Debbie Scribble

To 2011 -- And Some of the People Who Made It Exceptional -- With Love

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 04:52:00 +0000

Image: Petr Kratchovil

Some of my favorite and most meaningful New Year's Eves are like this one . . . curled up and reflecting on the year past and the year ahead. I've been absent from this blog for a few weeks now. Things have been moving at warp speed here IDW. (That's In Deborah's World for any of you who need a reminder!) So I spent Christmas with my beautiful sister and her husband (best brother-in-law on the planet -- maybe in the galaxy!) and my niece and nephew who taught me to play Mousetrap and watched Finding Nemo with me for the umpteenth time. I know it doesn't sound very exciting but it was perfect.

Some extraordinary people entered my life this year -- and vice versa ;). Here are some who have encouraged and inspired me most. They're not in any particular order and it's not comprehensive but here are some of the people I'd most like to thank for helping me to take quantum leaps in 2011. A few of them I know only through their blogs, but they have defintely been part of my journey and I am SO grateful to them for their contributions.

Erin Clark -- I met Erin through Shanna Mann and The Impossible League. Erin taught me that when we are at war with our bodies, our spirit suffers. She says that your spirit ALWAYS loves your body; it's thrilled to have a physical vehicle and it chose the one you have. She made me see this truth in a new way and now I can't NOT see it. A gifted singer and an aerialist (!), Erin is also given to bawdiness when it serves the purpose of fun and I approve of this heartily! Thank you, Erin, for your magical, marvelous Self. I'm SO happy to have you [back!] in my life!

Julia Valentine -- Julia and I met when I interviewed her for an article I was writing. By the time the article went live, we were fast friends. Julia's mission is to help everyone make sure that the second half of their lives is the best part. This is especially impressive since she is still very much in the first half of her own journey. Her passion is born from the heartache of watching her vibrant grandparents get swindled and crumble in their later years. She is smart, she is kind and she is funny and has a generous spirit . . .all wonderful qualities in a friend. She also has a mega-watt smile and a marvelous laugh. I'm so proud to call her my friend!

Rosie Molinary -- I love the internet because it makes wonderful writers like Rosie available everyday. Rosie's blog and books and her work as a teacher all are devoted to making women recognize their beauty. She helps us understand that there is nothing in a bottle or a tube that can trump what's already inside of us, just waiting to shine through. Her writing is so warm and transmits such joy that I always wish I could dash to her kitchen for a cup of tea and maybe a crumpet . . . if only because women as warm and wonderful as Rosie are sure to laugh at words like crumpet! Rosie, a million thank yous for sharing your wise and witty self so generously.

Thais -- Thais blogs over at Living in the (k)Now. She shares her triumphs and tribulations with such honesty and such heart that the beauty of her spirit shines through. I only wish I lived close enough to her to take her yoga classes. (I'm trying to get her to move to NYC -- suppose that's a tad selfish! But in my defense, she DID say that moving here is a dream she has!) Thank you, Beautiful Soul.

Lin Eleoff -- I met Lin the first night of the BlogHer Conference here in New York and liked her verve and panache and her slightly wicked sense of humor! Now that I follow her blog The Worst Mother Ever -- which is a) hilarious and b) features her own original drawings, I like her even more and am SO happy to have met her!! I can't wait to see her again! I see some umbrella drinks in our future . . . !

Kim Dinan -- One of my Stars of 2011, Kim blogs over at So Many Places. Kim and her husband Brian have sold their home and will soon be leaving on a round-the-world trip. Kim is a 4H kind of writer -- honesty, heart, humor and home. Why home? Because she has such a clear understanding that home is about more than four walls and a roof. Rather, it's something we carry within us. I can't wait to follow Kim's chronicle of the adventures and discoveries she and Brian will share.

Vic Magary -- Vic is just one of the remarkable human beings I've met through Joel Runyon's Blog of Impossible Things and discovering Vic's blog was a real highlight of 2011. Vic lost his business and, in the process, a lot of other things as well. He pulled up stakes and moved with his dog, Coda, to Texas for a fresh start. Vic is an inspiration. He is direct. He is candid. He is honest. And he is balls-to-the-wall BRAVE. I admire him and am hoping that 2012 will bring him all good things.

Mara Glatzel -- Mara blogs over at Medicinal Marzipan about body image and self-love. For me, her writing is the tip of the Mara iceberg though . . . beautiful, impressive and clearly a force of nature, but just about 1/10th of her massive grandeur and strength. Mara produces a daily body-loving newspaper with highlights from the best of the web, and she also is unfailingly generous and supportive of others, including Yours Truly. Because of Mara, I set up my Twitter account AND got my first followers. I met Rosie Molinary, Karen C. L. Anderson, Thais and lots of other wonderful bloggers through Mara. Mara, you have my gratitude and devotion. Thank you so much.

Andrea Owen -- Andrea blogs over at Your Kick Ass Life. Like most of the others you see listed here, Andrea doesn't just talk the talk, she walks it. People who interest me are those who pull themselves up after life has kicked the spit out of them, and then focus on helping others up from the mud as well. Andrea took a situation that has flattened more than one of us, turned it on its ear and then used it as a platform to help others. Her positive attitude and gorgeous smile are happily infectious. She inspires me and I always enjoy checking in with her.

Jill Shapiro -- When vegan athlete and author of Thrive, Brendan Brazier, spoke at a Lululemon on the Upper West Side, Jill and I were both in the audience. We began to chat. We kept in touch. One thing led to another and now Jill -- who is a graduate of the Institute of Integrative Nutrition -- is my Wellness Coach. Because of Jill, I now avoid gluten, refined sugar, dairy and caffeine. If you had told me a year ago that would be remotely possible for me, I'd have been skeptical at best and might even have choked on my iced latte. And this is only the beginning!! In March, I'll follow in Jill's footsteps and begin my own studies at IIN. I love you, Jill!

Cyndie Suarez -- When Cyndie Suarez is an international superstar, remember that you read about her here first! Cyndie is co-founder of a holistic wellness center here in Manhattan called Love Your Transformation. As part of a new venture she's starting, Gorgeous U-niverse, she offered meditation workshops and while colonics were outside my comfort zone, meditation seemed not only do-able, but also attractive. Cyndie has great training and remarkable skills, and she is a gifted intuitive. Working with her as a member of the first Gorgeous U meditation circle-- at Jill Shapiro's insistence! -- has very literally transformed my life. Cyndie will be launching the Gorgeous U website and blog this year and I can't wait to see what new adventures will unfold!

Matt Frazier -- I found Matt through Google, when I was looking for resources for vegan athletes. Matt blogs on just this subject over at the No Meat Athlete. The blog is informative and inspiring but, for me, it was a portal to a bigger world. Like Mara, Matt has introduced me to incredible fellow bloggers and resources. In point of fact, it was Matt who led me to Mara! If I am any indication, I can only imagine what goodness is rippling outward from the work he does. Thank you so much, Matt! Maybe 2012 will be the year we meet face to face!

Joel Runyon -- Joel Runyon is a bad-ass. He's young. He's brash. He's impatient in the best possible way. And damn the boy gets things DONE! His list of the Impossible Things he accomplished in 2011 is daunting. If it stopped there, he'd be kind of insufferable. But it doesn't stop there. Joel's daring is exceeded by his kindness and his sincerity. He launched the Impossible League and penned the Impossible Manifesto to help others reach for the best in themselves. He's not really good at responding to e-mails, and I'm still a little peeved that he won't follow me on Twitter (maybe I'm too girly?) but overall, he's far too awesome for me to hold such trifles against him!

Patrick Hitches-- Patrick Hitches admits to being "a little bit crazy." I tell him in no uncertain terms that he is bat-shit crazy!! I've linked you to his 27 day training program for the Marine Corps Marathon. Yes. You read that right. In 27 days, Patrick trained for a marathon. Then, he headed off to climb Machu Picchu. Because of Patrick, my own Marine Corps Marathon dream now has a firm Go date. And Machu Picchu is looking closer, too!

Daphne Cohn -- Daphne IS The Pleasure Nutritionist. I like her down-to-earth approach to nutrition and her dedication to helping other human beings awaken to the light of their own true natures. She also has a generous and giving spirit, building bridges that connect like-minded spirits in powerful and playful ways. Daphne is based in Ithaca, New York, a town I like almost as much as the beautiful Cavafy poem of the same name. Daphne, you are GLORIOUS!! Thank you so much for sharing yourself as you do!

