The Book Club With the Shopping Problem

I've never been a good shopper. Oh, I've tried. As the mother of 3 daughters who all LOVE to shop, I've wanted to get into the spirit. I really have. But 5 or 10 minutes into the shopping adventure it always becomes an ordeal and I remember what I hate about the whole thing. Too many choices. Pushy salespeople. Loud, obnoxious music. Nothing that fits. Rampant commercialism. Ahhhh! Get me outta here a voice screams in my head.

In November I went to New York with The Book Club With The Shopping Problem. (TBCWTSP) I had The Most Wonderful Time but I was not converted. Fortunately there are a few other things to do in New York, people watching being my favourite.

Last week TBCWTSP were invited to spend the weekend in Birch Bay at the beautiful home of LT. When I accepted the invitation I had visions of long hours spent wandering the beach, cozy afternoons in front of the fire discussing books, evenings filled with games and laughter.

The evenings filled with games and laughter happened but Saturday dawned grey and drizzly. Beachcombing lost its appeal. The ladies of TBCWTSP split into groups, and somehow (I must have been abducted) I ended up in a car heading into Bellingham for a full day of shopping. I think it was a conspiracy. They wanted to turn me into one of them: a shopper.

Looking back on it, I realize their strategy was well thought out. Our first stop was at one of those horrific outlet stores. We walked in and all I could see were thousands of racks of clothes, all jammed together. There so many people and they were all rifling through the mishmash of merchandise. I tried to join in, but it was too much. I finally hid in a back corner (with a lot of lost husbands) until my friends had had their fill. Wanting to show that I was a good sport, I purchased 10 washcloths. I was hoping we could go home.

But oh no. We hadn't even hit Bellis Fair Mall yet. As we pulled up I noticed that the mall appeared to go on for miles and miles. I wondered how much cab fare back to Birch Bay would cost me. I figured I was in for the longest day of my life.

We started at Macy's. CN suggested that we meet in one hour. One hour?? For one store? Heavy sigh. I stepped into the store, and immediately my mood improved. The racks were spaced far apart. The store was mostly empty. There were no line-ups for the changerooms. The music was soft and sweet. The salepeople were present but not pushy. Each item of clothing came in a full range of sizes, and they were neatly organized from smallest to largest. I felt like I'd somehow ricocheted out of hell and landed in heaven!

I took stacks of clothes into the changeroom. One hour was not nearly enough! I needed a second hour! Before the afternoon was over I'd bought clothes at Macy's, kitchen dishes at Target and a lot of odds and sods in-between. And I was just getting started! This was fun! We agreed to come back to the mall and carry on the next day. I was ecstatic

After some tearful farewells in the morning, (we knew how blessed we were with such wonderful friendships and hated to go our separate ways) the 4 of us headed back to the mall, but the euphoria was gone. After 5-10 minutes I wanted to get the hell out. What had happened to me just the day before?? The only explanation I had was that the transition from the outlet store to Macy's was such a relief that I actually thought I was having a good time!!

Nonetheless, I love the ladies of TBCWTSP. All of them. Not everyone can make it on the trips but everyone is equally beloved in the group. And I'm grateful to the ladies who turned me into a shopper for one day. Man, was that fun! It may never happen again, but for 8 hours or so, I got it.

Love you all ~

postscript: the reason LT appears to be tottering on the edge and about to fall over in the picture is not because she's had too many Margarita's. The truth is, she set the camera on a timer and then had to jog across the yard on her new hip to get in the picture. Hurray for LT!!

True-blue friends

I have been blessed with wonderful friendships throughout my adult life. There are the women that I met when my children were small. We formed a babysitting co-op and propped each other up through the many challenges of child-rearing. Then there are my friends in the writing community. The three of us in my small writing critique group are especially close, but I've also developed friendships in the larger community. The women in both my book groups are very special to me, and the friends I've made here in Deep Cove, through the school, children's activities and my own activities are like rare birds - I treasure each one. I only wish I had the time and energy to be the kind of friend I'd like to be - all of the time. I have wonderful men friends too, but the vast majority of my circle are women.

