing this for you, if you've ever been sexually abused or raped or traumatized in any way. I read EMDR Essentials: A Guide for Clients and Therapists by Barb Maiberger today. I felt compelled, partially because some of my symptoms were showing up again -- feeling abandoned, left out, alone.
I've done EMDR twice in my lifetime, and it is magical. For some, when the trauma stems from a one-time event, the healing can happen in a session. For others, like me, when the trauma occurs numerous times daily and for a fourteen-year stretch, it takes longer to heal. And yet it is working. Snapshots taken of me by surprise no longer show fear in my eyes. Hearing loud sounds don't always make me jump "out of my skin" anymore. I can be socially intimate now with men and women without giving up my power, having sex, or freaking out.
What was wrong with me? PTSD from years of being raped by my stepfather from the age of four-and-a-half, his violent outbursts and physical abuse, my mother's suicide attempts, alcoholism, neglect and obliterating my real dad from my life -- my dad, his pictures, his name, and she changed my name to my stepfather's. My reclaiming his last name as mine -- Diana Page Jordan -- which is my birth name -- caused my mother to disown me. For the third time in my life.
The science behind EMDR -- according to EMDR Essentials -- is fascinating. That animal part of our brain that is preprogrammed to fight, flight or freeze -- the amygdala -- reacts instantly to trauma, and it lays down a track so the next time something similar occurs, the stress hormones are instantly released. The other amazing body reaction that occurs is that large amounts of cortisol are released -- and drive glucose -- energy -- to the muscles instead of to the hippocampus, which means the ability to remember is compromised.
This perfectly explains to me the first series of incidents that drove me to find a therapist to do EMDR -- at what I then thought was the happiest time in my life. My children were ages three and five, the approximate age I was when the rapes began, when my stepfather would come into my room at night. When my kids were young, my husband would come home just after midnight, and since I worked an early radio shift, I would have to wake up at 2:50am. He would flip on the hall light -- and I would wake up screaming. Amygdala -- responding to man's silhouette in the hall at my bedroom door.
EMDR -- Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing -- think of REM sleep -- looks like talk therapy with your eyes tracking your therapist's fingers moving back and forth, or you track a light bar. It isn't hypnosis, but the back and forth motion -- which mimics dancing and drumming -- has been used by many cultures to process traumatic memories. Maiberger writes that the motion has a calming effect on the nervous system and can short circuit the nervous system. Maybe that's why I have clung to my dance. Until about five years ago, I would go "out of body" when I danced, and not remember choreography. About that time, I instinctively recognized that I had the chance while dancing to rewire my brain, and now I love it.
I mentioned that I have been doing EMDR again. The first round was just to be marginally normal -- but I was protected by being a wife and mother. When I got divorced, I found that I was absolutely clueless about relationships. My friend Karen, bless her, emailed me daily five years ago after the divorce to give me the support I needed, and commented that I was about thirteen years old in this regard. She's still one of my best friends, btw.
I chose EMDR again because I felt I have too many self-limiting beliefs. And EMDR is helping me, again, to rewire. The book EMDR Essentials explains, too, how peak athletes and artists and others who experience success can reinforce their abilities through EMDR. This is the stage I am approaching, and I find it exhiliarating.
It is only this year that I can write about what happened without being retraumatized. And by telling, maybe I can connect with you, if you can't talk about it. EMDR isn't for everybody -- when you go in with that traumatizing memory, it is brutal -- but it is enormously healing. I believe there is a gift in every tragedy -- and the gift of my violent childhood is that I have lived to tell -- hopefully to help you.
Just writing this is calming me.

Labels: Barb Maiberger, book review., dance, EMDR, EMDR Essentials A Guide for clients and Therapists, transcending the trauma

December 27, 2008
Many months ago Arielle Ford emailed me and asked if I wanted to find my soulmate. Hell yeah. Inside I was feeling that I wasn't yet ready, that I needed to do more inner work. But I said yes and she gave me a special code to download her manuscript. Core to her work was a word Arielle had coined called Feelingization. You have to feel your vision of what you want in order to manifest it. You know where this leads -- the Law of Attraction. More in a moment on that.
Arielle -- who is an amazing publicist -- responsible for catapulting people like Deepak Chopra, Neale Donald Walsch, and Jack Canfield to the top of the New York Times best-sellers list -- decided to use the same techniques to find herself a soulmate. I remember years ago interviewing her about her book HOT CHOCOLATE FOR THE MYSTICAL SOUL -- in which Arielle included a story I wrote about my soulmate. Arielle made a lovely comment that her grandmother had told her there's a lid for every pot. Arielle uses the phrase in this book, too. I spent half my life with my soulmate, and discovered, sadly, that the choices we make also factor into relationships -- along with the faith, the destiny, and the preparation. A few months ago -- after five years of divorce -- he called me after a few beers and some wine, and said I love you. I'm sorry I lied to you and stole from you. I have to live with that. Today, he dropped the kids off and asked for a hug -- I said yes, and he groped me. We probably are soulmates still, but our life together is over, and has been over for five years. I cannot trust him.
I believe we each have many soulmates. And I am ready to meet the man now who is the lid to my pot.
Arielle emailed last week, asking me to interview her, so we'll be doing the interview next week. Her book arrived yesterday. In the meantime, I am curiously excited about this timing. I have done a lot of work on my belief system over the last year and a half -- through EMDR Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. After I got divorced, men commented on my highly sexualized nature and every man I was attracted to seemed to have addiction issues. I believed deep down that I wasn't deserving of a great partner and I believed that my dream man would leave after discovering who I really was -- seriously screwed up.
In other words: What do you believe about yourself when you're six and your real dad is beaten up by your stepfather; what do you believe about yourself when that stepfather threatens your real dad to never return again -- and he doesn't -- even if you do learn that your real dad tried every trick in the legal book to see you and have custody; what do you believe about yourself when your stepfather rapes you from the time you are four-and-a-half; what do you believe about yourself when you're a kid and your mother keeps trying to kill herself and disowns you; what do you believe about yourself when your mother drinks too much, ending up in the hospital and your stepfather punches holes in the walls; what do you believe about yourself when your mother says do all the laundry when you're six and I want to be your friend not your mother when you're eight and she ignores what the stepfather does to you?
I've had a lot of limiting, damaging self-beliefs to discover and replace. And, for the most part, I've done it. Every one of us has crappy beliefs, and that's one of the key places Arielle starts in the book that grew from that manuscript THE SOULMATE SECRET: MANIFEST THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE WITH THE LAW OF ATTRACTION. Arielle has many success stories in the book, and I know she was hoping I might be one. I just wasn't ready then. Now I am.
The beliefs you live are beacons -- attracting whatever matches. I've read elsewhere that this is because of a part of the brain stem called the reticular activating system -- RAS -- which basically sorts for what you set out as intention. No wonder I was attracting addicts -- that's what I thought I deserved. No no no, honey, I'm ready now for the genuinely good guy -- fit, six-sensory, attractive, successful in a field he loves, a strong libido, expressive/communicative, healthy mentally, physically, spiritually, loves being with me whatever we're doing, PDA -- public displays of affection -- is OK with him, he creates space for me in his life, is available and heterosexual -- and a plus would be if he's a great dancer with a great voice. I am feeling it now!
Arielle found her soulmate, Brian, the same way she promoted authors -- Law of Attraction. I've met Brian, and he is handsome and wonderful in so many ways -- perfect for Arielle.
Arielle's book, while well-written, is not the kind of book you just read through and put down -- there are exercises throughout that you must do in order to manifest your soulmate.
One of those is the Treasure Map -- you clip photos and words from magazines that resonate with you and paste them on a poster board. Mine is tacked up in the hallway, where I pass it dozens of times a day.
I am excited that the opportunity has presented itself -- again -- to attract my soulmate.
And it suddenly occurs to me that the Treasure Map I created -- containing pictures of happy men and women together -- might have put out into the Universe my serious desire to find my soulmate.
I'm feeling it!

