3-23-11 7:00 pm White Lies Must Die

I told one last night, and knew it the whole time. My lovely book groupies asked about the layout of our nearly 100 year-old house where I hosted the evening. They heard gleeful descriptions of walk-through closets, a large basement, and my daughter's huge bedroom closet. I boasted that it was half the size of my living room. Anne openly corrected me when she entered the conversation later that fateful night.

Everything else I'd said was true. The building was erected in 1919. You can actually get from the dining room to our bedroom via a closet. The basement was dug out some decades ago, and is nearly full-sized. Why did I lie about the size of Anne's closet? What purpose did it serve? Instead of making me feel some form of good, my heart started a relentless and rapid pounding.

It's all about doubt. In the brief moment between thought and words, I worried my lovely guests might not get just how large Anne's closet really is. Actually, it's about a quarter the size of our living room, which is still unusually large. Anyway, I think my white lie was a preemptive attempt to positively impact their perception, which I pre-supposed to be inaccurate. I thought they wouldn't believe me, based on their own experience or misperception that all old houses have tiny closets.

Had I chosen bravery, faith, or good will, I'd have said something like: "...And this is really unusual: Anne's closet measures something like 4' x 8'. Isn't that large for an old house? We're thinking of converting it to a half-bath." Instead I exaggerated. My friends are LDS, so I'm sure they picked up on my lie before I even uttered it.

The larger lesson for me: practice faith. Faith in myself for being able to find the right words to convey complete and utter truth, and faith in others for being capable of really hearing it. If I'm going to live 100% positively, the white lies must die. Part of being positive means building trust, and lies, regardless of their size, erode trust. Plus, they're unnecessary.

Telling the truth requires thought and articulation. I think I believe that speaking 100% truthfully provides an opportunity to become smarter. Ponder these tools for honesty:

• think before speaking
• use the right words
• listen
• say what's meant
• mean what's said

If I do those things, they have to make me smarter, because they will require me to think before I spout off. Maybe I tell white lies out of haste more than lack of trust. Maybe it's a healthy dose of both. In the end, maybe the "why" of it matters little.

This new goal requires planning. I wonder, if my conversation pace slows in order to think about and plan for what I say to be truthful, whether folks will be patient enough to listen. Maybe if I speak only the truth, they'll be eager enough to hear my words that they'll wait for them. Maybe it'll start a trend. How might life change if we all killed white lies with the patience and correct wording that honest communication requires?

3-18-11 9:28 pm A Gift...

It was definitely him, looking more dapper than ever. My Grandpa had a close-cut beard, white of course. In life he kept his face clean-shaven. His shirt was a button-down white Oxford with narrow, dark blue stripes set wide apart, underneath a burgundy v-neck sweater. While he was living, I remember him wearing calm tones that complimented rather than contrasted. He may or may not have had his cane with him in my dream, yet he needed it to walk and steady his balance in his living, breathing days.

Anyway, when he hugged me in greeting, he patted my lower back. I don't know; there's this way he has of pressing the lower back that reassures the hugee it's him. With Grandpa, you were always the hugee. He seemed reassuring that way. And he always did that lower-back press. I feel certain the action was intentional on his part, his signature gesture, if you will.

He was intentional about everything. He even had a breakfast schedule: on a certain day oatmeal, on another fried eggs and bacon. He used to say it was one thing over which he had control in life, so why not take advantage? He'd shrug in a boyish way, and laugh off-handed, feigning boyish innocence in his conquest over the unpredictable. I always secretly guessed that the whole thing was funny until someone really tried to mess with his meal schedule. To my knowledge, no one ever did.

I digress. His coming to me last night, in my dream, it felt like one last greeting, with the whole family there, and it really felt like the real thing. Grandma was smiling in her black patent-leather pumps, pleased as ever to be together looking like one big happy family. My mother stood to the side, smiling, arms crossed, approving. Harold and Anne were somewhere in the room, maybe behind me. And before our visitors, Mom and Grandma, entered through the back door, I remember dreading: this will be the first time I greet my Grandma as a widow. It was a dreadful thought, which made my heart pound and threatened uncriable tears in front of visiting family members who most certainly would be put over their respective edges of barely holding it together for their own grief if they saw me break down.