Pamela Moss -- I signed up for an on-line workshop that Pamela offered this fall called The Clarity Course. It's not like me to do something like this . . . but 2011 -- particularly the fall of 2011 -- seemed to be the time for me to do things that were a little out of the norm for me. It was BRILLIANT! It was fun. It was practical and I felt as though I learned so much about clearing the path for what's really important. I have a one-on-one session slated with Pamela in a few weeks and I couldn't be more excited about it. She is a positive tour-de-force with a sincere dedication to helping others manifest their most heartfelt and creative dreams.

Kelly Lemons -- When two of my nearest-and-dearest wed in March, Kelly helped them to craft one of the most beautiful and poignant ceremonies I've ever witnessed. I remember thinking that I couldn't have created a more intimate and loving ceremony for my much-loved friends myself, and that impressed me. (I've since learned that creating a ceremony that seems as though it was written by a best friend is a central goal of celebrancy.) I also thought, "I could do that. And I could do that well." Kelly met with me, told me of her own journey, and encouraged me to apply to the Celebrant Foundation and Institute (CFI). I will complete the first round of my studies there in April of 2012 and my goal will be to create ceremonies that are as meaningful and loving as those that Kelly creates.

Marta Adubato and her 8:30 Circle -- Marta is my first instructor at the CFI and I feel so blessed to be one of her students. My whole body hums like a tuning fork when I read our assignments and discuss them in Marta's 8:30 Circle! Marta has a rich, honeyed voice that soothes my soul and makes me wish she could read me bedtime stories. She is a strong and nourishing presence and I appreciate her and every one of the amazing and accomplished women who comprise Marta's 8:30 circle.

Each and every one of the individuals on this list has rocked my world and helped to make 2011 exceptional. 2012 is going to be a better year because of them so I'm sending love and gratitude to them.

Finally, each and every one you who reads this blog also has helped to make this year especially meaningful. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending blessings to one and all for all the best in 2012. May you be healthy, happy and may you live out loud in the year ahead.

Pain

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 03:13:00 +0000

Talk about getting things in under the wire. This month's Self-Discovery Word by Word blog carnival word is Pain and there is a stellar -- and poignant -- essay on the topic over at Nourishing the Soul. I also was reminded to put my fingers to the keyboard by two of my awesome fellow Impossible-ites. (Are you a member of the Impossible League yet?! If you're reading this, you'd probably love the League almost as much as I do! "Almost" because NO ONE loves the League more than I do! Oh, sure, a few people love it as much, probably but nobody loves it more . . . what was I saying? Ah yes. Returning to the subject at hand.) Vic Magary included this post on pain, Shanna Mann had this to say and, although she's not an Impossible-ite (yet!) the impossibly awesome Mara of Medicinal Marzipan had yet another take on the topic. With all this yummy goodness on the topic what could I possibly have to say? Well . . . let's find out, shall we?! 'Cause I know I'm going to be surprised as I'm working in ephemera here, folks!)

My sister and I (brothers, too, come to that!) spent a significant portion of our formative years on military bases in the U.S. and various corners of the globe. So maybe it's not surprising that one of our favorite sisterly-bonding experiences is to watch GI Jane together. Again and again. (Yes. We're a little bit insufferable. But just a little bit. And by the way? Since I'm talking about GI Jane, let me add this to my ~~Impossible~~ List: I want to be able to do sit ups the way Demi Moore does them in the film. SO that's a Note to Self!) But back to pain:

Here's a quote from the film:

Pain is your friend, your ally, it will tell you when you are seriously injured, it will keep you awake and angry, and remind you to finish the job and get the hell home. But you know the best thing about pain? ... It lets you know you're not dead yet!

Ah, yes. It's that last line that's the conundrum, isn't it? Pain reminds us that we're not dead yet. It may make us wish we were . . . but it's pretty clear proof that we're not.

The worst pain I've ever endured has not been physical, but emotional. Running a marathon? Even though at the end of both half marathons I've done to date I've been really grateful that there wasn't another 13.1 miles ahead of me, I still say: Bring it. I can do that. Getting back on my feet after surgery and finding that there was residual nerve damage so that walking or sitting produced a sensation akin to knives thrusting into my pelvis? Yeah, after six months of that I was exhausted. (Chronic pain is a BITCH.) Calcific tendonitis? Worst pain I've ever experienced. On a scale of 1 to 10 that was 12.

But physical pain has such a short half life, doesn't it? We push through it. We recover. It's over. Emotional pain? Not so much. Emotional pain is like a dirty nuclear bomb. It contaminates. It changes the terrain, It can mutate things born in the future. The effects go on and on.

I've said before that I think that those of us who are drawn to endurance events like the fact they are clearly defined: There's a starting line. And there's a finish line. Life isn't nearly so tidy. It's not linear; it spirals like the strands of a DNA helix . . . up and down and back again! And damned if it isn't fraught with pain -- physical pain, emotional pain, even psychic pain.

And much as I love Viggo, I gotta say: Pain doesn't feel friendly. But if you work through it and with it? You'll emerge stronger and be more fully alive.

Foul Play

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 04:08:00 +0000

Photo: Peter Griffin

A two year old child is missing and I read that the police suspect "foul play." Coming as this report did hard on the heels of the scandal at Penn State this week, and in that both cases involved children, the irony of the phrase struck me right between the eyes. Foul "play." What's happened is hideously foul but not remotely playful.

I spent huge chunks of my formative years in "Happy Valley." I learned to swim there.(Thanks Aunt Daisy!) Saw my first R rated movies there. (Thanks, Sherril!) Read The Harrad Experiment with my cousin, Carolyn, sang Broadway show tunes with my cousin, Darlene, and tried to shoot pool with my cousin, Dominic. I went to art fairs on the PSU campus, ate ice cream at the Dairy Queen, watched re-runs of The Brady Bunch. I don't know how Aunt Daisy managed it -- her four kids, a niece and two nephews for months on end -- but I'm so grateful that she did. It was idyllic time. Idyllic enough to make the Nittany Lions "my" football team of choice, in spite of the fact that I scarcely know a tight end from a quarterback.

Given the sense of personal connection, maybe it is not so surprising that I read the Grand Jury report on Jerry Sandusky and in spite of my churning stomach and brimming eyes, I couldn't seem to put it down. In my state of horror, anger, disbelief, revulsion, I want to blame someone. But, in good conscience, I'm not sure I can pin this on Joe Paterno. Joe has a reputation for seeing the good in others; is it so inconceivable that when he looked at Jerry Sandusky he saw a man who was devoted to helping underprivileged youths? Is he to be blamed for not jumping to the conclusion that his friend was a sexual predator? As damning as the testimony is, it's not clear that there was any cover-up on Joe Paterno's part. Maybe -- just maybe -- he couldn't think the unthinkable.

Hind sight is 20/20. Having read the transcript, it's tough to see how Joe and others in authority could have missed the signs and ignored the red flags, And therein lies the rub and the lesson for all of us. PAY ATTENTION. Don't think, "That couldn't happen here." or "I must have misunderstood." or "I'm sure I/you didn't see what I/you think I/you saw." PAY ATTENTION. And, in the immortal words New Yorkers have come to know so well, "If you see something, say something." If no one listens the first time? Say it again. Say it louder! Yell it if you have to. Take out a billboard ad.

When I was in elementary school, I befriended a sweet, gentle girl I'll call Veronica. Her hair was always dirty; her clothes were shabby and often unwashed. She smelled of woodsmoke and musk. She had a delicate frame and, when she moved, she reminded of a small bird, like a wren, with a wounded wing. I liked to make her smile but even when she laughed, her eyes remained sad. When we went to Junior High, I began to understand why.

In Junior High, after gym class, we all would shower together. Veronica would try to wait, and either not shower at all, or shower afer everyone was gone. But she wasn't always able to avoid it, and so I wasn't the only one who knew why she was reluctant to bare herself in front of the other laughing 12 and 13 year olds. Veronica's body almost always bore big, ugly bruises and angry red welts . . . the kind of welts raised when skin is lashed with a leather strap. Truthfully, while the marks frightened me, I didn't understand what they meant until I was much older. But I've always wondered why a grown-up didn't step in to intervene. And then I wonder if it would have helped. Our "justice" system is notoriously lax in protecting children; Penn State is just another microcosm that illustrates a much larger and deeper problem.