Labels: Arielle Ford, book review, Deepak Chopra, feelingization, HOT CHOCOLATE FOR THE MYSTICAL SOUL, THE SOULMATE SECRET MANIFEST THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE WITH THE LAW OF ATTRACTION, transcending the trauma

December 26, 2008
In a few days, I'll be interviewing Peggy McColl about her new book BE A DOG WITH A BONE: ALWAYS GO FOR YOUR DREAMS. So I read the book -- a tiny thing at just over one hundred pages, and those pages are packed.
What strikes me first is the chapter on Dogged Determination. Peggy McColl lists several examples of dreams and the final one resonates deeply with me. I've been thinking lately that I am not focused on one goal, and I must be. This chapter speaks of figuring out your dreams and being as determined as that dog with a bone. That example reads I am a New York Times best-selling author. I am known throughout the world in a very positive way, as well as being highly respected in my business. My work is making a positive and beneficial contribution to the lives of millions of others.
Just as my eyes light on that paragraph and connect with my memoir which I wrote this past year and which is with my literary agent...just at that very moment that the thought becomes a feeling connecting with my passion...just as I smile with recognition that her words work for me...a message pings in.
It is from Richard Evans. I interviewed Rick last week about his book GRACE, about a girl who was raped by her stepfather, and I revealed to the author -- as I did in a book blog on this very site a few days ago -- that my childhood was much like Grace's. And Rick asked me to send him my manuscript of my memoir BookMark:Life-Changing Secrets I Learned from Interviewing Authors, which I did a week ago.
I find it fascinating that incidents beyond our control occur at perfect moments, supporting us when we declare our dreams. Suffice it to say his email is positive, and I have goose-bumps at the timing.
The second I connect with my intention, an email affirming my choice pings in. The Universe/God works that fast. The content of the email matters less in this situation than does its timing -- it indicates to me that I am on course.
It is magical to declare your intention.
Years ago when I interviewed Chuck Palahniuk about his book LULLABY, asking him about magic, and he said it was really about intention, and that, at a New Year's Eve party years earlier when his first book was out, he had declared what he called a ridiculous goal that FIGHT CLUB, which had not even sold out its first printing would become a New York Times best-seller. It did become a best-seller, and Chuck has knocked them out of the park every time since.
Intention, Chuck calls it.
Magic, I call it.
Dreams, Peggy calls it -- and I'll have more on this Monday.
Know what you want. And then doggedly hold onto your dreams.

Labels: BE A DOG WITH A ONE ALWAYS GO FOR YOUR DREAMS, Chuck Palahniuk, dreams, FIGHT CLUB GRACE, intention, LULLABY, magic., Peggy McColl, Richard Paul Evans, transcending the trauma

