mulberryshoots

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" ~ Mary Oliver

Category: Life & Spirit

August 7, 2013

gone, (update) . . .

825db30fbfeff7de0671e7ab04f94163

Yesterday, after I wrote the post “gone, baby, gone” a number of unexpected things came up and the day floated by without any activity.

This morning, I got off the couch and started emptying the contents of the small closet in our spare bedroom. You might think it small, or at least I did, until I started emptying it out. From an endless bottom, it seemed, there were suitcases of all sizes, carry-ons, three suitbags including a tan Hartman that I used for business travel when I worked in biotech and travelled business class, believe it or not. 

G. helped me to stage the contents of the closet in the big plant room so that we could consolidate and go through what was there. The most surprising discovery is that most of the contents of the closet belonged to HIM!! Clothes and other things that went back FORTY YEARS, including a carryall with music in it from his student days at Berklee College of Music. 

Five bags of Goodwill stuff later, we still have things piled up all over the room to go through later today and tomorrow.

One of the things I discovered is that I’ve had similar and consistent taste in shoes for a long time. Delighted, I found an old pair of black suede Birkenstock sandals, a pair of barely worn black Nike sneakers with flashing lights in the sole no less, and a simple but sophisticated pair of black leather strappy slip-on sandals. They looked just like ones I was thinking of searching for on Zappos. It’s kind of embarrassing, but it’s also great to know that I already have what I’ve been looking for (again.) When will this cycle of wish/want/have already ever cease?

We thought we’d take a break since many of G.’s things to go through are still draped over the piano bench, the chair and a pair of new-found old shorts put in the laundry. Over the years, we’ve pared down our clothing so that it’s hung on a stainless rack on rubber wheels like the ones they use in the garment district in NYC. This shows how little we want to have, and that the huge amount of stuff in the closet was not only out of sight, but also way out of mind. And now, most of it is out of the house!

There’s a big stash of luggage that we could use to go around the world in eighty days. But since we don’t travel (at least, we don’t have plans to,) we’ll have to figure out where to store it all for that one day when we just might need it.

To be fair, this house is a Queen Anne Victorian with limited closet space (since the Victorians furnished their homes with huge armoires and other storage units.) We are looking to find places to store seasonal bedding and linens, sheets, coverlets, blankets and comforters which take up so much room.

My collection of handknit sweaters, made by me and a few others, is mothballed in plastic bags to take care of any potential moth larvae. In the Fall, I’ll take out what I will use and handwash a few in Ivory Snow, air-dry and then store in drawers with cedar blocks. It’s a constant battle against these destructive tiny critters and I’ve thrown away more than I’d care to admit. 

And so, the “gone, baby, gone” saga continues. Were it not for some intrinsic life lessons that this kind of activity brings up, it would be just one more boring polemic to “simplify,” “de-clutter,” and “clear.” 

For me, it feels like so much more than that! Now that we’re part of the way through the small closet, I’m not so anxious about starting the big one next week! 

 

 

   

 

 

Leave a comment
August 6, 2013

Gone, baby, gone! . . .

DSC_0327I’ve been writing about the act of clearing, inwardly and externally, for a long while in this blog. Now the time has come. Instead of wondering in my head how to get through the stuff in the closets, I’m just going to empty them out in the big room, sort through it and jettison off what I haven’t been able to get rid of up to now. Clothing goes to Goodwill; yarn and arts and crafts kinds of things like beads and supplies can be volunteered to the Old Folk’s Home down the street from where we live.

Much to my surprise, my husband, G. said he was thinking of renting a dumpster to clean out the cellar, the garage and his piano workshop. If we don’t take care of our own mess, who will?

On a more reflective note, it also seems like time to clean up our inner acts and ignore them no longer: like noticing how our attitudes don’t help us but hinder us in having a good day. That’s all we can do is to have a good day or a bad day or a ho-hum day. I know that mine is more often than not encumbered by holding onto things that happened in the past that feel sad or are tinged with disappointment. What good does that do? Nada. It’s fine to think about moving forward and to write about it in this post, but to really wipe the slate clean? Not so easy.

So, today’s the day to make some real progress. Inertia is the opposite of taking action. Inertia has had its day for too long. I’ve planned this out for so long which in itself is an exercise in inertia. Just get off the couch and do it.

I’ll let you know how it’s going.

Leave a comment
July 30, 2013

return . . .