I don't know what happened to Veronica. My family moved to another country and I never heard from her again. So, as an adult. I wrote a play about her; in it, she finds love and tenderness and redemption. I've been so haunted by her lo these many years that I had to give her a happy ending. Statiscally speaking, it's unlikely that she found one.

Jerry Sandusky's victims may not all bear the pysical scars of his lechery, but they've been marked by the abuse just the same. Is Joe Paterno to blame? Maybe. The truth is, there's plenty of blame to go around for not protecting them, but nothing we can do or say is likely to mitigate the damage that's been done. Jerry Sandusky ushered each of his young victims into their own, private hell and, unfortunately, each and every one of them must now find his own way out.

"Blue Like Smoke"

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 04:47:00 +0000

Photo: David Wagner

Some of my absolute favorite musings on fall, from the incomparable Tom Stoppard's play, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead:

Guildenstern: It's autumnal.

Rosencrantz: No leaves.

Guildenstern: Autumnal -- nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day... Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it... Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth -- reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

Wish I'd written that! (Thanks, Tom!)

Don't forget to turn your clocks back tonight and, you know, fall into autumn with abandon.

Chain-Chain-Chains . . . Change or Chains

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 22:19:00 +0000

Photo: Peter Griffin
Or something like that. (And yes, I'm parapharasing the lyrics by design.)

There's a Chinese proverb/curse . . . and let me take a brief detour here to say how fitting it is that a culture that uses the same symbolic language for "crisis" and "opportunity" would also provide a proverb that may be interpreted as a curse. And we now return you to our regularly scheduled program . . .

The Chinese proverb/curse states: "May you live in interesting times." Is there anyone, anywhere on the planet who doesn't think this is one of the most "interesting" times in human history? The ice caps are melting. The trees are dying. Floods. Droughts.Blizzards. Heatwaves. Famine. And don't even get me started on the wars. The corruption. The crimes against humanity. YIKES!! If this isn't a Tiger/Bear/Strawberry flash of history, I don't know what is.

It's easy to think that the world is going to hell in a hand-basket so we might as well get out our fiddles and do a little dancin' before the flames reach us. We may even be tempted to think that there's nothing we can do that will make a difference for ourselves or for the planet. (Or, you know, maybe I'm the only one who ever has these thoughts. In which case I've just thoroughly embarrassed myself. But I'm betting that I'm not alone.)

Guess what? We're not the first generation to feel this way. (And, God willin' and the oceans don't rise, we won't be the last.) It's difficult to keep perspective when you're knee deep in the river and the water's risin', isn't it? But that's exactly what we must do.

Every generation has its moments of despair. For me, perspective comes by reading the words of those who have gone before us. One of my favorites is this, which was inscribed on a tablet in Assyria, circa 2800 BC:

“Our Earth is degenerate in these later days; there are signs that the world is speedily coming to an end; bribery and corruption are common; children no longer obey their parents; every man wants to write a book and the end of the world is evidently approaching.”

We have two choices: change with the world as the story unfolds, or remain chained to our fears. I choose change. I choose to work for the causes I believe in and my loved ones. I choose to live my best life and do everything I can to make the world a little more beautiful and more homey. How about you? If you're willing to roll up your sleeves instead of throwing up your hands in despair, we could really use your help.

Busy As A ....

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 21:40:00 +0000

Photo: Mike Coates

It's not that I don't have a thing to say . . . in fact, because I've been so busy, I have even more to say than usual! But (because I am buzzing around so. zooming from flower to flower, as it were!) I haven't been able to connect to my keyboard. But I'll be back soon and promise I'll share something sweet and tasty as wild honey!

Joy Compass

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 21:35:00 +0000

Photos: Anna Linkevich

See the little guy in the photo above? Not only is he a sharp dresser with a megawatt smile, he also has great taste in books! That's a copy of my friend, Julia's, book, Joy Compass, that he's holding in his chubby little hands.

I have a copy of Joy Compass. Not only is it autographed but, much to my surprise, I even got a shout-out in the Acknowledgments. (Woo-hoo!) I won't lie to you . . . though I can't think of what I did to deserve the honor, I got a warm little glow when I discovered it! But that's not why I'm writing this now.

Actually, I'm sharing it because it occurred to me that the incredible men and women who read my blog are EXACTLY the kind of people who would most appreciate this book. And seriously? I think it's awesome. I haven't finished my copy yet, but so far I'm loving it!

That pretty lady -- also sporting a mega-watt smile! -- is the author of Joy Compass and a woman I'm very proud to call my friend. She is incredible. That warmth and openness you can see in the photo only get better when you meet her in person. She has an MBA from Columbia and a Wall Street career behind her but what gives meaning and passion to her days is her desire to help everyone experience what she calls "full-blast living." (I just love that expression, don't you?!)

Julia and I met when I interviewed her about her book. We discovered we had a lot in common -- like a common love of books on neuroplasticity for starters, and decided it would be fun to meet for coffee. When we left the Brooklyn Diner after that first cup of joe, we walked to Central Park. It had just rained. The grass was wet and the air had the glorious, fresh-washed scent that comes after a summer rainfall. Dusk was falling. As we strolled, we witnessed something neither of us had ever seen before. The lawn on either side of us was carpeted with the flickering lights of fireflies. I couldn't help imagining fairies, the sight was so magical. We're girly-girls -- and both a little given to shows of emotion! -- and the beauty of this brought us both to tears. We hugged and laughed at ourselves a little for crying and voila! A great friendship was born.

Since then, we've become fast friends and have happily found that we both love champagne, French desserts, men -- both domestic and imported -- and laughing 'til we can scarcely breathe. Since I think of all of you who read my blog as my friends as well, I wanted to introduce you to one another. I hope you'll pop over to Julia's website, stroll around a bit and then take your own copy of Joy Compass out for a test drive. Don't let the word "retirement" scare you away . . . this book is really about self-discovery and it's GREAT if you're 20-something because you have more lead time than the rest of us!

If you do get a copy of the book, I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do mine and I'd love to hear about your experience with it if you'd like to share! Here's wishing everyone a joy-filled weekend!

Enough Is As Good As A Feast

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 23:05:00 +0000

Photo: Anna Cervova
Yes! It's another Blog Carnival moment! This month's word is "enough" and it's hosted by the "awesomesauce" that is Miss Mary Max. (And thanks again, Merry Miss Mary, for not settling on palimpsest!)

One of the few purchases I regret not making was a VERY large cup and saucer I found in an antique store on the coast of Maine. They were whimsically painted with flowers and a pretty, round-faced girl with curls adorned the cup, so the duo was aesthetically pleasing. But the selling point for me -- or rather the reason I regret not finding a way to travel with it lo these many years later -- was the inscription hand painted along the inside rim of the cup: "I'm not greedy," it said. "I just like a lot!" EXACTLY!!

Who doesn't like to have a lot of the things we most enjoy? Champagne for today and a bottle for tomorrow, too. A box of chocolates to savor. Soft sweaters in yumilicous colors and shoes for every mood. Minimalist movement aside for a moment, most of us want " a lot." (Let me pause here to apologize to Ms. Stubbs, an English teacher who loathed this use of the phrase and insisted that "a lot" was a piece of real estate, not a quantitative measure. No doubt most of us also would appreciate the real estate, but at the moment, I AM using "a lot" that other way!)

I think it is entirely possible that we are hardwired to want "a lot." That the cozy sense of satisfaction we derive from a well-stocked pantry and linen closet isn't just a ruse created on Madison Avenue but a modern day expression of atavistic survival instinct. Somewhere deep in our cells, and our souls come to that, we carry the knowledge that life isn't easy -- and a hot meal and a warm blanket are good things to hold onto.

And we're almost right. It's the "holding onto" that gets us into trouble. Ironically, when we're holding onto something we don't need and can't use because we might need it "someday", we're creating lack. We're depriving others of something they can use NOW and we're also blocking the flow of the things that WE need today; they can't reach us because the path isn't clear.