December 25, 2008
Merry Christmas from the frozen tundra that is the Pacific Northwest! It is comforting to remain inside, warmed by the heat -- if you have power -- and warmed by family. I feel compelled to look at THE CURIOUS WORLD CHRISTMAS: CELEBRATING ALL THAT IS WEIRD, WONDERFUL, AND FESTIVE, once the gifts are unwrapped, and my sons have gone to their father's apartment. The book is packed with facts -- chosen by a man who once appeared as an elf, which explains the sardonic edge to the entries. Here's one about stress -- Niall Edworthy writes that the very time of year that is supposed to bring us peace and happiness -- doesn't. Instead, studies show that 85-percent of people show significant symptoms of stress while Christmas shopping, and 14-percent of us feel stressed by our neighbors' outdoor light displays. Christmas shopping raises our heart rates, shuts down body functions like our digestive systems and leaves us physically and mentally exhausted, according to Neil Shah of the Stress Management Society. Why? You get particularly stressed when you feel powerless. Which means tomorrow -- the new Black Friday -- will be phenomenally stressed! A lot of people couldn't get out of their homes during the past week because of the snow and ice to go Christmas shopping. I'm guessing there are going to be a lot of food, beer, and wine returns to Costco, due to all the canceled parties.
I'm writing this to acknowledge the darker feelings we might have -- it's doubly stressful to feel like everyone else is managing perfectly when you're dealing with cabin fever, company that can't come, and family moods. So, take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. You've got company. Lots of it.
My sons slept in until 2pm today, Christmas Day. I let them, since one of them had struggled with detours, weather, canceled flights and lost bus drivers trying to get from the Bay area to Portland. He loved everything, was charmed by the bird book I got him -- he's an ecologist -- and the sophisticated watch, among other gifts. My other son was obviously struggling with the depressive end of the bipolar swing dance he does, and so he didn't like anything. Maybe later, he will. My inability to please him reminds me of my inability to please my mother.
She is schizophrenic, alcoholic, suicidal, and neglectful, allowing my stepfather to sexually abuse me from the time he came into the family, when I was four and a half. And she has disowned me at least three times, the latest abandonment has lasted close to twenty years and doesn't show signs of stopping. I send messages -- phone, she hangs up on me; email, unanswered; cards, disregarded. Family stuff is tough.
And now I see that Eartha Kitt has passed. I love her song Santa Baby, and I saw her as a mentor, maybe even a mother figure. I interviewed her in 2001 when she came to Portland to appear as the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella about her book REJUVENATE! I arrived at the theatre, and was met backstage by Jaki, Kitt's personal manager, who said she doubted I could do the interview, because Kitt was in quite a state. Eartha Kitt was so upset, they weren't sure if she would go on that night -- and it was opening night. Jaki finally decided to see if the former Catwoman would talk to me. The answer was a guarded yes. I was told, as I was escorted to a dressing room backstage, that since it appeared the show would be canceled tonight, they might as well see what would happen. I was interviewing Eartha Kitt for my book show on AP Radio, and maybe, they reasoned, she would like that.
Eartha and I were introduced, and left alone. As I pulled out my mic and tape recorder, I chatted with her, subtly letting her know that I had read her book and that I resonated with her message. As we got rolling, her answers got longer, and she turned and held my interested gaze, and we connected at a deep level, of dance, and audience, and abandonment. Her mother had likewise abandoned her, an issue that continued to haunt her -- Eartha Kitt found her love in the audiences.
The show did go on. Later that night after the show -- which was wonderful -- I saw Eartha Kitt again at the cast party. I was intercepted by her manager, who pulled me aside and showered me with gratitude. Jaki told me that after I left, Eartha Kitt was animated and glowing and absolutely wanted to do the show -- and she thanked me.
My sons just got home -- they are loving and spirited and they shovel the ice from the path to the doorway so I won't slip when I leave the house at 3:30am for the radio station. The stress is alleviated.
Maybe my mother refuses to open her heart to me, but there is love in the world, and every day, especially Christmas Day, I will give it and find it.

Labels: ., Christmas, Eartha Kitt, Love, mental illness, Niall Edworthy, REJUVENATE, THE CURIOUS WORLD OF CHRISTMAS, transcending the trauma

December 24, 2008
It is Christmas Eve on one of the longest weeks I've experienced in recent years. The snowy, icy weather has tripped up plans for everyone. Only those who slide along -- as if their psyches are dancing on ice -- are enjoying themselves.
My son Justin -- who would have flown into Portland Oregon Monday afternoon -- with whom we would then get a tree, after which he would be the guest of honor at a surprise birthday party -- instead flew into Seattle late Monday night, stayed with a friend and took the Greyhound into Portland last night. He got in at midnight, and I picked him up. I got two and a half hours sleep, then drove at 3:15am through the treacherous snow and ice, through ruts and over berms, to my radio station, and reported on traffic all morning, a couple more hours than I'd expected. Slide, baby, slide.
I re-invited his friends for this afternoon -- and if he hadn't seen the birthday cake I'd baked for him and hid in the garage when he was starving after the flight, and scrounging for food -- he would have been completely surprised. He was, however, completely delighted. And we had a houseful of kids and my friends for a few hours this afternoon...as I chug along on two and a half hours sleep.
As I wait for my sons to finish their Christmas shopping tonight, I look through a beautiful journal of Susan Seddon Boulet's transformational art. It is a dream journal, dressed up with quotes from dream experts and wise people, among them Anne Frank. It is fitting. We're into Hanukkah, into winter, into Christmas Eve -- a time of magic and miracles. Anne's words in THE COMPLETE DREAM JOURNAL by Laynee Gilbert are captured this way:
I want to write. But more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried in my heart.
What a gift was Anne Frank. Every young girl read her words, wanted to be the girl who wrote those words, not for the horror her soul had to endure, but because she was so effervescently wise, so accepting of her tragedy. A snowstorm is no big deal, and changes in plans are nothing.
In this journal, Virginia Woolf is quoted:
It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.
Driving for hours, staying focused in the moment, I find that I can enter a more relaxed state, as well, almost a dream state. There can be no judgment when we are dropped so deeply into that which is unfolding. I wouldn't call it white-knuckling. For me, driving through the challenging ice and snow allows my subconscious to play in, too. For one thing, I keep praying in that open way that feels more like I suddenly have unseen partners in my journey. I feel safe, in God's hands, and suddenly, drifting to the top, comes my submerged truth. That these past few days, I simply accept what is happening, without judgment, and I slide, not on ice, but on truth, skating and twirling with the knowledge that whatever is, is the reward.

Labels: Anne Frank, book review, dreams, Laynee Gilbert, THE COMPLETE DREAM JOURNAL, truth., Virginia Woolf