"Attain ultimate emptiness of mind; maintain absolute peaceful stillness of body," (Lao-Tzu ~ Dao de Jing) Calligraphy by my late father, Edward C.T. Chao

“Attain ultimate emptiness of mind; maintain absolute peaceful stillness of body,” (Lao-Tzu ~ Dao de Jing) Calligraphy by my late father, Edward C.T. Chao

Some of you may know about my relationship to an ancient book of wisdom called the I-Ching. It has many identities for as many readers: a book of changes about the constant alternation of Yin and Yang in our lives; an oracle which introduces us to the condition of things which our sub-conscious seems to recognize, and for me, an invisible link to help and assistance from the Universe anytime that I consult it. If you’re looking for Helpers from the Universe, they are accessible by using this book. Aside from some Confucian overlay that occurs in the Richard Wilhelm/C.F. Baynes edition, the I-Ching is also considered as a seminal source for Taoist beliefs.

I was first introduced to the I-Ching by someone who appeared out of nowhere to help me close out the move from our family home when I was getting divorced from my first husband. At the time, I was job-less, my children scattered, trying to grow up and go to school while their parents were breaking up. Not to belabor further how exigent things were at the time, the I-Ching Book of Changes became my refuge, an unknown hand of the Universe leading me through that harrowing time. I wrote down all the readings and the lines that sprung out at me as though written especially for that daily circumstance. Many spiral notebooks later and through the years, I became so familiar with the book that I knew many of the lines by heart and most of the hexagrams by number. The I-Ching is a dynamic book, certain hexagrams like “the Marrying Maiden” or “Obstruction” or “Darkening of the Light” making me cringe when I received them. Others, “Taming Power of the Great,” “Possession in Great Measure,” “The Well” and “the Cauldron” were more consoling and uplifting.

So why am I writing about the I-Ching today? Recently, we have experienced a few shocks that occurred outside of our control. And I was thinking about looking for my I-Ching book to do a reading or two as I drove back from my shopping trip the other day.

Yesterday, a big box arrived from one of my cousins, the middle son of my favorite cousin, Pei Fen, who had died earlier in the summer. Packed very carefully with rolled up newspaper emerged a black slipcase boxed set of the I-Ching in two volumes, a Bollingen version that had belonged to Pei Fen and had sold at the time for about $7.50 in 1950.

It was as though the Universe had arranged for this well-bound, oversized version of the I-Ching to arrive on my doorstep as if to say: “Here I am, remember?” I made a brown parchment paper cover for the first volume and taped a copy of the legend on the newly covered back of the book for easier access. Then, I threw a series of six readings for a complex situation that we have been facing and read them aloud for G. and me to digest together. The nuances for each question were clear as day to each of us. It was comforting to receive them as a guide for how to think about moving forward.

This I-Ching return is of great portent for me, especially at this moment. It helped me (might I even say, saved me?) during the worst period in my life twenty or so years ago. It magically reappeared yesterday, thanks to the thoughtful gesture of this gift from my cousin Pei Fen’s house. Thank you, S.! Among Pei-Fen’s last words to me were, “Be happy!”

The timing is perfect. What a consolation it is to be reminded once again that there is help from the Universe, anytime I am open to, and ask for it. I give thanks for these golden threads woven into my life.

Leave a comment
July 27, 2013

sea change? . . .

DSC_4651Have you ever felt like you were in a deep morass of things when one day, you wake up and say to yourself that what you really need is what’s called a “sea change?” I looked it up on Wiki and it gives this definition:

“Sea change (transformation), an idiom for broad transformation drawn from a phrase in Shakespeare’s The Tempest.”

Hmmmmmm. So, of course, the first thing I did was to go shopping! First to Nordstroms where I found a small Marc Jacob indigo blue and white crossbody bag that I loved but didn’t buy. Then, I went window shopping in the mall which was fairly empty, due to this being a weekend day with fabulous dry, cool enough, sunny weather. Everyone was outdoors and no one seemed to be shopping for a personal transformation.

Found a couple of shirts, one an updated version of a 70’s print shirt from India, which was actually MADE in India,(not China or Vietnam) but out of some lighter material than the usual heavy cotton. I guess even modern day hippies like me might appreciate this finer material. Then, I had lunch at Wasabi, the revolving sushi lunch place in the middle of the mall. I ordered mine separately from those on the conveyor belt and was pleasantly surprised by the reasonable bill.

I hardly ever go to a mall. Sometimes, my daughter and I go to Nordstroms after having lunch together. Usually, we find something that she likes at Anthropologie. I tried on two sweaters there with the salesgirl hovering over me as though I might put one of them into my Nordstroms bag and walk out. I know they’re just doing their job, but really? Walking by Sur la Table, I saw a special on colorful Le Creuset “skinny grills” that you can use on top of the stove but I bypassed buying one although I planned to grill Korean barbecue chicken thighs tonight for dinner. Fresh new corn from the farmstand to go with it and a small green salad.