The saying goes, "Enough is as good as a feast." It's meant to remind us that there's no point in having more food than we can eat or more clothes than we can wear or books than we can read. Step into the flow of this lush and abundant Universe; trust that everything you need will be provided. You don't need to hoard hotel toiletries or keep the plastic containers from Chinese takeout. You can let go of those pants you've had since high school that may fit you again "someday" and that ceramic teddy bear that your cousin's neighbor's friend gave you one Christmas that might be treasured by someone instead of just taking up space on the windowsill of your garage.

Try this: this week, release 27 things that you're no longer using or no longer love and watch what happens. Something wonderful will come into your life, even if it's just peace of mind. And truthfully? That's more than enough.

Nothing Shall Be Impossible

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 15:08:00 +0000

Photo: Petr Kratchovil

I've been thinking about the impossible a lot lately. One of my cyber-heroes, Joel Runyon, has just formed The Impossible League. If you're the kind of person who likes to do things others think of as impossible, PLEASE join the League. From what I know of those of you who read and comment on this blog, every single one of you would be a great asset and have a lot of fun besides.

But back to thinking about the impossible . . . I can't think of the word without remembering Matthew 17:20, which was a particular favorite of my parents and grandparents. (Farmers in the hill country of Pennsylvania moved mountains one boulder at a time with a little faith and a lot of grit and determination.)

"If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you."

Lots of people know this verse; it's become part of the woof and weave of our national fabric. You can even find little tchotchkes that commemorate the verse to wear or carry -- earrings, necklaces, key chains -- featuring a tiny Gray Poupon-worthy mustard seed enclosed in glass or plastic. The seed is small. But -- and may my Uncle Dennis correct me if I'm wrong -- as small as it is, it's likely many times larger than a mustard seed of Biblical times. According to what I've read, the mustard seed Jesus used to illustrate this verse was probably more like a flake of celery seed than the beads that appear in stone-ground mustard.

Put a flake of celery seed in your palm or on your finger tip and think about the most impossible task that looms in your future. The dream or aspiration you're almost afraid to name. The one you've never said aloud. Yes. THAT one. In The Impossible League, people travel the world. They open businesses in foreign countries, learn languages and jump out of airplanes. They run half marathons, marathons, ultra-marathons and execute Iron Man Triathlons and other feats of strength and daring with daunting regularity. I've done two half-marathons to date and, after both, I was damn glad there wasn't another 13.1 miles ahead of me. Still, I don't doubt my ability to execute a full marathon or more when I put my heart, mind and quads into doing so. (Pending my cardiologist's approval -- in case she's reading!) And I believe any one reading this can do the same. No matter who you are or what your condition, someone like you has earned a medal by covering 26.2 miles and YOU CAN, TOO!

But -- and I believe most if not all of my fellow Leaguers will agree with me here -- running races and jumping out of airplanes is child's play compared to the real challenges of life. Having the courage to jump out of an airplane doesn't impress me much unless you also have the courage to free-fall into love with equal abandon. Climbing Everest is a fine goal but it pales in comparison to rising to feed an infant night after sleep-deprived night, and then nurturing that child for a lifetime, particularly if it's a child with special needs.

As for races . . . life is an obstacle course that catches even the drill sergeants of Parris Island by surprise, and though the course may look different for each of us, we each run for our lives. Some of us race against: Addiction to drugs and/or alcoholism. Bulimia. Anorexia. Obesity. Debt. Poverty. Disease. Chronic illness. Domestic abuse. Anger management. Crippling feelings of inferiority or self-doubt. And, at some point, each of us will do a leg of our journey with grief and loss hampering every step. WE ARE THE LUCKY ONES. We get to CHOOSE our course -- will we climb over obstacles? Go around them? Dynamite them into oblivion? Or let them stop us in our tracks. So long as we stay in the race, WE WILL TRIUMPH!

I've said before that I think what draws many of us to endurance events is the fact that. There! IS! A FINISH line! If you keep pushing forward, you WILL cross it! And that is wonderfully reassuring knowledge that can help you dig deep to tap reserves and resources you weren't sure you had. Tapping those reserves during a race is a great tangible reminder of what you're made of and can help you make it through the challenges of Real Life with greater grace and ease.

Bring your faith in yourself and in others and come join the Impossible League. We're in it to win!

(And thanks again, Joel!)

Black Bird Singin' In the Dead of Night

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 21:12:00 +0000

Photo: Petr Kratchovil

The tenth anniversary of 9/11 has come and gone. and i. wasn't. going. to. let. it. get to. me.

I think I thought if I kept myself busy enough I wouldn't think about It. Wouldn't have to think about It. Show of hands . . . who else out there had the same thought? It's hard to believe I am the only one.

I worked myself to the point of exhaustion from Friday morning through Sunday night. It was easy to do. I was working an expo and, as it was the first I was pulling together, there was lots to occupy my time and attention.

But 9/11? Not so easy to deny. I thought I was doing exceptionally well. Then, a friend asked me to say a few words before she gave the keynote address at the expo. She would acknowledge the anniversary of the terrorist attacks, then turn the floor over to me to say a few words about Grandparents Day. (Most of the audience members were grandparents; I am not but I know a little something on the subject, professionally.) When she began speaking about 9/11, though, all the emotion I thought I was "handling" bubbled up to the surface. It took everything I had to get up and speak. Incredibly, I remember I actually got the audience to laugh with me. There are few things that make grandparents happier than thoughts of their grandchildren.

But now it is Monday. I'm exhausted from the demands of the weekend but I think I also am trying to process what I suppressed so carefully. Should I apologize for this post? It's certainly not my usual fare . . . but, dear readers, it is real. I am grieving today. My heart aches. So for today, this post must be enough.

Thank you all for reading and I'll be back with more spit and fire soon, I promise.

I Am From...

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 21:01:00 +0000

Photo: Steven Long

This post was inspired by a gorgeous and poignant post from Karen of Karen C.L. Anderson, A Real Before and After Story, who was herself inspired by A Day in My NYC , who was inspired bysomeone else who was inspired by someone who stumbled on this template. While I enjoyed writing this as an exercise, I debated whether or not to post it here because it is SOOOOO about me and I didn't want to put any of you to sleep! ButI decided to take that risk because 1) It pays tribute to my family and my friends AND 2) I would love to read where YOU are from . . .and to that end I give a special shout-out to some of my tweeps and fellow bloggers at the end of this post hoping to score a few more of these for my reading pleasure!

Where are you from?

I am from Deborah. From the worker bee and the queen bee. From the sweetness of the honey and the venom of the sting.

I am from Deborah. From a Biblical prophetess and ruler who lead 10,000 troops into battle and a Revolutionary soldier who disguised her sex so she could fight as a man.

I am from Deborah and I am still living into my name.

I am from clabbered dirt on the soles of work boots and clotted cream rising to the top. I am from clear, cold spring water and seasons that each have challenges to meet and splendors to enjoy.

I am from an island of whalers and widows and waves and wind. I am from rock-strewn fields of rich soil and men and women strong and willful enough to work them.

I am from Alaska and Antigua, Key West and Iceland, Newfoundland and Virginia Beach. From the shores of Lake Cayuga and the jungle of Manhattan.

I am from burdock and dandelions, pinecones and lilacs, brambles and violets and lily of the valley. From lonely gray beaches and lush tropical forests. From tundra and wild blueberries near the Arctic Circle and from water lilies floating on tranquil tropical ponds near the Equator.

I am from Sunday dinners of pot roast and stories and songs and laughter. From Janis and Lester, Mildred and Bruce, Dorothy and Russell. And from the amazing tribes surrounding each of them.

I am from people who are strong and stubborn and loyal and kind. From people who live passionately and love fiercely and are always ready to lend a hand.

I am from:”You can do anything you decide to do,” “The world doesn’t owe you a living,” and “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

I am from “Handsome is as handsome does.” and “Mind your Ps and Qs.” From “Any house where love lives has elastic walls,” and “There is always enough.”

I am from The Old Rugged Cross and Amazing Grace and What a Friend We Have in Jesus. From a red brick Lutheran church on a green hillside and a white wooden Methodist chapel with a spire piercing the blue Pennsylvania sky.

I am from Sunday School on Sundays and Vacation Bible School every summer. I am from interdenominational services on military outposts. I am from friends who are Jewish and Muslim and Buddhist and Hindu and pagan and agnostic and atheist who share their beliefs and doubts with me.