December 23, 2008
This is an anniversary date. Twenty-seven years ago today I had a near death experience. I've written about it before, but I've danced around in the glittering details, and detoured its core meaning.
And tonight I opened THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO GREAT QUOTES FOR ALL OCCASIONS, edited by Elaine Bernstein Partnow to lines from a poem, Renascence, by Edna St. Vincent Millay, dated 1907.
The soul can split the sky in two
And let the face of God shine through.
I let those lines play over and over as if I'm listening to those words, words which illuminate a defining experience in my life.
Before, I was wild, driven, and cut off from who I really was. The Near Death Experience cracked my world in two, and I did see the face of God.
It was 2:50pm December 23rd, 1981, in the year I'd married a man I believed to be my soulmate -- we stayed together 22 years and had two sons. We were both in radio, partied hard, and sometimes I would still be loaded the next morning when I went on the air, having not slept much, if at all. He would say to me I sounded great, and what he meant was, relaxed. I wanted children, but didn't know where and when I would fit them in. I was taking the pill, and didn't really have time yet. I had a career to quickly climb.
It was two days before Christmas, and he took me to lunch at a nearby restaurant -- we had the usual, a drink or two, and were headed back to the radio station on Front. What was odd, was that for days I had had a sense of doom when in the little pickup, feeling an accident about to happen. Finally -- the day before -- I let go of the feeling. Just as we passed the intersection with Market, with virtually no warning, a truck, loaded with lumber hit the bed, inches from where I sat in the passenger seat. I didn't have a seatbelt on, since I'd been in a total six months earlier, and the seatbelt exacerbated my injuries, hurting my hip. In 1981, seatbelts weren't the hot political issue they were to become. I have worn a seatbelt every day since. But that day, the lumber truck, which, having lost its brakes in the tunnel, about twelve blocks away, up a hill, careened right into us. The driver was later praised for guiding his deadly missile away from vehicles all those blocks. But it was my destiny. He hit, and we spun, the little black pickup spun around and around, and I flew up and out of my body.
I was light, light as a feather. I was liberated. I flew lightly up and about, looking down to my left, where I saw my husband, about the size of a toy, shaking his fist to the skies. There was a metallic cord attaching us which was not severed in this adventure. It was perhaps this cord which tethered my soul to my body, ultimately. I was so happy! Light of heart. Joyous. I danced gently upward in a tunnel of light, seeing scenes from my life. Then, pausing, I was standing as if on a cloud, before a long wall of stone with a river below it. My grandmother was at the edge of the wall, and my grandfather to the right. I felt frustrated that the wall kept me from seeing heaven. My soul knew what was to come, that I would be going back, and it was too early for me to see that knowledge that the wall obscured. I laughed gently and accepted that information without judgment. It was no surprise to see my grandparents together -- although their deaths came thirty years apart, they were soulmates.
The night my grandmother died, about five years before this December afternoon, I was driving through Iowa to Indiana for a wedding, in a day before cell phones and answering machines. As I drove through that night, the sky in front of me was illuminated and my grandmother's face was there. Cheek to her cheek was my grandfather, and a circle of flames wreathed their faces. She said, "Like two fires foraging the space around us, we've swallowed the last detail." I remember it still. It wasn't until a few years ago that I read about Plato's Twin Flames, and realized that is the vision they sent me.
"What do you want to do," my grandmother asked. And I knew she had to ask --it was the rule. And I, as if reading from the same script, said, "I want to go back." As I said the words, pictures passed quickly, among them, of my children -- yet unborn.
Whereas I left my body gracefully and lightly and joyously, I landed back in my body with a thunk. I noticed first, that my wedding ring had been flung off in the impact. Then I went out of consciousness. When I came to again, I was in surgery, asking the doctor wielding the needle, if I would look like Frankenstein. I heard that I wouldn't -- despite 66-stitches on my forehead and scalp and broken nose -- and when I came to, I was back home. I was in and out of consciousness for about a month. I had been in a dance company before -- an African dance, choreographed in Katherine Dunham's technique -- but I had to relearn how to move my body. I couldn't observe the teacher and know what side of my body to move, for example.
The before and after was remarkable. What I had learned in those moments suspended between life and death and life, gave me a life. I slowed down, quit drinking. I now see and hear in color. I see auras and sometimes other lifetimes. I am more open, and information comes in, predictions, if you will. It is now a joyous, trusting, incredibly honest and unrushed landscape within. The key is to be that soul who took that ride into the skies. When I find that sweet spot, oh my God, it is powerful. It is the face of God.
Another quote in the book from WICKED by Gregory Maguire -- Oh, everything is gorgeous once it's gone.
Ah! But what if you can bask in that gorgeous place...and then come back! That is a blessing and a gift. And, this Christmas, I will remember again, how fortunate I am to have been to that land of light, and to have come back with some of the light.

Labels: dance., Elaine Bernstein Partnow, Katherine Dunham technique, NDE, near death experience, THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO GREAT QUOTES FOR ALL OCCASIONS, transcending the trauma, WICKED

December 22, 2008
Perfect title for a book -- NOT QUITE WHAT I WAS PLANNING. At least it fits what's going on here -- it's Christmas week, of course, and in the Pacific Northwest, everyone's plans are going topsy-turvy -- along with dozens of vehicles. After all these years of wishing, we are going to have a White Christmas. It comes at a price. The Portland metro area has very few snowplows. It's been snowing heavily since Saturday, and I haven't seen a plow yet. It's snow pack, covered with ice, covered with snow. Absolutely gorgeous! I grew up with snow like this in the New York City suburbs -- and I know this snow!
But the planes aren't flying, and relatives are stranded far from their families, and vehicles are slipping into ditches. This calls for creativity -- because patience is an infrequent commodity, and getting less so.
So here comes NOT QUITE WHAT I WAS PLANNING: SIX-WORD MEMOIRS BY FAMOUS & OBSCURE WRITERS, edited by Smith Magazine.
Here they come:
Did I miss a deadline again? -- Bruce McGill
(That's how I feel -- after this, I have to write and produce my third podcast, after getting up at three and being on the air till noon, after four hours sleep, after ten hours on the air, after driving several times in the deep and slippery snow. It's been a day...or so.)
Oh but here's one that lifts my spirits:
The day just kept getting better. Jeff Cranmer
Have to laugh at this one -- if Jessica Reed hadn't written it, I should have:
She read too much...into everything.
Oooh, and this:
Hid for a while. Not anymore. Ginger Voight. That resonates.
And the playful beautiful Elizabeth Gilbert's memoir goes like this:
Me see world! Me write stories!

What a great challenge -- to write a memoir in six words.
Okay, I'll take the challenge. Let's see what pops to mind:

Wonderful world -- with the right lens.

Oh -- and here's another one:

Angels decorate my heart -- I live.