Jews know how to mourn. The wailing wall gives them cart blanch to cry their hearts out. Even when they're here in America, they own that magnificent tribute to loss, in their history. Catholics somehow presume composure at the most dreadful times. I'm mad he's gone. I miss him terribly. The world is less without him.

And I know it was him, who came to me in my dreams last night, and gave me that one last comfortable family greeting; we could all be there, together, in my night visions. I cherish that memory; I feel literally touched by him. He came through, once again. Grandpa was nothing if not predictably reliable. I love him so much, and it's dreadfully sad he's gone. Thank you, Grandpa.

Thanks for standing up when you hugged me good night, while all the other grown-ups would stay sitting on the couch, unmoving. Thank you for giving me confidence in my taste in clothes, and my choice of diet. Thank you for teaching my daughter how to play tic-tac-toe with even more complexity. Thank you for making tough moments light-hearted. Thank you for taking me to the park when I was little. It's one memory I've lost, which tells me those were carefree moments. Thanks for those. Thanks for standing when I came into the room. Thanks for tipping your hat. Thanks for teaching me how to think about someone else's perspective. I'm still working on that one. Thanks for being so affirming to me. I love you. Thanks for coming to me when I needed you last night, in my dreams. Thanks for still being there for me when I need you.

3-15-11 4:54 pm On the Plus-Side or, Today in My World

Admittedly, a persistent cloud took residence over me a week or so ago. Intentional positive energy slowly moves it, in small increments. Today, my mojo for moving it even further from my heart feels like gratitude. Again.

Today in my world the sun rose. My car started. I'm employed. My students came to me eager for attention and learning. My husband showed me care. My daughter showed signs of health, both mental and physical. I made intentional decisions about how to spend my time. Food availed itself to me, enough to feel healthfully nourished. My house stood on solid ground. My loved ones seemed safe. I practiced yoga. I got the laundry started. Dinner seems doable. Things look pretty good from where I stand.

And with that, my heart feels still a little lighter. Potential for change feels almost more gratifying than my elevated state of mind. It gives me hope.

3-9-11 7:06 pm Latitude, Gratitude, Attitude

Today is my Thanksgiving.

Thank you "J" for helping me steer my life in the direction I want to take it.
Thank you "K" for the free haircut (bangs cut, whatever).
Thank you Anne for just your being you.
Thank you 5th grade leopards for welcoming my presence in your lives and in your learning.
Thank you entire Leopard staff for working with me and including me in your thinking.
Thank you Harold for being a best friend and a spouse all at the same time.
Thank you "D" for keeping my birthday plans on the front burner.
Thank you folks, for trying to be there for me, even though I'm almost 40.
Thank you world for keeping enough natural disasters at bay so that I may live to see another day.

3-7-11 5:18 pm Anger as Data

I think anger gets a bad rap. "Anger - just one letter away from 'danger'". - author unknown. The very premise of my blog might suggest that anger is, well, bad. I mean, who wants to read a blog called "Angrily Boggin'"? In fact, spending most of my time attempting to foster the positive further supports an assumption that I think ill of anger.

On the contrary, I find anger to be a most useful emotion. Ok, in an ideal world I might pay more attention to joy than to anger. In fact, it's balancing that very scale that inspires me to focus on fostering the positive, and write this blog. Yet it would be a gross oversight to, say, ignor this informative emotion.

Anger, thankfully, demands attention. What if Abraham Lincoln thought thought our union should be divided into North and South? What if the "anti" was left off and we just had "bellum"? Might we still have slaves? What if Rosa Parks hadn't gotten fed up with segragation? Would my best childhood friend, Dion, be relegated to the back of her bus for the rest of her life due to her black coffee skin color? What if a physically abused person continued to take beatings rather than get fed up and act? Anger tells us something we need to pay attention to, and hopefully inspires us to act effectively. In cases of domestic violence the victims can spend so much time justifying the behavior, they forget to protect themselves.

Human brains look for patterns. Victims sometimes opt for predictability over safety. And what about happiness? We may pay less attention to joy than to anger because we enjoy joy. Our brains simply assume the happiness will repeat itself without making further efforts. Conversely, when our brains acknowledge anger, defeat, dissappointment, or any other negative emotion, brains assume they will repeat themselves as well, and go into fight or flight mode.