I am from Nantucket and from the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains, from meals my mother seasoned and served with love. From Aunt Daisy’s sour-cream-and-molasses-laced butterbeans, Aunt Eleanor’s flaky pie crust and Aunt Dorothy’s lemony, moist apricot nectar cake.

I am from my Grandmother’s coconut cake at Easter, from my brother’s gourmet Thanksgiving dinners and from my sister’s Chinese feasts delivered on Christmas day.

I am from poets and storytellers, from healers and heroes and outlaws. I am from the 18th century boy who ran away from home to be a drummer for George Washington’s troops, and from a man who signed the Declaration of Independence.

I am from the Iroquois Nation which created the model of government our own founding fathers adapted for these United States.

I am from the 19th century wife of a fur-trapper who shot and killed a man, then buried him in her yard after he repeatedly threatened to steal her land and harm her and her children while her husband was away.

I am from the son of a sharecropper who rode off with Jesse James when James came to his town for fresh horses, and I am from the explorer Meriwether Clark.

I am from grandmothers and great-aunts who had careers when it was not the norm for women to work, and from grandfathers and great-uncles who worked with their hands and read voraciously.

I am from a tribe whose wanderlust has led us to spread our wings around the country and the globe, but who have their roots deep in Pennsylvania’s soil.

I am from a father who worked three jobs after I was born, a man who raised four children, kept the family farm as a haven for our extended family, garnered accolades in his Naval career and who taught me what it is to live with integrity.

I am from a mother who once pumped gas in sub-zero temperatures to help pay the taxes on the farm and make sure my siblings and I had snow boots and warm coats, and who still graced our home with her smile and laughter and her clear soprano voice singing “This is the day that the Lord hath made…”

I am from parents who insisted my brothers and sister and I treat each other as though we were best friends . . . and from those same brothers and sister who, in fact, I still count among my best friends.

I am from aunts and uncles who lovingly helped to shape me and from cousins I learned to love like siblings.

I am from family and friends who inspire me with their courage and nurture me with their kindness. I am from morning walks along the Hudson River, from starry skies and neon lights.

I am from coffee on the front porch and long walks up Sugar Hill, from shelling peas on the porch steps and late night games of hide and seek.

I am from grabbing an electric fence with a wet mitten while standing in a snow bank, and other follies of youthful inexperience I feel fortunate to have survived.

I am from a loud and loving and perfectly imperfect tribe that sings through my veins and keeps my feet moving in this dance of life.

Where are you from?

I'd love to read entries from all of you in the blogosphere -- and those of you who aren't, too! Again, you can find the original template here, but think of it as a guide rather than a mandate.

In particular, I hope I'll be able to see an I Am From entry from:

Kim of So Many Places, Tali of Cupcake Mafia, Thais of Living in the (k)Now, Yogini Bunny of Diary of a ______ Yogi and Zoe of Zoe and the Beatles.

A Delicate Balance

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 02:26:00 +0000

Photo: Anna Cervova

The lovely Mara of Medicinal Marzipan recently contributed her own post on Balance, as part of the blogger series Self-Discovery Word by Word started by Ashley of Nourishing the Soul. This month’s series is sponsored by Myrite of Tasty Life, and she has chosen the word (you guessed it!) Balance. I wanted to join in the conversation and you can, too. To participate, please skip on over to to Tasty Life and chime in. Please let me know if you do so I don't miss any words of wisdom or wisecrackery you have to offer.

If you're a long-time reader here IDW [In Deborah's World, remember?], you may think this photo looks familiar. No, your eyes aren't deceiving you. Yes, I have used this photo before. And no, I haven't run out of new material. Please don't stop reading because you think that I'm in reruns! It's just that the subject at hand is balance. And, IDW, the photo above says it all.

Since reading Mara and Myrite's posts on the subject, I've been thinking about balance. Like most people I suspect, I usually think visually first and let the language flow from the image. The three images that came up in tandem for me, and in such rapid succession it was difficult to separate them, were: 1) the image of a potter's wheel; 2) Anna Cervova's photo, above, and my own post on Core Stability and 3) the eye of a hurricane.

The first two images were easy to reconcile. In the post on Core Stability I wrote about a potter's wheel. To whit:

Anyone who has sat at a potter’s wheel knows how important centering is. If the clay isn’t centered perfectly, it begins to wobble. At first, it may be a subtle wavering. But in a matter of seconds, you can reach a point of no return at which it becomes necessary to smash the clay and start over again. It’s a little like that in life as well. Core stability is vital to a healthy body, and it has a metaphysical resonance too. If we stray too far from our center – our core values – we stumble. Sometimes we even fall. At which point there’s nothing to do but pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and do what we can to make ourselves strong enough that we won’t fall the same way again.

It was equally easy to figure out why the eye of a hurricane might be swirling through my brain, you'll forgive the turn of phrase. Irene was wreaking havoc in the Bahamas and on her way to make her own smash hit on the Great White Way and any other place that suited her fancy. I couldn't shake the images of a swirling storm and a spinning potter's wheel . . . and the woman in tree pose on the beach who had provided me with a visual representation of my own core stability. What was this troika telling me about my own take on balance?

Here is the conclusion I reached. "Balance" as so many self-help gurus tout it is a crock. You can't have it all, at least not in the way the magazines and daytime talk shows tell us we can or should. And that's really okay. Every day is not meant to be a halcyon day. Life has a way of throwing hurricanes our way and sometimes they touch down and destroy what we have worked for and what is precious to us. And here is where the eye of the hurricane enters, so to speak. Just as clay must center on a potter's wheel, at the core of every storm there is a circle of calm around which everything else swirls. You must learn to travel in the eye of the hurricane, to recognize that not only does tranquility exist, but you carry it with you, in your core. And regardless of what is happening around you, so long as you keep your core strong, you can move into tranquility it if you choose to.

Ever hear about the Hurricane Hunters? These are the men and women who, literally, fly into hurricanes in order to feed vital information to the National Hurricane Center who in turn pass it along to those of us on the ground to help us save our butts. And, if possible, our property as well. These teams fascinate me. Not just because it is balls-to-the-wall brave to fly INTO a hurricane, or that they're prepared to do this for as many as three storms at a time, but because the Hurricane Hunters have been doing this dangerous work since 1944 and have lost just one team in all that time. How is this possible? (Are you ready?)

They travel in the eye of the storm. But wait. It gets even better.

According to the website:

"As we approach the strongest winds in a hurricane, we simply turn gradually into the wind until we punch through into the calm eye."

Please read that again. They move THROUGH the strongest wind until they enter the calm eye of the storm. And they do this GRADUALLY, adjusting by degrees rather than with one headlong rush.

Apply this strategy to the chaos of daily life here.You know intuitively what that eye is for you. It's your safe place. The place where you can breathe. And you know how to get there, too. When the winds are howling and the rain is beating down upon you mercilessly, it's easy to forget you KNOW, but don't. It's also easy to forget that the way to peace is THROUGH the storm, rather than away from it. And last but not least, that you get there safely if you move into it gradually.

We all know this. Whether we juggle life tasks or knives and flame for Cirque de Soleil. Whether we struggle to hold tree pose in a yoga class or can stand on the bare back of a running horse in a tutu and headdress. Whether we're nursing a baby or an ailing parent -- or maybe both -- or just trying to handle some especially thorny issue that roils our peace of mind. You are at the center of every chaotic episode in your life and the only balance that matters is at your core.

When life is whipping you about, turn into the storm gradually and with purpose. The point of balance is in the eye.

Scribble Scrabble

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 01:18:00 +0000

Photo: Petr Kratchovil

Confession. The new background on this blog? Kind of an accident. With Irene tapping at the windows already I just didn't. feel. like. finishing. my post.

So. I started playing with templates. And -- oops -- applied it instead of previewing. So there you have it. Not the new look I was dreaming of but it was time for a change and this will work for now!

ANYWAY. Since the Meaningful Post(s) just. isn't (aren't). coming. I decided to let myself off the hook. To just do a little scribbling here today to let you know I'm thinking about all of you and then log off. And work on the Meaningful Post(s) when I'm less anxious about the storm that's brewing around me and so many of my loved ones.

On this dark and stormy night, I think I'm going to [gasp!] unplug and read a book. But tomorrow is another day . . . and, as I'm sure you all know by now, I have a lot to say so I'll be back. (Maybe Monday if Irene knocks the power out.)