Labels: book review, change of plans, edited by Smith Magazine, Elizabeth Gilbert, memoirs, NOT QUITE WHAT I WAS PLANNING SIX WORD MEMORIS BY FAMOUS AND OBSCURE WRITERS, snowstorm, transcending the trauma

December 21, 2008
I tucked SIXTY SECONDS in my large purple tote bag not too long ago, and I sample the stories -- plucking them one by one from the book like a favored treat I am saving for a special occasion. Phil Bolsta's book is packed with gems -- life-changing moments in the lives of people who then become famous for the inspiration they provide the rest of us. Spiritual messenger Neale Donald Walsch, Father of Motivation Wayne Dyer, author Gregg Braden, alternative medical pioneer Deepak Chopra -- are among those who tell their stories through Bolsta. I must admit, having interviewed most of these people, I know these stories...but to read them again, and take them back into my heart, is inspiring, enlightening, memorable. And I appreciate what Bolsta has done.
One of my favorites was a pivotal moment in Dr. Janis Amatuzio's life -- she tells the first time one of her patients reported dying -- and coming back. It is with a sense of amazement and suspended disbelief that the coroner listens to the patient -- and it radically changes how she listens to all her patients -- and their families. The man -- extremely obese -- struggled with a condition that sent blood clots to his lungs. As she started a catheter, he began to tell her about his death. He told her that he floated out of his body through the top of his head into a beautiful light -- but he also saw the man in the bed next to him -- and they talked telepathically. The other man died of a heart attack. Dr Amatuzio's patient says he saw the doctors work frantically on both men, and only one came back.
The one who died -- saw all his loved ones and the beautiful lights and the sense of peace -- was forever changed. His body hurt, sure. He had suffered a heart attack. But from that moment, and even now, he is filled with peacefulness and sense of purpose. His doctor didn't believe him, but Amatuzio did, and it made her a compassionate coroner -- one who could hear the families of the victims she examined talk of seeing the spirits of their loved ones.
Scientists are taught to measure, to investigate, to use their five senses. But what of their sixth sense? Kudos to Amatuzio to opening to embrace what her patients tell. She listened to me, too, when I told her of my near death experience.
It was two days before Christmas when I was 28-years old, newly married, and my husband was driving our new pickup on Front through Portland. A lumber truck lost its brakes in the tunnel, up Market Street, some twelve lights up a hill. The truck hit the bed of the truck, right behind where I was sitting. We spun around and around and around, and I flew out of my body -- through a tunnel of dazzling white light. My body stayed in the truck, my head smashed into the windshield, cutting me down to the skull, breaking my nose -- ultimately, it would take 66 stitches and surgery. But my spirit traveled up and out of my body, and I saw my husband -- we were attached by a metallic cord -- shaking his fist at the heavens, and I saw music the color of the rainbow, and I saw my grandparents who had died many years before. My grandmother asked me "What do you want to do?"
It was as if the lines were already written, and we were just reading them.
"I want to go back," I said -- as images of children -- not yet born to me -- floated through my mind.
"Okay, we will help you," she said.
And suddenly I was back in my body -- it was so heavy. The first thing I noticed -- the impact had knocked off my wedding ring.
I lost consciousness again, and when I came to, I was on a surgeon's table being stitched up. I said with a laugh in my voice,"I hope I won't look like Frankenstein."
And then I was out again.
This would happen numerous times over the next few weeks, and when I came to, I, too, had a sense of peace and purpose, and mostly, how absolutely wonderful life really is.
I've told this story many times, but only today it struck me that that near death experience with its immersion into absolute joy was a wonderful Christmas gift.

Labels: book review., Christmas gift, consciousness, near death experience, Phil Bolsta, SIXTY SECONDS, transcending the trauma

December 20, 2008
It's getting Christmasier and Christmasier. In Portland, Oregon, thick plump snowflakes have been falling for two days. The snow is about a foot deep in the suburbs where I live. Never mind that in the early morning, I somehow have to drive to the radio station thirty miles away to tell people about traffic conditions.
My next-door neighbor just knocked on the door to tell me the snow has changed to freezing rain. I feel lit up.
The Christmas music is playing non-stop on five-discs while I read THE PAPER BAG CHRISTMAS. It's written by Kevin Alan Milne. I've not yet met him, but, on an unsnowy day, he would live ten minutes down the road. It's a slim, elegant Christmas novel with a story so perfect, I almost don't want to spoil it by talking about it.
Long pause.
It's about two kids who don't believe in Santa any more, and when their parents take them to the mall to tell Santa what they want for Christmas, they meet the most unusual Santa ever. He tells them they won't get anything on their list. Instead, they'll receive everything they never wanted. And, then he talks them into helping him out at the local hospital in the children's ward where most of the kids have received a death sentence.
I read the book in one long gulp and a bucketful of tears.
Something has shifted deep inside me -- it has taken all year to come to fruition. But, this is the first Christmas I've not felt worried that things I plan won't happen. I'm loving what is: Lovely conversations with strangers and neighbors, adventures that take me down different roads, books I might not ordinarily read fall into my hands.
THE PAPER BAG CHRISTMAS. It is perfect.
I might not wait for the snow to melt before I meet Kevin Alan Milne.
He made me believe in Santa again.
It is a magical time of the year.

Labels: book review., children dying of cancer, hospital, Kevin Alan Milne, magic, Santa Claus, THE PAPER BAG CHRISTMAS

