Farmville

We traveled to Barrington Farm a few times this summer. It's a working farm from the 1850s located in a state park not far from us. It's very educational and enjoyable - and quite eye-opening to see the furniture, ceiling height, cooking equipment and women's clothing styles from that time period.

When Corinna and I took our kids to celebrate the birthday of Texas, there were many folks dressed in period costumes, including military regalia. There might have been a wagon or two. It felt like stepping back in time, just a little. But I laughed when my children saw this food stand and said, "Oh, just the way it used to be!" No, Sam Houston's troops were not fed by sausage on a stick vendors.

Good times, kettle corn and all.

Postcard from the month of August

On the one hand, I love going to Minnesota in the summer because it's a beautiful place to visit. On the other hand, going to Minnesota in the summer makes me sad I don't live there. Land of 10,000 orange-colored swim accessories!

Team members

Last night at my book club (BTW, we discussed the wonderful Little Heathens by Mildred Armstrong Kalish & I recommend it for any book club out there. It's a crowd pleaser!), the discussion turned to fixing stuff and then to mechanics.

"Do you have a mechanic you really like?" asked one book club member. Turns out she does have a trusted mechanic and she shared his location, his work ethic, his fair prices and his convenient location. I almost wanted to hear a noise in my engine just so I could check him out.

"I don't have a mechanic I love," I shared, "but I've really found the right hairstylist. It's taken me how many years of living in this town, but I have a keeper." In fact, while sitting at my book club meeting, I was looking forward to the hair appointment I had scheduled for this afternoon. Now it's evening and I am home from that appointment, still basking in the hair-dried glow.

"What makes you like her so much?" asked someone in the circle, and I expounded on the reasons. Let me count the ways:

1) She came recommended by my friend Jen - whose color I really admired one day.

2) She shares a name with my daughter. So, of course.

3) She is conveniently located two blocks from my work and two minutes from my home. In Bryan. Yes! I like to support the hometown businesses.

4) She never tries to sell product. Product singular, right? Cause that's always how hair people refer to it. (Pet peeve!) In fact, this salon doesn't have any product for sale. This should probably be my number 1 reason, I like it so much. See, I don't want my hair stylist pushing me to buy stuff ... because I am terrible at resisting sales pushes! I usually leave stylists who "suggest" various shampoos and waxy pastes. Even the stylist at Great Clips tried pushing something on me. No more. I was done. My kids still go there, but not me. Costs too much - a $12 haircut and a $25 bottle of shelf decoration.

5) She doesn't make ridiculous chit chat the whole time. In fact, we sit in silence with each other for long stretches of time. It's not that we never visit. Today I asked her what her granddaughters were going to be for Halloween. She asked me about my job. But it's also okay if  I read one of the many celebrity magazines she has stacked AT her hair station. "Do you want another magazine? Here's the new People," she said this afternoon, handing me the just delivered issue.

6) It's a relaxing experience. I'm doing cut and color now, so the appointment involves application of the color (pleasingly cold), setting the color under a hair pod blowing hot air (uncomfortably singe-ing), relaxing into a shampoo (heaven on earth), and sitting in the spin-around chair for the cut. And for the style. (She styles free of charge.)

Today when I walked in, she took me to the shampoo station straightaway. It was delightful, just the right end-of-week relaxer I needed.

"Oh my goodness, you're getting color, right?" she asked with a start, right after she had rinsed some delicious-smelling creme from my hair.

"I am, definitely." These gray hairs don't disguise themselves, am I right?

"Well, I'll just have to shampoo you again after we put the color in," she said with a laugh.

I smiled inwardly. Two shampoos in one appointment? My lucky day!

7) The price is right. $55 for a cut and color. Pretty much can't be beat in town. One of my coworkers told me that at the salon she frequents, a highlight and cut was $120. More than double my full color, cut and style deal. (She's now looking into making an appointment with my stylist.)

ETA: I still think $55 is a lot of money. I hope I didn't sound spendthrifty! The last time I went in for a cut and color was in July. I stretched that cut and color out for three months and touched up my roots myself. So yay for budgeting, but boo for shaggy layers, less than professional blending and split ends. If I can go two months between appointments, I'll be pleased. Three months was too long, especially since I work in a field where personal appearance is so important. (Guffaw!)

8) She is a sweetheart. I've been to her salon four times now (and have blogged about her before), and I am touched by her positive energy. She is friendly and encouraging to the other stylists, for example, and she compliments me too, i.e. "Oh, your red hair is so beautiful!" I don't even bother pointing out that SHE's the one to thank for the color. Her compliment is sincere, without any claim on the finished product.