So: hubby has flowers delivered, and wife tells all her co-workers, joyfully, about it. She may entirely forget to thank him later. Hubby leaves dirty dishes in the sink, and wife notices them just as she's about to cook dinner. She lays into him when he arrives home from work about his lack of respect and responsibility, and flatly refuses to cook.

Noticing our emotions, and intentionally planning for their repeat or ceassation might positively impact our day-to-day life experiences. Had wife gushed over flowers to hubby, it might encourage him to repeat the act. Being intentional is different than manipulating. Harold now looks so pleased with himself when he comes in with my coffee. It happens maybe every other week, and sure, I'd love it to happen more. The fact is, that he knows I like it because I tell him so and he intentionally makes it happen.

Had wife, instead of laying into hubby about the dishes when he walked in the door, asked him to take her out to dinner because the sink was too full to cook, he could have recieved the same information with an entirely different outcome. They'd both get fed, she'd feel respected, and he would understand his leaving dirty dishes in the sink makes some else's life harder.

When we take time to notice what we want to avoid, and plan from an intentionally positive perspective, we stand to come out happier. Intentionally perpetuating that which we enjoy produces the same outcome. We get more of what we want, and we have our own intentionality to thank for it, at least in part.

At 11, Anne just begins showing the signs of hormonal stress. Last week it was the Girl Scout Cookie Saga. I'd let her place our order, and when the cookies came, she had some. Then she let the boxes sit on my desk for over a week. When a meeting came up, I grabbed the left-over boxes as an offering. When she saw they were gone, she lost it. Ok, I accept some blame, and have replaced the lost loot. However, her responses these days definately reveal an added dimension of poiniency.

What to do? So unpredictable! She's a mystery to herself; how could we begin to understand or anticipate her needs and responses when she herself is learning? And I predict, based on personal experience, she's in for many years of dealing with hormones and intense emotions. How best to parent in these unpredictable waters?

Here's our plan: Notice, notice, notice. You're angry? So how does your body feel? You're stressed out? What is your body doing to tell you that? You're worried? What do you notice going on for you physically right now?

I know full well that telling her what to do will only piss her off. And I could be wrong about whatever solutions I invent. Ultimately I want her to know herself. Know what she needs, understand how to meet those needs, and in the end, feel capable of, and intentional about, caring for herself. It seems to be working for me, and it's my best hope for her at least for now.

3-3-11 6:00 pm Have You Noticed?

Maybe I'm stubborn, after all, the Northeastern Cougar is extinct. Perhaps it's plain pig-headedness, after all, our state budget constraints for next year just might asphyxiate our childrens' education. It could be flagrant disregard for reality, after all, I did receive a complaint call today. Whatever it you label it, I just feel unequivocally, the only and best option is to celebrate.

In spite of the Earth's magnetic polarity changing by 40 degrees to the ... east?..., regardless of our economic woes, and aside from crashing housing and job markets, what about the rest of life? What about balance? What happens without it?

So: the sunrise these last few mornings has been very colorful. Have you noticed? The weather's been fair this week. How does it feel to finally thaw out? Have you seen the larger numbers of people getting around on foot or by bicycle? It makes me think hopeful thoughts about the longevity of our eco-systems.

Whatever good I can find, it feels like a compelling entity. Its very existence must be savored, examined, and remembered. Since any of it exists at all in these seemingly desperate times, every joy deserves attention.

It's also the little things: Anne, hormonal, emotional, and perpetually hungry, has been unusually cuddly this week. Harold's been making the bed. I'm getting more organized about my time lately. Work seems to be going well.

Hard times come with life. These times are tough, and yet, we've had tougher, colder, and more hateful events in history: the Holocaust, the Great Depression, the Civil War, plagues, the Ice Age, etc.

"This too shall pass". "That which doesn't kill us will make us stronger". "Look on the bright side". "Every cloud has a silver lining". In times of struggle these cliches can seem shallow. And yet I wonder: What might happen if we ignore the message each of them carries?

The rougher the times, I say, the greater truth those time-honored phrases carry. We need smiles, we need optimism, we need hope. That's my mission today, to notice things which inspire hope.