December 19, 2008
What Richard Paul Evans tells me this morning during our interview, I find chilling. I knew, but I didn't know. He says his new Christmas book GRACE was sparked by a conversation with a social worker during the 1960's.
Richard has been investing heavily in healing abused kids since his first book THE CHRISTMAS BOX became a huge hit. A personal investment, as well, working with abused kids and talking with caseworkers. This particular social worker told him several years ago that there were a lot of good girls on the streets in the early 1960's. Why. Simple. They were abused, and they split. Grace's character was based on them.
GRACE is written through the eyes of a man whose life was changed irrevocably by a teenage girl who turns up, dumpster-diving, at his burger joint job when he was a teenager -- and he takes her home, hiding her in the clubhouse he and his brother share in the backyard. Grace finally reveals her secret -- that her stepfather is sexually abusing her. The book is painful, and Richard says it's hard on some readers, but -- and I'm saying this -- damn it, it's true! These things happen, and to not look, to not pay attention, to not say stop, is to destroy these girls even more. Grace didn't tell -- same reason I didn't tell -- because no one -- back then, especially, would believe that men would rape their stepdaughters. It is beyond evil. The ending of GRACE is not pretty -- no, no spoiler here -- but the chance for redemption is in GRACE.
Notice when a little girl seems precocious, when she flirts and wiggles on men's laps, and if you weren't paying attention, you'd think she was a grown woman. Yeah, there she is. Talk to her. Let her know you will listen with your heart.
I was four-and-a-half when my stepfather started raping me -- the violence forced my internal organs out of place. I remember the night before my first gyn appointment, when I was a teenager, my mother and stepfather spoke directly to me "If your hymen is broken, tell the doctor it's because of all the gymnastics you do."
Who says that to their kid?
I didn't run away like Grace did. Why not. I knew New York -- that's where I would have headed. I saw the whores, and I knew that was my fate if I ran. But my grandmother lived in the city, and it would have been logical to live with her, but how would I explain it. I couldn't put words to any of it -- I'm still like that -- if it's traumatic or deeply emotional, I retain the feeling and the pictures, but I have trouble saying the words. Back then, instead of running away in body -- oh, I tried once, ran off one Sunday with a few books and the fat newspaper, and no extra clothes, and it wasn't worth it -- so instead of running away in body, I would go away in my mind. Or the angels would come take me away. And, now, so many years later, the damage remains, and I heal stitch by stitch, creating new memories, new loves, new neural pathways. And sometimes I fall back into that horrible black hole of terror of my childhood, and it takes magic, someone loving, great strength to pull out and snap back into being me.
And when I read GRACE, my heart rips apart again -- for all those little girls.
Notice.
Read GRACE.

Labels: book review., Christmas, GRACE, rape, Richard Paul Evans, social workers, stepfather, tell the truth, transcending the trauma, whores

December 18, 2008
Strange foods are appearing in my kitchen. Pistachios. Clementines. Feta-stuffed olives. My sweet tooth drives me to the clementines because I -- thankfully -- have no M&M's in the house, and -- shockingly, I find that I love those little orange globes.
I have a very small food vocabulary, and am fearful of eating anything that is untouched in the refrigerator -- food that I buy intending to eat better. That fear is leftover from a childhood where it was wrong to break into anything new -- the food might have another purpose -- and it was wrong to eat anything that wasn't designated for children only, like cereal and peanut butter. And, frankly, it was wrong to eat anything that wasn't given to us -- God forbid we ate the last of something. Maybe there wouldn't be enough food. We drank powdered milk.
One food that I asked for every Christmas -- and I received -- was M&M's. Consider the M&M. Colorful. You chew them, biting through the sweet, crunchy skin, hearing the crunch in your jaw, and tasting the luscious chocolate inside, the sweetness a reward seldom found. No wonder I freaking love(d) M&M's.
But I musn't. I have Diabetes Type Two -- diagnosed three summers ago -- despite exercising six days a week, despite a petite frame that carries the right BMI. A few little miracles have guided me to a place where I'm beginning to "get it." For example, the week in Barcelona just before Thanksgiving -- my blood sugar was perfect every meal -- despite eating bread, chocolate, cake. I got on the plane and had their "diabetic meal" and my blood sugar doubled into the highly-unacceptable range. My little miracle was a conclusion that processed foods are killing us in the US, and that olive oil is very good for us, and that bread and cake aren't necessarily bad.
Another little miracle -- I had a blood test to find which foods I am sensitive to and discover a number of my "favorites" on the list, but it makes sense when I consider how I feel after I drink coffee, eat cottage cheese, or have egg whites.
So it's with this mind set -- hopefulness -- that I pick up JOY'S LIFE DIET: FOUR STEPS TO THIN FOREVER. I interviewed Joy Bauer about one of her earlier books -- she is freshly vibrant, petite, and pleasant, maybe even formerly shy. I like her instantly. And I find her believable.
Joy's LIFE diet, by the way, stands for Look Incredible, Feel Extraordinary.
She's got great before-and-after photos in the book -- people who have lost more than 200-pounds and are now running marathons!
I flip through her book, looking at recipes -- she has food plans. Breakfasts are all interchangeable with other breakfasts, and lunches for lunches, dinners for dinners, but you can't, for example, eat a breakfast for dinner. She's got dressing recipes and teriyaki recipes and lots of treats to eat. My doctor told me this week, I should try eating gluten-free -- gluten is roughly defined as highly-processed wheat. This knocks just about everything off my list. I buy a yam, cook and mash it -- and find it's very tasty -- even without the cup or so of brown sugar I used to pour over it. I'm looking through Joy's recipes, now, and feel like I could do this! She even has a puttanesca recipe -- I love puttanesca! A little bit of planning ahead -- like take a shopping list to the grocery store -- and I can do this!
Meeting this challenge will be not unlike taking the chains off my car late this afternoon, when all the snow and the forecasts for ice had gone to mush. I didn't think I could get the chains off by myself, but with a little guidance and a little confidence, it worked. Take a risk, get a little dirty, move it and be healthier. You can do it, Joy insists. I'm going for it! You?

Labels: book review., childhood, diabetes Type 2, Joy Bauer, JOYS LIFE DIET FOUR STEPS TO THIN FOREVER, LIFE diet, Mediterranean diet, recipes