This afternoon, we happened to be talking about car accidents on the highway that runs through our community. She asked me if I had seen a particular cross at one of the major intersections. "That's my baby," she said. "I just put out fall flowers this week, I change them every season. Never a day goes by that I don't think of her." It was a very poignant moment with a lovely person. I choked up, actually.

So even though I don't have a mechanic on my team (yet!), I am grateful for Annie, my hairstylist.

Mantras

You know how you get phrases in your head and then they repeat and repeat and repeat? I don't mean catchphrases. More like thought phrases, worries, beliefs, hopes, fears, that kind of thing.

"I feel incomplete."
"I don't know how to fix things. I lack the skills to be in charge of my own life."
"I've wasted so much time."
"I am no good at finishing projects."

...and so forth. (These are random examples, not pulled from, um, my head!)

A well-meaning person might say, "Oh, you shouldn't be thinking that! Those things are not true." OR "Thinking those kind of thoughts won't help!"

But the mind isn't always as well-meaning.

I've been battling various thought spirals this summer. Certain phrases just chase themselves in crazy circles through my head. (I'll spare you the rest of the list, but there is a certain commonality.)

Part of me knows those thoughts aren't accurate. But *knowing* doesn't always change perception. Why is that? Seems like someone should be in charge up there, giving commands to the heart and so forth. Instead, my brain sometimes feels like a battlefield between a squabble of power-hungry generals, each pushing forth an idea aggressively that most likely contradicts the idea of the next general.

"You can do it" is shot down by "That's a laugh. Just remember last time!"

I chuckled when I saw this bumper sticker last week, a bumper sticker I occasionally catch in the student parking lot and should probably stick on my own bumper: "Don't believe everything you think."

And honestly, I'm actually doing better. Some of you have received the sad emails, the weepy texts, some of you have listened to my grief or watched me fall asleep on a dime, on a concrete slab and so forth. ('Cause sometimes it's too much to stay awake.) Others have wondered where the me you used to know disappeared to. I feel those thoughts of love on the breeze some afternoons. And yes, I am getting stronger. (The picture says it all! Courtney and I peddled that paddleboat all the way to the dock with Andrew as a stowaway.)

But those mantras persist. (I suppose the goal is to reduce frequency.)

And so I gratefully received a new mantra from my friend Corinna. The same day that Heather and Brent sent flowers, a blessing in bloom! (A thousand thank yous.)

This new mantra, one I now picture with yellow roses from that gifted bouquet, is one I'm programming in. I guess I'm arming this thought general, a daisy peeking out from the end of his gun. The mantra is enough to chase the other generals off. It speaks to the Buddhist lesson of impermanence, and will most likely be useful during really splendid life chapters too because both good and bad are fleeting. It reminds me of wise counsel from Elizabeth and the image that came from that ... my future self, smiling a metta smile, reaching out to me with a hug and happy reports from what's next. Here it is:

I won't always feel this way.

p.s. Here's an amusing thought rivalry that dukes it out at least daily. "How come I know nothing at thirty eight?" is usually given a good shove by "At least you're figuring it out now."

So unlike me

I'm going to start with this - people who say things like, "I never used to work out, but now I do and I love it" really annoy me. I get irked by this kind of chirpy chatter.

Also, I never used to work out, but now I do and I love it.

When I was pregnant with Graham, Heather and I went to water aerobics faithfully. She was the faithfully part, to tell the truth, and I was just fully. It felt good, yes, and was fun. After our babies were born, we walked together regularly, again with Heather taking the lead. When she moved away, my commitment to fitness went with her.

When my kiddos were little little, I joined Gold's Gym. I tried going in the early morning. I even had a gym buddy - my friend Ulrike - who went at 5 a.m. and expected me to join her. On a few occasions, I managed to get there, bleary-eyed, but never frequently enough to make it a habit. It was tough every single morning I woke up in an attempt to get to the gym.

My best workout stretch during that year or so lasted only until Fantasia, dancer extraordinaire!, graduated from college and stopped teaching the hip hop class at Gold's Gym. But in the weeks I did attend, I learned that I pushed myself harder to music. That was good to know.

My family is certainly fit. My mom and sisters work out practically every day. My dad wears a pedometer (we call it the digiwalker!) and logs thousands of steps every single day. I have always been the slacker of the bunch who had to be coaxed into doing a Leslie Sansone DVD or a pilates routine with Courtney. Every year I would make a resolution to get fit, but halfheartedly. The cycle would continue. A few workouts here or there. Nothing consistent. Always starting over. Ugly workout pants to boot.

This spring, I signed up for another hip hop class at a local dance studio and loved it. I realized that a once a week class wasn't going to cut it in terms of helping me get in shape. Then I went to my doctor in April to talk about my health. He said I should be working out every day. He promised endorphins blah blah blah. It seemed out of reach. But on the way home, I really considered his advice. I told myself that if my doctor had written me an Rx for something, I would certainly go to the pharmacy and fill the prescription. His counsel to exercise was an Rx, it just wasn't one I could fill at the pharmacy.