"I believe that these circles of women around us weave invisible nets of love that carry us when we are weak and sing with us when we are strong. Let's lean back and let the arms of women's friendships carry us and help us to know ourselves better, and live our lives together." Sark

There is one friend that has stuck by me since my early 20's. We met during her first year of teaching, I was in my second. We looked alike so the kids often mistook us for each other. We became fast friends, as did our husbands. We each gave birth to our first child within 3 weeks of each other - totally unplanned. Sue went back to teaching when her maternity leave was up, and I decided to leave teaching to pursue my passion for writing.

Life became busy with small children, careers, family and the daily grind. Long months would pass and we wouldn't see each other, but Sue never forgot a birthday, not mine, my husband's or one of the girls. There was always a card in the mail (on time) and/or a cheery phone call on the special day. I was not nearly as good at reciprocating, but Sue never pointed it out.

When we moved to North Vancouver it became even harder to connect as the distance was greater, but that didn't deter Sue. She is always willing to drive across town to have a visit. She supports my children with her presence at their special events, even though her own life is full to over-flowing.

As each one of my books has been launched, Sue has made a homemade, symbolic gift to mark the occasion. Last week she arrived at the book launch for Gotcha! with yet another thoughtful and beautiful keepsake to mark the occasion. On the way home from the launch my girls were discussing how special Sue's gifts are. I told them that Sue is a true-blue friend. "What's true-blue?" they asked. I told them true-blue is, " loyal, trustworthy, forgiving (very forgiving!), steadfast, honest, and there for the long-haul." I have been blessed to have Sue in my life. The posted pictures are of the gifts Sue's honoured me with, as well as the newest piece to my collection. The photos are by Cara Hrdlitschka (for some reason I have trouble posting pictures to this blog, and they never appear as wonderful as they are.)

Rebirth

We did a breathing exercise in yoga today and the teacher suggested we imagine the deep inhale as breathing in new life, and the exhale as a cleansing, or a shedding of the old skin, as a snake does. In shedding the old skin we are reborn.

I hung on to this image all day. I've never before identified with snakes, (primates being my current obsession) but I like the image of shedding the old skin, of becoming new and fresh again. Snakes do it to allow for growth. I feel poised on the threshold of shedding my old skin, my old self, allowing for personal growth.

I did a little research and discovered that humans actually shed 1.5 million skin cells every hour with a new skin surface regenerating every 28 days (kinda gross when you think about all those skin cells floating around... sort of like the millions of dust mites that live on our mattress... okay, don't get me started.) So, we are shedding too, but this image of flaking skin isn't nearly as powerful as that of that snake, who loses the skin in one entire piece.

Apparently the stresses associated with shedding can be substantial. Sick snakes experience delayed and incomplete sheds. Also, shedding is a slow process, and I imagine there must be some discomfort. So it is with humans embarking on a rebirth. First we have to shed the old skin. Unhealthy humans, people who are emotionally, spiritually or physically ill will struggle more with the shedding. The changing of old routines, adjusting to losses, these are uncomfortable, but by maintaining our health and embracing new opportunities we can aid the shedding process that leads to our own rebirth.

Maybe I can identify with the snake afterall.

Namaste

How shall I live, knowing I shall die....

Random Thoughts on my Spiritual Journey

I've recently returned to the Unitarian church after a 3-4 year absence. There is a new minister there, and he is everything I would hope for in a minister: wise, reflective, funny, humble, human, laid-back, well-rounded/grounded ... I could go on on on. I feel like I have found my way home after an extended trip away. It was at yesterday's service that someone (not the minister) posed the question ~ How shall I live, knowing that I shall die. I jotted the phrase down, realizing that it was extremely relevant to where I'm at in my life right now.

