Come Awake

Every year I am amazed at how our property turns from desolation to overgrowth seemingly overnight. Vermont Spring seems to be on fast forward as though the earth beneath our feet understands that its warm days are limited and it ought to hasten the process for the well being of those tasked with tending it. In late winter, the earlier whispers of SAD grow to shrill and defiant roars, and there is a conspicuous fog of relief when warmer winds blow. It must be that this is why we are so enthralled with the crocus’ that break ground often through the snow. They afford tiny, colorful reminders that we too should seize the fresh start. Indeed, there is a coming awake that happens universally in the spring.

We all have our own way of climbing out of our winter skins and coming to our senses. My hens begin to lay again, my neighbors plan barbeques and spread thick layers of aromatic mulch, and my kids spend hours on their trampoline. In my world, when trout season begins I feel revitalized. Our current river levels all but ensure my fly rod and I would be swept swiftly downstream as my waders fill with water and sink me like a stone. But, the very process of organizing my gear, renewing my license and picking out new flies the way most women shop for shoes, makes me hopeful that there will be sunny days spent in the river and warm afternoons spent at the Alchemist.

The digital revolution and our tendencies toward emailing, facebooking, texting and tweeting have resulted in a false sense of comfort among tightly packed villages that do shallow, distant relationships well. In this era of 24/7 connectivity are we sure we are spending adequate time connecting back to the natural world and to our humanity? Not only has this trend given way to new verbs, but it has bred a new generation and offered a sickle like tool to an existing one with which we can hack at human relationships. These paradigms allow us to disengage from more solid associations and more grounding forces that were meant to tether us back to each other and to the earth. It reduces our ability to cultivate intimacy, a key component to the emerging trend toward mindfulness.

Our work weeks have become so ambiguous with technology that the boundaries necessary to create the time and space we need to participate in the awakening have become virtually (pun intended) unrecognizable. Our accessibility and response times have become unrealistic now that everyone can answer an email on their phone. When did we decide that manners do not apply to technology? When was the last time you walked away mid-sentence while someone was speaking to you? Likely never. Ever not answer a text mid -conversation or have someone do it to you? Same thing. We are forgetting how to be part of the environment; and, the natural world does not wait for us and our creations. It moves at its innate pace bringing seasons to a close whether we notice or not.

From the closing line of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off which suggests that “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it” to the Tao Te Ching which cautions, “Amidst the worldly comings and goings, observe how endings become beginnings” we are reminded to be a part of our world and to not abdicate our innate ability to notice.

Rural Route Today November Column: Honest Abe

As is the case with us all, I have been guilty of chasing the fairy tale and waking up in the pumpkin, but, I also make a remarkable pumpkin pie. As Thanksgiving looms in the near future with Christmas right behind, it is wise to reflect on our many blessings those obvious and those not so. This weekend on a Christmas shopping trip in New York, I grew deeply appreciative of three unsung blessings in my life –wrinkles, time and dirt.

In Buddy the Elf-like wonderment, I traversed the Westchester County Mall taking in the spectacle of the shops and of the moms in knee-high, 5 inch heeled boots pushing Burberry clad babies in strollers through a vast expanse of consumerism. It was not long before I was stopped by Abe, the kiosk skin care salesman who no doubt saw my pasty, 40-something, Vermont skin coming and thought he had struck gold. As he examined my face he told me my problem was that I smile too much, and as he smothered my face in Dead Sea salt infused oils, he repeatedly asked me to refrain from smiling. When his application by force was complete, he gushed over how youthful the left side of my face now looked and then built a strong case for me to purchase his $400 regimen. I politely declined his offer and turned both sides of my face, now separated by generations apparently, away. He grabbed the pamphlet I had been holding out of my hand and dismissed me.

Walking away, I smiled defiantly thankful for this consequence of aging. Years of smiling does, in fact, deepen the wrinkles around our eyes and how fortunate we are for that outward proof that we’ve been happy. As the day passed, I enjoyed the shops and the irony in learning that purchasing a Tory Burch wallet makes it less likely that you will have anything to put into it for awhile. I appreciated the opportunity to complete Christmas shopping in one place and in one day, were one to have the stamina. But, I missed the humanity of Vermont. There was a frenetic tempo to it all that was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I am thankful that the pace in Vermont allows time for pleasantries, and for discussions about the weather, for limited business hours during deer season, and for holding doors open for strangers to pass through.

The next morning I gathered my things and headed to the hotel parking garage. There among the New York plates and sparkling SUV’s was my mud covered Jeep with its new studded snow tires. In that moment, I was silently overwhelmed with gratitude that it would be taking me home to the dirt road that was responsible for its appearance. It is something to enjoy the Christmas shopping fervor, but it is quite another to quietly reflect on and give thanks for those things that cost nothing and that tether us back to this earth and to each other. Happy Thanksgiving!

Cinderella in Wartime

According to Merriam Webster “memory” is the mental faculty of retaining and recalling past experience. There are countless quotes on memories- prose, short stories and musings about beloved recollections. There are mental health articles in abundance on retaining memories, jogging memory and improving one’s capacity for memory, but far fewer on how to obliterate a memory. In fact, the most available subjects when searching for ‘how to erase memory’ are largely relative to computer memory. While I am adept at extrapolating information from wise sources and applying it to the task at hand, I am hard pressed to find a mental delete button, and a metaphorical reboot seems to be the quest de jour of the Dr. Phil nation. Once after searching until dark, I was forced to ask a security guard to drive me around a parking garage looking for my car. I forget easily.