So, back to shopping for a transformation. I actually thought about it a lot in the car driving back home. Sometimes, the privacy of being in a car by myself and driving on the highway helps to clear my head and odd ideas jump in there when you least expect it. I’ve been thinking that my attitude and perspective haven’t been so hot lately as witnessed by the last few posts (“meltdown” and “waiting for godot.”) So, what would I change about myself if I were out at sea?

First, I’d realize that I have a lot to be thankful for and that things are not as bad as they feel they are. Next, I’d admit that I’m pretty lucky AND that I’ve worked hard so am able to pursue options I might not have seriously thought about up to now. Blaming others never helps. Throw out the bottle of self-pity whenever its poison appears. Get more sleep. Eat less and stop thinking about things for awhile.

Ease up about cleaning the closets, putting the mulch on the garden and writing sections of the book. Just relax for awhile, I say to myself.

R-e-l-a-x?!!??

Now, THAT would be a sea change!

Leave a comment
July 23, 2013

waiting for godot . . .

Christmas, Faculty party 07-08 026This famous play by Samuel Beckett was written for two male characters who while away the time (and their lives) waiting for a personage named Godot. They don’t really know him. And it seems as though they don’t even seem to know WHY they are waiting for him either. Beckett objected to women actors playing the two character roles for various reasons, including the fact that women don’t have prostates, one of the characters having to go to the bathroom often during the play.

This metaphor of waiting for (fill in the blanks) is an appropriate one for us women too. In fact, I find myself waiting a lot: to be heard and be listened to; to do what I’d like to do before numerous other things have to be done first, and so on and so on. Lest you think this is mere feminine whining, let me say that I believe this kind of languorous waiting is endemic to many women’s lives. Everyone’s schedules around me are more urgent, more pressing. Once things have died down, no one has the interest nor energy to listen to what I’ve been thinking about or found out during my quiet time ruminating.

But I had an “Ah” moment today–not quite an “AHA” one and it goes like this. To stop waiting. That’s all. So simple, isn’t it? To carry on and volunteer to do things I’m waiting for others to do so that it just gets done. Passivity towards myself and the Universe (waiting for Godot) doesn’t help at all, I’ve decided.

I was taken aback recently when I realized that I’ve held on to my maternal instincts and created a garden path that I chose to go down, focused so much on my family, rather than letting go of my brood of successful and self-reliant children more than a decade ago. They’re having a wonderful time together. My job is done, I realized, way too late. How to compensate for lost time for myself is something I’d like to ask Mr. Godot about if he ever turns up!

My personal revelation is that it’s up to me not to wait anymore, for other people to tune in and/or listen and give some moments of their attention during a busy day. As mothers, I think we give our attention sometimes too freely. In the future, though, there’s no one to blame but myself and so I’m resolved to stop doing that. Stop waiting. Stop feeling bad for having to wait in the first place. After all, I had the best of intentions but feel I have overstayed my tenure as a helicopter Mom. Like the two old men waiting for Godot, there are gobs of women, I’ll bet, doing the same thing, every day. Worse yet, some of us don’t even realize we’re (still) doing it!

Leave a comment
July 19, 2013

meltdown . . .

"madder than a wet hen!" (photo by M. Steverson)

“madder than a wet hen!” (photo by M. Steverson)

Are you old enough to remember the movie, “Network” directed by Sidney Lumet in 1976? There is a famous scene in it where the character played by Peter Finch yells out the window that “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” LOL! That phrase exemplifies to me the quintessential adult meltdown moment. After all, we can’t really throw ourselves down on the floor like two-year old toddlers, kick and scream and throw toys around when we have just ab-so-lute-ly HAD IT!!!

How do I know? Because I just had a major meltdown myself a few days ago. Part of the context for how major it was, was that I had been harboring anxieties about my health which I had not mentioned to anyone while imagining alone all kinds of fearful things. This had been going on for a few months, making me ask myself why in the hell I was spending the “time I have left” the way that I was. It was also similar to Jennifer Lawrence’s character in “Silver Linings Playbook” where she yells at Bradley Cooper’s character saying, “Everyday I do things for other people all the time and then I wake up feeling EMPTY!!”

Okay. So here are some components of my major meltdown:
~ offering to help others but being rebuffed before it can even be discussed
~ feeling taken for granted.
~ other people’s agendas and priorities eating up my life rather than pursuing what is more important to me.
~ feeling taken advantage of, either due to thoughtlessness or neglect.