No no no, I'm not facing a life-threatening illness (that I know of) but I'm trying to become more fully aware of how I am living, and whether it's a meaningful life.

By coincidence, or maybe not, I walked into an art gallery in San Diego last month and found a book by Jane Goodall: Reason For Hope, A Spiritual Journey. Even though my to-read stack of books is a mile high, this book went to the top and I'm now half-way through it.

I've always known of Jane Goodall and her work with chimpanzee's and I've held her in the highest regard, but I've never actually read anything she's written. Now I feel like I've discovered a soul-mate. The questions she poses, the thoughts she's had... they speak directly to my own soul. I know I don't have the hardiness or character to do the kind of scientific work that she has done, but what she has learned from her life in the African wilderness speaks directly to me, and millions of others, I'm sure.

In the following passage, she reflects on her first trip to Gombe, when she was totally alone in the forest in Africa.

"Together the chimpanzees and the baboons and monkeys, the birds and insects, the teeming life of the vibrant forest, the stirrings of the never still waters of the great lake, and the uncountable stars and planets of the solar system formed one whole. All one, all part of the great mystery."

Ahhh. Lovely.

I haven't had the opportunity to be alone in the African wilderness, but I understand this feeling of being one part of the whole, of the great mystery.

Namaste

I fell in love during Spring Break

Cinta, a young orangutan and Little Lucu, a siamang ape, have stolen my heart, lock, stock and barrel. My daughters had to drag me away from their exhibit at the San Diego Zoo. They were behaving - yes - just like little monkeys! Or small children. I was captivated by their antics - the teasing, the tackling, the swinging, the swaggering. Watching these magnificent young apes was like sitting on a bench at a playground, watching preschoolers romp. They were absolutely delightful, and seeing the patience and affection that the older apes had for the younger ones - well - it was simply stunning. Human parents could learn from them. One of my daughters, standing beside me at the glass wall that was all that separated us from the animals, commented... "I don't understand why some people don't believe in evolution."

My thoughts exactly.

Photos by the the enormously talented Cara Lee Hrdlitschka

Making way for the new...

In the past I've complained about the way my daughters rarely listen to an entire piece of music. They switch radio stations or press 'forward' on their ipods after about 30 seconds of listening to a song. Until recently I couldn't understand this jumping about. Now I do.

As my life undergoes some major changes I'm learning to recreate my sense of self. I can no longer identify with the same labels that I did just 6 months ago.

I know this can be a healthy process if I remember to celebrate the opportunity for personal growth at the same time that I grieve the changes.

Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist's Way says, "Shifts in taste and perception frequently accompany shifts in identity. One of the clearest signals that something healthy is afoot is the impulse to weed out, sort through, and discard old clothes, papers, and belongings.... By tossing out the old and unworkable, we make way for the new and suitable. A closet stuffed with ratty old clothes does not invite new ones. A house overflowing with odds and ends and tidbits you've held on to for someday has no space for the things that might truly enhance today."

This I understand. I do feel the need to clean out the old to make way for the new, even though I have no idea of what that 'new' will look like.

What I didn't expect was a shift in my music tastes. On hikes with my own ipod I find myself behaving just like my daughters. My thumb is on the 'forward' switch as I skip past all the 'oldies' that once brought me such pleasure. Yesterday I found I couldn't even listen to old Beatles tunes, which I didn't think I'd ever tire of. I'm yearning for something new, music that that speaks to my heart and soul the way the old favourites used to. I know that as I open my mind to new artists, or artists that I never noticed before, I will discover the kind of music that fulfils the new me.

Namaste

Kill 'em with kindness

I consider myself a good dog owner. I always scoop poop. I buy a dog license each year. I exercise my dog daily to keep him healthy and happy.


I also consider myself to be a good law-abiding citizen. My friends and family will vouch for me when I say that I am a lousy liar and that I always follow rules, sometimes to the extreme.