December 17, 2008
It's in this book. It has to be. Yesterday I opened up THE ORDER OF THINGS to an answer I've long been seeking. And today, I've been through -- I believe -- every page in the book, and cannot find the same fact. No wonder. THE ORDER OF THINGS is jammed with facts. The author, Barbara Ann Kipfer, must be a genius. Over 140 IQ. Page 426.
I've been divorced for five and a half years now, and I constantly wonder -- and worry -- what age guy is okay. I've dated from 28 years old to 64 years old. The book says to take your age, and divide it by two, and add the number seven. If your date is older than that number, you are not cradle-robbing. Now, I can't seem to find the statistic in this book. So I google the fact, and find it is actually fairly common. Why did I not know that? It sure would have relieved a lot of stress. I have a lot more elbow room on the subject than I imagined.
But now the book has me riveted. It's a great resource for writers, trivia buffs, teachers. I didn't know the Twelve Days of Christmas started on Christmas and rolled through January fifth. Page 205. The eight reindeer -- Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid -- you knew those, but did you know that the last two Donner and Blitzen actually started out as Dunder and Blixem? Page 460. There was a $100,000 dollar bill -- really -- Woodrow Wilson was on it. The bill was discontinued in 1969.
There's religion -- the 12 Olympian gods, 7 Joys of Mary, 3 Graces, and the Nine orders of angels -- the first heirarchy is Cherubim, Thrones...and Seraphims. That one gives me pause. I'd heard of cherubs when I was growing up, but none of the others. I'd been brought up Unitarian, which basically means I knew a little about a lot of religions. Not unlike being a journalist.
It reminds me that I was in my early twenties when author Dick Sutphen (You Were Born Again To Be Together) hypnotized me, using, in some cases, sound effects. I felt/heard a whirring sound, and suddenly, I was being dropped off on this planet by a mother ship -- this was long before the time of Ancient Greece but earth people were somewhat civilized -- and I told the others on board that I did not want to be dropped off here. But it was my mission to help those on earth. I was told telepathically that as soon as I was left on earth, I would lose memory of all that I had known in this other place, which, seemed much more advanced than where I was headed, and yet I would viscerally remember my mission of loving and light. In the regression, I was asked my name. I laughed, and the sound was that of tinkling bells. I replied, "Some would call me Seraphina." And then I look at page 182 and read Seraphim: highest angels, of love, light, and fire.
That was a message to be love, be light -- no matter how we got here -- or why. So why am I worried about the age of guys I might date? Puts things in perspective.
Back to my book of trivia, aptly titled THE ORDER OF THINGS. See how neatly things fit together? There's even a list of the sayings on the Crazy 8 ball. You may rely on it.

Labels: . love, angels, Barbara Ann Kipfer, book review, Crazy 8, Dick Sutphen, light., seraphim, THE ORDER OF THINGS, Unitarian, YOU WERE BORN AGAIN TO BE TOGETHER

December 16, 2008
It makes no sense to me, but I've been in the Christmas spirit earlier this year than ever before -- and that includes the panicky years of tracking down the perfect gifts for two little boys, reading news on the air in the mornings in between the Christmas carols that began before Thanksgiving, and seeing brilliant lights strung on neighbors' homes. It might be the snow. We rarely have snow in Portland.
But no, this Christmas mood began before the snow -- shortly after Halloween, actually. Usually I rebel against the too rapid changes of decorations after the summer collapses into Fall. My holiday mood might have begun with the collapse of the stock market, actually. I began worrying then for the people whose lives were collapsing with economy, thinking about what their Christmases would be like, and praying for them. That's what put me in the holiday mood. Prayer.
I'm only remembering at this moment our first Christmas with my then-husband and I both laid off from a radio station after a new owner cleaned house of every "Talent." And I was pregnant with our first child when the boom fell. Standing in church that Christmas, singing carols, I felt positively virginal, with my massive belly unmistakably masking an eight-month fetus. I felt wondrous. Our theme song was Dolly Parton's HARD CANDY CHRISTMAS, but it was the best Christmas ever. It was a Portland, Oregon Christmas.
I have had lived in Florida for Christmas, and in Iowa, NY, and NJ during the holiday. The book on my desk HISTORIC PHOTOS OF CHRISTMAS IN CHICAGO -- is decked with black and white photographs of Chicago mail carriers, O'Hare Airport, Mayor Richard Daley, State Street and window displays, Saint Nick and holiday shopping, Marshall Field's and hospitals -- most of the shots were taken in the early 1900's.
There's one shot in the beginning of the book of a Christmas tree -- it was taken in 1913. The caption notes that New York City led the way with a civic Christmas tree in 1912. I had no idea the rivalry was that long-standing. Just out of college, working for a NY PR firm, I was seated at a long table of PR people in Chicago one winter, and the argument raged -- which city was better, Chicago or New York.
After perusing HISTORIC PHOTOS OF CHRISTMAS IN CHICAGO, I have to say, New York wins -- magical, snowy Christmases, with the Radio City Music Hall and the Rockettes, the skating in Rockefeller Center, the store windows imaginatively decked out, with stories everywhere to be told, and to be remembered fondly.
Just now, in the background I hear Paul McCartney singing Wonderful Christmastime, and I am reminded, it doesn't matter where you celebrate Christmas as long as it is in your heart.

Labels: book review, Christmas carols., HISTORIC PHOTOS OF CHRISTMAS IN CHICAGO, laid off, New York City, pregnant, radio stations, Rockefeller Center, Rosemary Adams

December 15th, 2008
There is a great burst of light in my heart when I feel Thank You! inside.
More like fireworks than sunshine.
More like a blazing sunset than a cool full moon.
More like an explosion of laughter than a sneeze.
And now I know why. There is scientific evidence backing the value of gratitude. Robert A. Emmons' book is simply called THANKS! He adds a subtitle How Practicing Gratitude Can Make You Happier. Happy individuals live on average nine years longer. Happy college students graduate and make on average $25-thousand dollars more annually than unhappy grads. And it turns out that the winning lottery ticket, the lucky business deal, the perfect date or wedding day has only a minor chance at changing our happiness set point. About half is genetic. Only ten-percent is that lucky break. And forty-percent is of our own making.
The author is an empirically-minded scientist. So he ran a test. Three groups. One group wrote a list of five things for which they are grateful every night. The second group wrote a list of five things that vexed them. And a third group wrote a neutral list. Ten weeks later, the gratitude group was measured to be 25-percent happier than the vexed group, and the neutrals fell in between. The gratitude group reported less physical illness and they slept easier. Lastly, they exercised more frequently -- one-and-a-half hours more each week than the others.
I selected the book for today, and then was struck by a coincidence. This would be an anniversary for me of a very happy day. My younger son, Justin, was born December 15th, ten days late, after 28-hours of labor. My older son had been born after 42-hours of labor, then, with a mirror rigged over the hospital bed so I could watch, he was sliced out of my belly. That was cool! I wanted a natural birth the second time around -- VBAC, they call it. Vaginal Birth After C-Section. For the second time, I was doing everything my birth nurse -- from Portland's Birth Home -- could conceive of -- hot baths, walking up steep hills in the brisk winter nights, having sex -- and, in answer to the activity, I dilated a centimeter or two. Not nearly enough. Finally, more than a day later, my patient doctor walked into the room, dressed in his scrubs, with a gurney being wheeled in behind him.
I knew.
Time was up.
And the doctor said to me, "I need to take the baby." I hadn't asked the sex of the baby, but I sensed it was not a girl, although the baby's energy was finer and more sensitive than his brother's.
It was time.
I asked if I could try one more time. The doctor nodded.
I sent my mind inside to that mysterious place where I was connected with the baby -- it was wordless. I sent symbols, pictures of flow. The birth nurse propped my feet on her chest, and she leaned hard into me, and I pushed.
Squish.
The doctor caught my slippery son: Ah! His head was hung up on your pelvic bone! He shifted! He's here. It's a boy!
We named him Justin. He was born Just in time.
This birth day memory goes on my list of five moments of gratitude.
Yes, this is a gift, and I am forever grateful.