Dare I say that more women feel like this than men, most of the time? And that we do little about it but to shrug our shoulders and say, that’s just the way things are? I usually do that too, but the other day, a little thing happened that blew me away. I was surprised myself that I was so mad. And like some multi-layered fireworks that explode in the sky in burst after colorful burst, my meltdown anger did the same thing. It just went “poom!” “poom!” de “poom” “poom”! It felt really good actually when all those “pooms” were released out of my system.

Then I went to the doctor and things were not as bad as I thought. In fact the condition was not cancer after all but something pretty normal for someone my age. What a relief! In the meantime, though, I have basically redrawn my sense of purpose about what to do and how I really want to live. One of the things I have reinforced myself about is not to be so naive about other people, and to do what I want to, rather than (fill in the blanks.) I also found that since my usual defense mechanisms were shot to kingdom come, that I am more willing to speak my mind without being so deferential to everybody else’s agendas.

So, what do I think about meltdowns? I think they clear things away, like a visceral nuclear blast, for better or for worse. What was before is changed somewhat or a lot. Pent-up frustrations are released, or at least some of them. Are we like children, who soon return to the status quo, not really remembering the meltdown they just had a day or so ago? I don’t know, do you?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As an afterthought, I thought I’d include this footnote about the origin of the term, “madder than a wet hen.”
“In the old south, after a hen laid her eggs she would want to sit on them until they hatch. Even if you gathered up all her eggs, she would still sit on the empty nest. So in order to “break her” and get her to lay more eggs, the farmer would lift her off the nest and dunk her in water. She’d then go right back to her nest, so this had to be done two or three times, after which she’d be mad as hell and start “fussing and scrambling about” Apparently this “broke her” and she’d start laying eggs again.” How do you like them apples?

4 Comments
July 16, 2013

“Basil Toutorsky” part 2 . . .

Basil and Maria Toutorsky, photograph courtesy of E. B.

Basil and Maria Toutorsky, photograph courtesy of E. B.

One of the first posts on this blog was about my piano teacher named Basil Toutorsky. He and his wife, Maria, were so kind to me from the time I was seven to about twelve years old. He took me under his wing and taught me piano technique, musicality and most of all, how caring humans can be towards others. Apparently, these values and qualities were imparted to other students who were also fortunate enough to meet Professor and Mrs. Toutorsky later in time. 

Living in this social media age, a few individuals commented about their own experiences with the Toutorskys. As a result, I shared a 26-page booklet of “Reminescences” about the Toutorskys that was sent to me from Johns Hopkins/Peabody Conservatory of Music about a decade ago when the Toutorsky Scholarship was still active. Now defunct, Johns Hopkins indicated they would still like to have contributions in Toutorsky’s name but that the monies might go for teacher salaries and the like rather than scholarships for budding pianists. Be that as it may (time moves on, doesn’t it?) a handful of us have been in touch with each other and shared fond memories of the Toutorskys.

One of them wrote to me recently and gave permission to include this remembrance:
Have I already shared with you how I collaborated with several friends to create a pleasant and safe walled garden behind the Toutorsky mansion for the Professor and Mrs. Toutorsky to enjoy, since by the time I met them, he was a bit unsteady on his feet and the neighborhood had deteriorated to become not all that safe for any vulnerable-looking older residents?

We had the existing garden walls raised and broken glass embedded in the top to make the space more secure, created formal garden beds and pea gravel footpaths, installed park beds, shade trees, bedding plants (perennials and annuals) spring bulbs, and even a central, lighted round garden pool with a gurgling jet fountain, complete with custom-cut limestone curbing stone. It was a lovely, peaceful, and safe haven for our dear friends which they both thoroughly enjoyed sharing with family members and friends.

When I was working outside Philadelphia and commuted back to my DC home on weekends, I usually stopped in to a well-stocked plant nursery along my route off of the Interstate to stock up with more plants for the Toutorsky’s walled garden. I recall how the toll gate attendants on I-95 near the PA-MD border always remarked on my ‘mobile garden’ because I had the back seat of my large company sedan loaded full with beautiful flowering specimens, such as Japanese anemones.

When I read this, I was touched by the breadth of affection this garden project represented for the Toutorskys when they were elderly. I’m thankful for the contributions this fellow and his friends made, way back then and also now, for relating it here. There may be so many more people scattered all over the globe with affectionate ties to the Professor and his wife. Truly marvelous, don’t you think . . . in the best sense of the word?

2 Comments
July 10, 2013

sticker shock . . .

May-July 2007 351_2Have you ever found yourself living through a period of time when everything seems to weigh down your usual optimism and enthusiasm? Sorry to say, that’s how I’ve been feeling lately for two reasons: negative things that occur outside of my control; and people who don’t change even when they say they will.