Within a few weeks I joined the gym again. This time around, I tried to be both more realistic (I want to tone up vs. my old goal: I want to run a marathon) and more consistent. I also signed up with one of the gym trainers. My membership included a few sessions and I paid for a few more. I go again tomorrow, in fact, and unbelievably - but believe it! - I am looking forward to it. The trainer has pushed me and that's a very good thing. He has shown me how to use various machines and devices too. He's given me some accountability and some encouragement and some training. Hence the job description, I guess.

My friend Corinna and I are attending together as often as we can. That workout buddy principle is a good one, and we've shared some laughs. One of our first jaunts to the gym was for a Body Flow class. I raced to the store to exchange a pair of workout pants that were too large, selected (optimistically!) a pair TWO sizes smaller than the pair I was returning, ran home, put them on and dashed to the gym with my kids in tow. I was a few minutes late to the class, but Corinna saved a spot for me right next to her ... in the front row of the very full class. I stood on the mat, took a deep breath, and glanced at the mirror.

Egads! Those new pants were SKIN TIGHT. They were literally suctioned to my legs, hips and rear. It wasn't a pretty sight. Adding insult to injury, the t-shirt I'd randomly pulled from the drawer wasn't quite long enough. I spent most of the class tugging the pants down, then tugging the shirt, then the pants, then the shirt. It was a shame fest. But I'm good now. I kept the skin tight pants, but added a long tank top under any t-shirt I choose to wear. I definitely look like a madwoman when I work out, but I try to avoid staring directly into the mirrors.

Tonight I went to the gym. I did the elliptical machine for 20 minutes, then a circuit of free weights, weight machines (hip abduction, anyone?), ab exercises and push ups, followed by another 20 minutes on the treadmill, sprinting the last two minutes. My feet slapped the belt so loudly it sounded like a construction zone. I know I looked more like a mugging victim running for the police station than a sleek athlete, but I kept jogging.

I share these details only to create some kind of record, a personal history, if you will. Let it be noted that Erin, noted fitness slacker, has joined the endorphin club.

Now, one little problem. My kids don't much like going to the Kids Club! The automated message loop that plays whenever I'm on hold with the gym promises, "Your kids will love to play in our fantastic Kids Club." So far, only so so, but I tell them when we go that they are helping our family. I thank them for supporting me so that I can be a better mother. I threaten them with my biceps!

Questing

A few months ago, I bought a five-sectioned notebook & started on a course of study. I'm reading books, blogs, articles - starting some, finishing others, making note of stuff to put on my To Read list, and am trying to keep track of what I'm learning in some form or fashion. It's a daunting process, but exciting too.

Right now, I'm reading Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert, The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh, The Writing Life by Annie Dillard, The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance by Elna Baker, and American Fascists by Chris Hedges. (One downside of reading a million books at once is that I only proceed a few pages at a time. Takes forever, but that's okay.)

Also, let me point out that I'm watching "Psych" episodes on hulu.com, lest it sound like I all I do is read. That's a laugh. Mostly I sleep, think about sleeping, check FB, fold laundry, make meals and rinse our swimming suits in the sink. 

Mostly, I feel like there isn't enough time/energy to learn all that I need to learn, but I also recognize that in the past, I've been complacent and let the sheer overwhelming-ness of the task of knowing myself and my world slow me down shut me down. In fact, it sometimes seems as though 'complacent' is my default mode. I rely on other people's experiences and conclusions instead of my own. Sigh. I am a big-time sucker for someone confidently explaining his/her worldview and sometimes forget to ask myself what I think about the world, hence my quest.

Time to go back to that old Shel Silverstein poem about eating an elephant.

One bite at a time, right?

I like these thoughts too. 

"Rely not on the teacher/person, but on the teaching. Rely not on the words of the teaching, but on the spirit of the words. Rely not on theory, but on experience. Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. Do not believe anything because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything because it is written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and the benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it."

-- Buddha

Sky-tinted water

I saw this poem posted on a private blog tonight. It is exquisite. Ms. Boland is an Irish poet, still alive, still writing. Still capturing truth, as these lines attest. 

The picture is from Norway Lake, Minnesota. I took it last summer. I will be there again in less than a month.

Atlantis—A Lost Sonnet
by Eavan Boland

How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder
that a whole city—arches, pillars, colonnades,
not to mention vehicles and animals—had all
one fine day gone under?

I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then.
Surely a great city must have been missed?
I miss our old city —

white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting
under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe
what really happened is

this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word
to convey that what is gone is gone forever and
never found it. And so, in the best traditions of

where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name
and drowned it.