Labels: birth, birthday, gratitude, happiness. book review, Robert A.Emmons, sons., THANKS HOW PRACTICING GRATITUDE CAN MAKE YOU HAPPIER, VBAC

December 14, 2008
A Sunday snow, stunning in its quiet beauty.
I stay indoors -- on deadline -- tapping on the keys as I create the podcast for the MBA school ESADE in Barcelona. I feel as if I am in a cave, it is so still.
Work is play. I am immersed in the words spoken by future CEO's and professors, by the music of Catalan folkdancers, and the compressed excitement over what the future will offer.
The ESADE program emphasizes entrepreneurship, and I am so tempted! A garden of post-it notes populates my desk -- ideas scribbled on all of them, bright yellow, cobalt blue, fuchsia.
From my quote book, Condoleezza Rice, quoted in 2000. The growth of entrepreneurial classes throughout the world is an asset in the promotion of human rights and individual liberty, and it should be understood and used as such.
THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO GREAT QUOTES FOR ALL OCCASIONS contains a line from Aristotle, too:
The things we have to learn before we can do, we learn by doing.
That's one of the cool things I learned at ESADE -- that there is some lecturing, yes, but mostly the students indulge their time in projects on teams. And, it's fun. This must have its roots in ancient wisdom as well.
Plato said No study, pursued under compulsion, remains rooted in the memory.
It's time to do the voiceover for the podcast, and my mind is full of new knowledge -- about branding and marketing and world economics and corporate strategy.
It's as exhilarating as that new snow.

Labels: Aristotle, Condoleezza Rice, Elaine Bernstein Partnow, ESADE, MBA Podcaster, Plato, play, THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO GREAT QUOTES FOR ALL OCCASIONS, work

December 13, 2008
Norman Rockwell's work transcends time. That, apparently, is the spark behind photographer Kevin Rivoli's book IN SEARCH OF NORMAN ROCKWELL'S AMERICA. The two kids at the diner just before going to prom in the forties are the same two kids at the diner just a few years ago.
Rockwell's paintings -- juxtaposed with the author's photographs -- amid quotations from presidents and personalities -- make this book stunning.
I first saw Rockwell's art when I was a kid, and the painting then that "got" me, is the same painting that melts me today. A boy is at a drugstore counter, and he's looking up at the police officer who is sitting next to him. It's a lovely moment, but the instant your eye catches the knapsack tied to a stick, at the ground beneath the boy's feet, the story deepens.
The knapsack for a ten year old then, the backpack now, for me it was the huge Sunday paper and some books I tugged with me, imagining I would never go back home, not factoring in that I might need a change of clothes.
Rockwell says "I am a storyteller."
I always wondered who the kids were in those paintings. Were they real people? They seemed like real people.
This book answers the question. Rockwell posed his neighbors as if he were a photographer shooting a picture. Rivoli interviewed the girl at the lemonade stand -- when she was all grown up. She said how she had to hold the cup just so for Rockwell, who would paint her. It's cool how today's girls -- the ones in the photographs -- portray some of the roles that the boys claimed in Rockwell's day -- like fishing and participating in a soapbox derby.
The picture book closes with a quote by Norman Rockwell, "I'll never have enough time to paint all the pictures I'd like to."
And that comment strikes a chord. I think of James Patterson's comment to me last month that he has 400 pages full of ideas for new books.
Storytellers, both of them.

Labels: book review., IN SEARCH OF NORMAN ROCKWELL'S AMERICA, James Patterson, Kevin Rivoli, Norman Rockwell, storytellers

December 12, 2008
Richard Paul Evans came into my life with a short stack of skinny, self-published, paperback books. Each was entitled THE CHRISTMAS BOX. He was traveling around the country, radio station to radio station, trying to get news people and air personalities interested in his little heartfelt book. I loved it, and had no idea it would become a huge hit, and that Richard would write more than a dozen more Christmas books. The latest is GRACE.
GRACE is about a fourteen year old boy whose family is down on its luck, and they have to move to Salt Lake City. He's working in a burger joint, when, one night, he meets a girl from school who is dumpster-diving. Her name is Grace, and she's a runaway. He hides her in the clubhouse his brother and he had built in the backyard. When he starts seeing news reports that this girl Madeline -- who looks a lot like Grace -- has run away, Grace fesses up. Madeline is her first name, she tells the kid, Eric, and Grace is her middle name. She tells him she's run away from her sexually-abusive stepfather.
Richard says all his Christmas stories are about redemption, but this one has a sad ending. No spoiler here -- the book is wonderful. Richard says it is based on a true story, and it is designed to raise awareness about child abuse. He has my support.
The story gave me chills of recognition. Abusive stepfather. Raping the girl. This is true. This is my story, too. The thing is -- if you live, you have to tell. That is my journey. If you tell, maybe another girl, maybe one who is in the thick of it and so frightened she can't hear her own soul inside, will hear that she is not alone, and maybe she will find the words, the strength to tell. When I finally told, I was in college, and I was writing about it -- obliquely -- in an English composition. The professor noticed. She asked me about it. I froze up, got frightened