Nevertheless, memories of playing in the sand with our children do not wake us up at night; nor do they call on us to employ exercises of distraction to eradicate them. It seems to be the heartrending memories and the raw ones that attach themselves to us and demand to be brought everywhere we go. Eckhart Tolle in The Power of Now says, "The mind is a superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive. To put it more accurately, it is not so much that you use your mind wrongly—you usually don't use it at all. It uses you."

The Institute for the Healing of Memories (IHOM), based in South Africa, addresses the emotional and psychological wounds suffered by those in war ravaged countries. The IHOM attempts to help affected individuals remove painful obstacles which can keep them from moving forward. There is extensive supporting evidence that forgiveness promotes healing and thereby peace. The IHOM asserts that holding on to the anger and hate associated with wartime experiences can give way to future conflict and violence. Healing takes place by acknowledging the hurt that led to the feelings and working through a series of exercises intended to permit emotional and spiritual growth.

Rhodes Scholar and renowned teacher of Creative Thinking, Edward de Bono said simply “A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.” Overused expressions like ‘unfinished business’ and ‘closure’ often pepper well meaning advice; but finishing and closing are not always viable options. Death, distance, and circumstance are thieves who strike without notice, depriving us of options and time.

On the complicated subject of eradicating memories it seems everyone is an expert on everyone else’s pain. Most of us march through day after day thanking God for every experience, every sunset and every person who ever walked through the doors of our lives. Still other times gratitude escapes us and we are stuck in a decayed but vivid scene when we wished that the sun had not set so fast or that someone had just kept going or never reached for us in the first place. Like a white gull pressed against a dark sky, the shadow of a painful memory allows for striking contrast and makes the sweet ones shine.

For The Love Of The Day

Readers, friends, and family sometimes ask me to write about a particular issue. Last week, on our way home my daughter asked me to write about shopping. So I did. I was pleased with the result and it flowed somewhat effortlessly. I prefer to write purely from my own inspiration and am fortunate now to have a monthly column where I can do that. However, in my business writing I write only about what others ask for, so honing this skill is necessary. Let that be an invitation to you. A few days ago came a new request from a friend.

Consequently, I have been tied up in knots the last few days trying to write about that particular subject. It was dropped in my lap, anvil style, riddled with the angst of the past and I have at best written a sentence a night. More honestly, I have written several sentences each night and consistently deleted them all. I have tried writing after exercise, writing after wine, writing while delirious with exhaustion, all with no constructive outcome. Finally last night with the benefit of a long midday bath I wrote several well connected paragraphs about the proposed subject of time travel and the idea of visiting one's past. Minutes before entering the editing phase of my writing, iTunes and Blogger decided they could no longer peacefully coexist and both dug their heels into technical ground. I was forced to restart and all was lost. Hours of writing vanished and the auto save feature of Blogger had betrayed me, perhaps for my own good.

This morning, on Valentine's Day, I had hoped to offer some thoughts on love - again a subject more topical than inspired. As I searched the internet for quotes that might jump start my writing on the subject I found one that sits well with me. It is by Neil Gaiman -an English born American Novelist, Journalist, Screenwriter, and Children's author. I am sharing it with you on this most amorous day. Enjoy.

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

I am mildly tempted to hunt him down, take his hand, and run headlong into yet another brick wall in hopes of changing his mind. However, at the end of the day, he and I stand in complete agreement on this matter and would undoubtedly instead share a toast to rough roads and hard lessons learned. Cynical, world-weary, dark and twisted though it may be; it is fact. Love stings. Having walked this often broken road, I am certain that it is through these dreadful experiences he writes about that we find ourselves and are able to recognize what we want, pass on what we do not, and live with what is, and with what will never be. Time may not heal all wounds, but its generosity does infuse our hearts with all we need to make it to the day ahead and the next. AH HA! And this is why I have no need for a time machine to the past. Shheeww, I knew I'd figure out the connection eventually! Happy Valentines Day.

When you say nothing at all...

Today it was suggested to me, by someone I hold in otherwise high esteem, that perhaps I had been condescending. Dictonary.com a service of Ask.com defines the term as "showing or implying a usually patronizing descent from dignity or superiority". During the event in question I was not being condescending, though I admit that after reading its definition I am tempted to try my hand at honing this skill. My comment at the time was aloof and actually a poorly written representation of my own crowded thoughts of the moment.

We seem to live in a culture where we say more without saying a word and yet we have fascinating words to describe this nonverbal phenomenon. Condescending is just the beginning. My new favorite overused pop-culture term to describe one's intention with nonverbal communication is "passive aggressive". I love this concept. We can be nonverbally speaking while being passively aggressive. Where then do the possibilities end? Can we be extramaritally committed?

And speaking, or not, of this how is it even possible to determine one's nonverbals via technology? The aforementioned event took place over Facebook. How could one reasonably substantiate condescension, a presumed nonverbal communication tactic, over the internet? If ever a reasonable doubt existed this would have been it. I submit that we did not even have a conversation as face to face words were not exchanged. It is the same maddening concept as someone who offers that they read a great book when they have listened to the audio book.

If statistically speaking, and again I am not sure that is possible either, most of our communication is nonverbal then how we communicate via technology is limited at best and most often misunderstood. This is the challenge for the writer to capture all the emotion and imagery typically reserved for facial expressions, hand gestures, and voice intonations and painstakingly offer them "verbatim" in written form.

As for my friend, well, we were always better face to face anyway.