These two irritants can irk me on an ongoing basis although I should know better. It’s INSANE to do the same things over and over and naively expect them to be different from the way they always are. I KNOW THIS, but it can still be deeply frustrating.

Okay. So why am I writing this post besides complaining about stuff that is a pain in the butt? Because, as I was stewing away while waiting at a stoplight, I happened to glance over to my left where a truck had a sticker in the window that said:

“Don’t take life so seriously. . . It’s not permanent.”

Gotcha!

1 Comment
July 3, 2013

coming of age . . .

DSCN3921If you read a lot, you’re probably familiar with the genre category known as “coming of age” books. The characters in the story are usually young, for example, Francie in “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” by Betty Smith or a little more off-beat, Holden Caulfield, hero of “Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger. As I continue to think about writing, I have been reflecting about what “coming of age” actually means. I think it means maturation, whatever that is; you know, teen-age struggles with identity, misadventures and finally coming to some place of realization the characters didn’t have before. Oh, really?

If my experiences count to me for anything, it’s the lesson learned that the journey never ends, and that in fact, it’s only the journey that matters, because there is no end. That’s a New Age message that spoke to some of us, a cultural voice a couple of decades old. Has it really been that long? In any case, we often hear that the present is all that matters and that the past and the future are a waste of time to spend thinking about. It makes life more do-able, at least for me, to listen and pay attention to what’s around me one day at a time.

So where am I going with this? I believe that we come of age as an ongoing process while we live, as a matter of fact, and that the concept is much deeper and broader than a briefly focused time during our adolescence or early adulthood or even adulthood–see what I mean? Just think about who we were ten years ago. If you’re anything like me and write journal entries, coming upon those scribbles years later, I often think, “OMG, who was that person?” And “Why did all those people/things matter that much at the time?”

In some ways, it’s heartening to read these scattered notes and realize how far life has come for me. Yeah, baby! I’m not as frustrated at some people anymore–either they have disappeared, things have resolved themselves or I’ve taught myself how to avoid conflict. Many of the things I wished for and sought after have either appeared in my life or have been forgotten altogether. Isn’t it great that “life is long”?

So, back to the concept, coming of age while we live, I know that I inhabit my world a lot differently than I did when the kids were growing up; when I was travelling and working 60-hour weeks in the biotech industry; or even now during the last couple of years when I’m able to explore and develop what I’m curious about. Coming of age to me is when you truly know yourself and like (most of) what you see (the inward compact with one’s spirit) and can enjoy each day as it opens and closes. Sometimes, I think that freedom from being tortured by “shoulds” and “should have beens” arrives by the time you turn fifty! Sad, but true. And great for all of us who make it to fifty and can just be ourselves, for better or for worse, . . . finally.

Things are still not under our control as much as we might like it to be. The world outside appears to be accelerating with weather extremes, political angst and fearful events. But if we feel at home within ourselves, knowing that we can make our place the way we want it to be, (even if it’s messy and the cupboards are bare) we’ve come of age.

What do you think?

3 Comments
June 24, 2013

small wonders . . .

birthday tulips!Today, I was fiddling around with some photos in order to print some out and take along with me when I visit my daughter and her family in Minneapolis, a couple of weeks from now. What I had in mind was to print them out in smaller sizes, make a montage of them, print out the montage and frame it, thereby getting more images into one space.

On my HP printer instructions, it showed “contact sheet” as an option to print multiple small photos all lined up in rows. Not knowing how to input more than one photo at a time, I searched on online for help. Up popped various sites including ones for free software to make collages online, save and download them for printing. JUST what I didn’t know that I was searching for. So, a few minutes later, I downloaded “Smilebox” for a 7-day free trial ($3.+/month if you choose to subscribe afterwards.)

Much to my surprise, there were a myriad of collage formats to choose from–some marked “premium” which would be free during the 7-day trial. PLUS, my little collage could be set to MUSIC! ~ mine or theirs. I chose to upload the ukelele version of “somewhere over the rainbow” played by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. A piece of music that I uploaded for another collage was Steve Martin’s composition for banjo called “the great remember” in memory of Martin Short’s wife, Nancy. It’s a sweet little piece.

Anyhow, I’m excited about this little discovery and thought I’d mention it in a post today to share the first and second “pancakes” from this fun medium. And thanks to all the smiling faces in the collages for such good times that we have shared together!

Click here to see this small wonder that appeared out of the blue today! And here’s another . . .

Postscript: here is one that marries a poem by mary oliver with a prelude by Scriabin played by Yuja Wang.

Leave a comment