Some Kind of Wonderful

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 01:58:00 +0000

Photo: Maisner Mark

I was inspired to share the story around which I built this post by Brigitte Lyons of Unfettered Ink. There's always tasty -- and nutritious! -- food for thought on Brigitte's blog. If you haven't read her two most recent posts, Everyone Has a Superpower and How to Stand Out in a Crowded World , I highly recommend them as excellent discussions of the topic at hand.

Patti Allison, my once-voice-coach-now-dear-friend-'cause-she-moved-to-LA, has one of the most gorgeous voices I've heard. It's a clear, pure soprano that can break your heart whether or not said heart is made of glass. Years ago, Patti won the Merola Scholarship Competition sponsored by the San Francisco Opera. No small feat, this. But even more impressive if you know that she won by singing a tenor aria.

In the opera world, a soprano singing a tenor aria at a major competition is roughly the equivalent of Bernie Madoff presenting himself to be Santa Claus in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. (Okay. Maybe not quite that bad. But you get the idea: It isn't done.)

But Patti is one of those people blessed with the ability to be fully, completely, unabashedly and unapologetically herself. She was young and untrained and didn't know it wasn't okay to sing a tenor aria. But if she had known, she probably would have sung it anyway. She liked the song. Period. And she sang it so gloriously she earned one of the coveted spots in the elite program.

Of course, she studied voice. And she studied with Otto Gutt, the same man who coached the legendary Leontyne Price. Actually, Patti's lesson was right AFTER Leontyne Price's. Week after week, she would sit outside in the hall, listening to the great diva hone her craft. Then it would be her turn. She would walk in to go through the motions of her own lesson . . . trying not to feel inadequate. And sometimes failing. One day, she couldn't keep her feelings to herself.

"I don't understand," she said to her coach.

"Understand what?"

"I don't understand how you can possibly teach me after you've taught HER. How can you listen to me after you've listened to her?!"

Otto Gutt smiled. (In my imagination, he morphs into Yoda at this point of the exchange, and leans in to instruct Patti, the Musical Jedi.)

"It's easy, dear," he replied. "She is wonderful. But you are wonderful, too. When I am with her, I listen for her wonderful. But when I am with you, I listen for YOUR wonderful."

I am so grateful to Patti. And therefore to Otto Gutt as well. He helped train the woman who then helped train me and dozens of other singers. If Patti had allowed her own gift to be silenced because she decided she could never match up to Leontyne Price, how different my life might be. Patti taught me vocal technique, yes. But her lessons encompassed so much more than that. She listened for my wonderful on every level and encouraged me to do the same for myself and for others.

What Brigitte said in her posts, what Otto taught Patti, what she worked to teach me and what I've tried to communicate here has probably never been said more eloquently or perfectly than the way Martha Graham wrote it in a letter to Agnes Demille (but notice that didn't stop Brigitte or me from trying!)

Martha wrote: "There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."

Don't think you're an artist? Think again. If you're living your life with passion and courage, if you're putting your Self into the work you do, then you're an artist, whether you're teaching or gardening or playing the cello. And you ARE more alive than the others.

And, oh! The world needs your wonderful!!

In the Belly of the Beast

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 15:19:00 +0000

Illustration: Frits Ahlefeld

Don't think anger. Think DETERMINATION.

Two months ago, I went to see my doctor because I'd been having Really. Bad. Stomach pain. Scary bad. Like I-was-scared-what-he-might-find pain. So scared I hadn't even told my closest friends how intense the pain was.

When the doctor told me -- in the appropriately somber tone and after the endoscopy -- that I had six ulcers --"six ulcers, an inflamed stomach lining and a very irritated esophagus" -- I grinned, fist-pumped the air and said, "YES!"

He's known me long enough to expect a little eccentricity. Heck, he's come to some of my plays and read some of my articles even. But this reaction did not elicit a smile; it made him lean back and assume full-professional mode.

"That's not good, Deb." he said in a voice tinged with reproach and concern.

"It's a hell of a lot better than a tumor!" I replied.

He agreed with this, then proceeded to lay out a treatment plan for the problem at hand, which consisted of medication and a follow-up endoscopy eight weeks later.(I asked him if I should take an antibiotic; he said the ulcers I had weren't the kind that would respond to antibiotics. He's a brilliant and experienced internist, so I believed him.)

I made the appointment for the follow-up; I filled the prescription and started taking my medicine. But, more importantly, I accepted the diagnosis as a wake-up call.

For reasons I won't go into now, I developed my first ulcer at the tender age of seven. So my stomach has a long history of telling me when it thinks I'm in danger . . . and it's my gut, after all. It's usually right.

There was a lot going on, as there always is in anyone's life. But it is not okay to let stress make your stomach lining look like cheesecloth. And one of the BIGGEST sources of stress was my weight. Namely, that I was trying to lose. And it wasn't working. Which left me so far beyond frustrated that I was literally making myself sick.

And here comes the DETERMINATION. I have watched friends and family suffer in the throes of cancer and AIDS. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that THIN DOES NOT MEAN HEALTHY. And I know that, with the exceptions of loving and being loved, being healthy is more important than anything else I can think of. SIX ulcers?! As my cousin Carolyn said, "Deb! That's NOT what we mean when we talk about getting an abdominal six-pack!"

I decided to do EVERYTHING I could think of to help myself heal. So I took my medicine. But I also changed my diet. I doubled my vegetable-intake goal from 3 servings to 6 servings, focusing on greens; I added an extra serving or two of fruit each day, for a total of 3 or 4 rather than 2. I cut out most forms of added fat and eliminated alcohol. And, perhaps most importantly, I made a new rule for myself: If it was made in a factory, I'm not eating it! (I think I followed the 80/20 rule here, but I now focus on incorporating more whole foods. And I was no slouch about this before the diagnosis.) And I did ALL of these food-related things not to wear a smaller dress size but to reclaim my health.

I also began journaling regularly again; I started walking more -- not as part of my training for the half, but more gently and for stress-relief; I talked to my friends about what was REALLY going on, instead of pretending everything was hunky-dory and I told them areas in which I needed their support [and they were ALL wonderfully supportive and kind, by the way!]; I started working on this blog again, because it's important to me and -- last but not least -- I meditated each day, and visualized my esophagus and stomach lining as pink and healthy. (Yeah. I'm not sure what stomach lining looks like either but I figured it might look something like the inside of my mouth, so I worked with that image.)

On Wednesday, I had my follow-up endoscopy. Every ulcer has healed. My doctor said everything -- stomach lining and esophagus -- is pink and healthy and [his word!] "beautiful." He was stunned. Kept telling me "NOBODY heals like that in just 8 weeks!"

This body did. It healed because I supported it in every way that occurred to me. I treated it like it mattered. I'm still a work in progress. I still have to renew my commitment to myself -- to doing the things that keep me happy and healthy -- every morning. But on Wednesday when I got home, still a little woozy from the anesthesia, I tried to memorize the feelings washing over me. Because I know THAT is what true self-love and body acceptance feel like. When you love your body and support it -- instead of trying to beat it into submission or force it into some preconceived mold of what it SHOULD be or do -- it can do miraculous things. And that's something I want and need to remember.

Gospel Truth

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 19:13:00 +0000

Photo: Ang Kim

My brother and I have been enjoying some leisurely conversations of late. He has a wife and four kids, one of whom has cystic fibrosis and requires twice-daily breathing treatments (on good days) and enzymes before every meal. And, of course, he works. It doesn't leave a lot of time for idle chatter. But, about a month ago, he lost his teaching job because of budgeting cut-backs and now my brilliant brother - with two advanced degrees, including one in education and another in physics - is checking trucks into a gas company worksite. He works 12 hour shifts, from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. In his proud sister's opinion, it is an incredible waste of human capital but the silver lining is that we get to have long chats much more often than we used to.

I love this. Dan is smart and funny and kind. Like many siblings, we enjoy private inside jokes and sometimes speak in shorthand that would probably be meaningless to anyone else. We talk about our adventures growing up together and people we've known and know. But we also talk about quantum physics and nueroplasticity, about literature and politics and religion. Some of these conversations are more lively than others. On this last topic, especially, we are likely to disagree.