However, there is one bylaw I do occassionally break, and as a result there are some who would consider me to be an irresponsible dog-owner.

You see, I sometimes allow my dog to run off-leash.

(There, I've said it. What a relief.)

In the six years I've been breaking this bylaw I had yet to meet up with the dreaded 'dog police'. All that good luck came to an end last week.

It was one of those remarkably crisp, clear, early spring days. Winston and I headed down to the beach to stretch our legs and enjoy the break in the weather. We were wandering down the beach when we ran into another springer spaniel and her owner, who was an acquaintance from the neighbourhood.

The other dog-owner and I quickly engaged in conversation about the joys of owning springer spaniels. So engrossed were we in conversation that we didn't notice the dog police until after our dogs had run up and greeted them. Off-leash, of course.

I sighed deeply and reached out my hand to accept my ticket. I knew that we weren't allowed on the beach and that being off-leash was a no-no. I figured that I'd been lucky for 6 years, and that if I amortized all our leash-less walks over that time - well, it really only cost me pennies per walk.

My dog-walking friend, however, had a different take on the situation. He immediately started talking. "I'm so glad we ran into you," he said.

I tried not to look as startled as I felt. I waited to see where he was going with this.

"You see," he continued. "I've often wondered what the rules were for walking dogs on the beach."

I kept my eyes glued to the ground. Hadn't he noticed the signs all over the park telling us that dogs weren't allowed on the beach?

One of the dog-police patiently began to recite the law to him, while the other began filling out our tickets.

"Ohhh," my friend said, after having the law explained to him. "Thank you so much for letting me know! You guys are doing the community such a service. There are so many irresponsible dog-owners out here. I don't know what this park would look like if it weren't for you keeping all us dog-owners in line."

At this point I noticed the puzzled glance that the two dog-police exchanged. Then one reached over and checked the tag on Winston's collar. "2006," he noted.

"I have a 2008 tag, honestly," I told him, sheepishly. And I do. "But it's still sitting on my desk. Right beside the 2007 one."

The dog-police person turned to my friend with raised eyebrows. "And you?" he asked, his nod noting Ruby's lack of any tag.

"Oh dear," my friend says, shoulders sagging. "You see, we have four collars for Ruby. Every time she gets wet we change her collar. But we only have one dog license. Hey," he says, looking brighter, "do you think I could order extra dog licenses next year?"

"No," Dog Police #1 says. "May I suggest you keep Ruby's license with your car keys from now on. Then you will always have it with you."

"Great idea!" my friend says.

The dog-police turned to me again. "Please put your dog on leash," one of them says. As I lean over to clip Winston to his leash I wonder what my friend will do. I'd noted that he didn't even have a leash with him, but when I stood back up, I saw that Ruby was now attached to the end of a leather leash.

As I pondered the miraculous appearance of the leash, my friend continued to chat away about how wonderful the dog-police were, and how he appreciated how hard they worked. He might even have mentioned how good-looking they were. Eventually the one with the pad of tickets stuck them in his back pocket. "We're going to let you off with just a warning today," he said. "But please remember not to allow your dogs to run free on the beach again. And get those dog licenses on them."

"Thank you so much," my friend says, shaking their hands effusively. As we walk away, he says, quietly, "My pants are about to fall down."

"Huh?"

It's then that I notice that Ruby's leash is not really a leash at all. It's her owner's belt. I hadn't even noticed my friend slide it off, and clearly the dog-police hadn't either. Between bellows of laughter I asked whether Ruby really had 4 collars. "Are you kidding?" he said. "Ruby's never even been licensed."

"You just have to kill 'em with kindness," he explained. It works every time."

Shelley

Postscript ~ the moral of this story is not that lying and breaking laws is recommended but in this incident, everyone got what they wanted. My dog now proudly wears his 2008 license. I will no longer be walking him on the beach, on or off-leash. But it could have ended a lot uglier, with harsh words and expensive fines. The kind words made all the difference.