Case in point: Earlier this week, we were discussing allegory. The kind that appears in Harry Potter and The Lord of the Ring series, in the Witch and the Wardrobe , in the Star Wars trilogy and throughout world literature, in fact. My brother said that, though he enjoyed some of these books in his youth, he now wonders about them; he wonders if they are, perhaps, occluding the truth rather than revealing it. This took us into a discussion of truth.

Here's what I believe: No individual, religion or culture has or ever will discover "the truth." I don't believe truth has an absolute value. Refer back to Sailboats and Garbage Scows. We live in a Universe that is at once orderly and chaotic. Where the sacred and the profane walk side by side and, often hand in hand. Ours is a world of accidents and miracles. Angels and demons walk among us, perhaps. But above all, this is a world of humans. We are complex, marvelous creatures. We created the allegories for ourselves. And we created the religions, too.

We are like prospectors panning for spiritual gold. It’s that process of sifting the nuggets from the silt that can get us into trouble. It's an abundant universe and everyone is sure to come up with nuggets of truth from whatever part of the stream they're working. If you're looking, I believe you'll find enough treasure to make you wealthy in this lifetime and beyond. But there's going to be some mud in there, too. Some things that will cloud the water and make the truth hard to spot. And if you abandon your spiritual work in search of THE mother lode of truth? That, my friend, is -- at least here IDW -- a fool's errand that won't likely net you more than fool's gold. Look for the nuggets. Share the wealth when you find one. And always remember it ain't really gold just because it glitters!

One final note for the record: My brother? Solid gold. Differences in opinion and all. And that’s the truth!

Seven Up! (Or My Seven Links)

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 15:28:00 +0000

Image: Petr Kratchovil

There's a game of tag going on here in cyberspace. (In point of fact, probably more than one!) But I read of this one from Matt on No Meat Athlete; Matt was tagged by Caitlin of Healthy Tipping Point and in turn tagged Mara of Medicinal Marzipan (and now I have two new blogs to follow!). He also threw out a general invitation to all of his readers who blog to play, too. The rules of the game are simple: I choose one post in each of seven categories, feature it here, and then tag at least five other bloggers to do the same. I've had fun pulling these posts from the archives -- and fun, after all, is the point of most games people play! I hope you'll have fun reading them as well and that you'll leave me some fresh comments, too!

Most Popular Post

Hands down, far and away, my most popular post is The Bear, The Tiger and The Strawberry. I'm gratified by this because it chronicles a real Aha! moment for me. It's been read more than twice as often as my second-most-well-read post (also featured here as Post Whose Success Most Surprised Me!). My readership is concentrated in the United States but I also have a fair number of followers in India, and I think many of them may have found me through this post. (And a few found it because they did a Google search for K-bar, and I can't help but imagine they were surprised to land on Debbie Scribble!)

Most Beautiful Post
I don't know that this is my most beautiful post, but September 11th is a post that remains evocative for me and several of those closest to me. (Hard to believe that was almost 10 years ago now.)

Most Controversial Post

Controversy?! IDW?! (That's In Deborah's World for any newbies to the site.) All kidding aside, I haven't stirred up much controversy, in spite of my opinionated ways. I think this is probably because most of my readers are kindred spirits. Sex Sells , , , But This Is Ridiculous is probably my most controversial post to date.

Most Helpful Post

In my admittedly slightly-less-than-humble opinion, Sailboats and Garbage Scows is my most helpful post. (If I had to choose just one. Because, you know, I'd like to think there are helpful breadcrumbs scattered throughout my pieces! [Sidenote: Val, if you're reading, you won't like the breadcrumbs post, so skip it!] But, okay. Back to our game Just one "most helpful post"!) In all seriousness, I do think that applying the Sailboats and Garbage Scows principle to relationships -- not to mention discussions of politics and abortion and sex and religion and [fill in the blank] -- could enlighten us as individuals and as societies and nations. Just sayin'.

Post Whose Success Most Surprised You

Although some of my newer posts are edging their way into second place, this quirky piece that highlights a song by the Smothers Brothers, Mediocre Fred, still has that distinction. Just thinking about the song makes me smile, though, so I'm really okay with this being at No.2. I guess it reinforces that old maxim about not being able to miss if you've got good material; I am definitely standing on the shoulders of Tommy and Dicky Smothers here! (Thanks, boys.)

Post That Didn't Get the Attention It Deserved

Well, as I have not yet received the Pulitzer Prize for Blogging and the Nobel Prize for Cyber-relations, I'd have to say all of them . . . No, seriously. I gave this some thought and decided on Time Passages. I'm not sure why it didn't elicit more response because I think its core message must resonate with many people, in particular my fellow estrogen-based lifeforms.

Post You're Most Proud Of

Along with the post I used to launch this blog -- which, truthfully, kinda makes me wince because it is SO me at my most people-pleasing-vulnerable, but I'm proud of it because I sent it out into the ether anyway -- I think the post I'm most proud of is Core Stability. It's said that we teach what we most need to learn, and certainly that is true for me. Since I penned Core Stability, I've completed two half marathons and am training for a third. The Marine Corps Marathon is still in my sites; I'm working my way there one step at a time.

And that's it for my Seven Links. In addition to inviting all of you who have blogs to share your seven with me, I'd specifically like to see which posts the following awesome bloggers would choose as their Seven Links:

the fabulously talented, warm-hearted and high-spirited
Jen Gray of the eponymous blog;
the rough-and-tumble and ever-inspiring
Joel Runyon of the Blog of Impossible Things;
the courageous, clear-headed and adventurous
Kim of So Many Places;
the clever, witty and highly entertaining
Tia of Clever Girl Goes Blog
the kind AND kick-ass
Andrea Owen at Your Kick Ass Life

Thanks to Matt and Caitlin and Mara for posting their seven. Reading them has nourished me -- in Matt's case, literally! As for the others, I hope you'll have the time to play along -- I know it will be tough because each and every one on this list has Huge and Amazing Things happening BUT. I admire and appreciate each of you for the work you do, so I shall cross my fingers and hope.

Oh . . . if you don't have a blog? Please at least leave me a yummy comment or two! (Or seven!!)

Beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 02:06:00 +0000

Photo: Petr Kratochvil

Today's post is inspired by two bloggers I "met" just today through another favorite blog, No Meat Athlete. Thanks to Mara at Medicinal Marzipan for her post on beauty, as well as for leading me to Val of Balancing Val. It was Val who threw down the gauntlet, challenging fellow bloggers to write about beauty. Thanks Matt, Mara and Val.

One of my nearest and dearest is a horticulturist and garden designer. Ronda, I beg your forgiveness for using dandelions to adorn my posts two weeks in a row. (Dandelions never fit into any of Ronda's formal designs!)

We don't usually think of dandelions as being beautiful. Gardeners and anyone who aspires to a lawn that is make-the-neighbors-jealous perfect spend a lot of time and effort trying to rid themselves of dandelions. They are "common." They are "weeds." Having spent some time clearing them from my own garden plot, I don't quite understand how it's possible not to have a grudging respect for them. Dandelions are capable of blooming even if they have to push through solid rock to do so. (As the flowers above managed to do.) And that is precisely why I chose the photo above for this post.

Dandelions embody so much of what I associate with true beauty. They are committed to pushing through and doing what they came here to do. No. Matter. What. They build root systems that are stupefying in their complexity and strength, they shoot out leaves to seek the sun, then produce flowers that look a little like a sunburst on a stalk. Finally, they allow themselves to be delicate. (As in the photo below, coincidentally. I promise, this is not my Dandelion Series.) They produce a soft puff of seeds so Dr.-Seuss-perfect that small children can't resist plucking them and blowing gently to scatter the seeds.

Maybe by now you already are getting the idea that I'm not very interested in the kind of beauty that Hollywood and Madison Avenue shove down our throats as though we were so many geese on a foie gras farm. I'm interested in beauty that is raw and real. Ever seen a woman give birth? There is blood and sweat and, often, screaming. But watching a baby come into the world is one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed; it's the only time I was so moved I wept without even realizing I was doing so.

People are beautiful -- insanely, painfully, hold-them-in-your-heart-and-don't-let-them-go beautiful -- when life has kicked the shit out of them. And they get up. And they move forward. With whatever dignity they can muster. With whatever strength they have remaining. You cannot get that kind of beauty from a mascara wand and it has no correlation to the circumference of your thighs.

If you've read this far, I'll bet you've got it already. Here's to dandelions and doing what we came here to do. No. Matter. What. Here's to walking in beauty.

Wouldn't Take Nothin' For . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 14:48:00 +0000

Photo: Peter Hager

Bucket lists seem to be everywhere these days. I enjoy reading them. I have one of my own. But standing on Macchu Piccu, the Great Wall of China and watching the sun set over the pyramids in Egypt feel more far off some days than others. I'll get there. And I have my passport, so if the opportunity presents itself tomorrow, I'm ready. (Well, actually, I'd like to put in a couple hundred more lunges and some long runs before I hike the Incan trail. But I'm definitely going.)

Lately, though, I've been working on what I think of as my My Bucket Runneth Over List. It contains those experiences I've already had that I don't think I could even have imagined to put on a bucket list. (And no one has ever accused me of lacking imagination.) Life can be so much more spectacular than anything we can imagine and the moments that stay in our hearts forever are often not the ones we might expect to last a lifetime because, as they're happening, they unfold so naturally we may write them off as ordinary.

Here are a few random items in My Bucket Runneth Over List:

1) I've waded into the surf from a black sand beach and caught fish with my bare hands.
2) I've walked on tundra, which feels the way I imagine walking on the moon would feel.
3) I've touched a living whale. I thought he would be slimy but he felt like velvet.
4) I've skinny-dipped in the Caribbean (While my Mom held my swimsuit!)
5) I've been paid to write. And act. And sing. And direct. Being paid to do the stuff you love and need as much as oxygen is one of the best highs I've ever experienced.
6) The feeling I had upon crossing the finish line after my first half-marathon -- 13.1 miles in a cold, driving rain, so wet my pants were literally coming off. But I felt like I floated over that finish line. I thought I might never take that medal off.

It's great to keep reaching and growing at every stage of life. One of the wonderful things about bucket lists is that they encourage growth. But the great thing about the Bucket Runneth Over List is that it reminds you to be grateful for the wonder you've already experienced. And, because some of those things are sure to be things you never imagined, it also reminds you not to scope-lock on any one thing, but to stay open and flexible and aware to things that may delight you. Big juicy joy is everywhere; sometimes at the summit of a mountain it's taken you days to climb and other times on top of the slide at your local playground.

If you don't have a Bucket Runneth Over List, I hope you'll start one . . . and share with me some of the things life has graced you with that you wouldn't take nothin' for today.

People Are Awesome

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 21:19:00 +0000

Photo: Anna Cervova

People are AWESOME. As in they inspire awe. I'll be doing a bit of gushing here about some of my favorite, awe-inspiring people so if you're feeling cynical, this post will probably annoy you. (On the other hand, if you're really a cynic, it's unlikely you're reading this blog. I'm reminded of what one Very Important Critic commented after seeing a play I wrote. He gave it an overall positive review, but did make a border-line derisive remark (which means you could almost see his lip pull away from his teeth in a sneer) about the play's "treacle content." He's almost certainly not reading this now, but let's do a quick review just the same: Deborah means "bee." I don't do treacle, I deliver honey.Sweet, thick and golden. And I like to think I do wild honey, which sometimes has a hint of something spicy behind the sweetness. But I also can deliver a sting when occasion demands.

And since I'm on the subject of bees (in a round about way, of course) let me bring this back to the path I intended to follow by saying that I've read that it defies the laws of aerodynamics for bumblebees to fly . . . bumblebees don't know this, so they fly anyway. Lots of people are like this, and thank goodness for that. We'd still be living in caves and fishing with our hands if it weren't for all the people who see possibility where most see impossibility. They believed we could fly. They believed we could walk on the moon. They believed we could accomplish things that naysayers proclaimed -- loudly and with great conviction -- impossible. Which brings me to:

Joel Runyon and The Blog of Impossible Things. It was Joel who directly inspired this post, with his own musings on the subject. I love Joel's blog. On days when I most feel like a chubby, unwieldy bumblebee, Joel reminds me I can fly anyway and inspires me to reach for my dreams.

Jen Gray and JenGray.com. Joel may have inspired this post, but the blog itself was inspired by Jen Gray. Jen's was the first blog that drew me in completely. I've been reading it almost since the day she launched it. She's an artist with a generous spirit and I love checking in with her and the other creative souls in her circle when ever I can.

Christie Perfetti and Christie Perfetti.com. I can't say enough about Christie, who is one of my dearest and most trusted friends. Christie kicks ass and takes names. Seriously. She has a black belt in tae kwon do and has been known to protect her friends physically upon occasion. And she is always present as a source of emotional support, She inspires me in every way. Earlier this year she launched a production company, Carnival Girls, and each and every one of my fellow Carny Girls inspires me, too.

Kim and Brian of So Many Places. Kim and Brian are on the cusp of a Big Adventure. They are going to live the impossible dream by selling their belongings, quitting their jobs and traveling the world. I've subscribed to their blog and enjoy reading each post. I'm really looking forward to following their adventure here in cyberspace.

Joel and Jen and Christie and all the beautiful Carny Girls and Kim and Brian are each awesome. They lift us all higher by pursuing their unique, impossible dreams and sharing the journey with us.

YOU ARE AWESOME, TOO. Whoever and wherever you are, you are awesome. And the world is hungering for you to give us the best you have to give. Your talent. Your strength.Your humor. Your passion and compassion. Please don't hold onto it. There are dark and heavy forces wreaking havoc on the world and we need all the light we can get. We need YOUR light. Embrace the awesome within in you and live it out loud.

Declaration of Independence

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 15:03:00 +0000

Photo: Peter Griffin

Remember the Wizard of Oz? When the Mayor of the Munchkins declares: "This is a day of Independence for all the Munchkins and their descendants. Yes, let the joyous news be spread, the wicked Old Witch at last is dead!"

Or maybe you remember the dragon Smaug that guarded treasures Bilbo Baggins wanted to reach?

Or perhaps you're looking forward to July 15th when Harry Potter will face down He Who Shall Not Be Named again?

These stories resonate for us because each of us -- yes, I think everyone -- has a wicked Old Witch or a fire-breathing dragon in his or her life that needs to be vanquished. Each of us stares down a personal Voldemort. (Metaphorically. Hopefully, NOT literally. Though, truthfully, it probably would be easier to vanquish one that manifests in this dimension.)

Witches and dragons assume so many shapes in our lives. They're the things that stand between us and our heart's desire. In fairy tales, they often lurk in dark caves or deep, secluded forests. It doesn't take an advanced degree in literary analysis -- or psychology, for that matter -- to see how those geographic constructs might stand in for the shadowy corners of the human heart and mind.

Dragons and witches and evil wizards abound in this world. They show up as crushing debt. Obesity. Anorexia. Alcoholism. Addiction to drugs or gambling. Victimization. Crippling self-doubt and feelings of inferiority. The things that tie your stomach into knots and keep you awake at night. The things that you must conquer in order to be the hero of your own story.

In the fairy tales, there is sometimes a Knight in Shining Armor . . . or maybe a Good Witch . . . or, if you're really lucky, a Gandalf. We have these, too, in the people in our lives who are our friends and teachers. But, the crux of the matter is this: YOU are the hero of your story. YOU are the only one who can save yourself. In the wonderful words of Alice Sebold, "You save yourself or you remain unsaved."

This Fourth of July, declare independence from something that's holding you back. If it helps, write that declaration and sign it for yourself. Then get to work. Find a way to slay the dragon; triumph over that thing you've been afraid to name.

And keep this in mind: the Revolutionary War began in earnest AFTER the colonists declared their independence -- and then it didn't end for several years. (And Harry Potter's journey fills seven best-selling books.) So don't be discouraged. Independence never comes easily. Expect delays. Rise to challenges. Expect to invest your blood, sweat and tears. Without them, it's not a good story, is it? And if you're reading this, I know you want to live a story worth telling.

He Ain't Heavy . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 21:53:00 +0000

Photo: Petr Kratochvil

I know this post comes hard upon the heels of my Father's Day post, but please bear with me. I have to give another shout-out to a family member. This time, for my brother, Steven. (Also for my cousin-who-is-more-like-a-nephew, Stephen.) Today (in case the photo didn't make it clear) is his birthday. (And also the birthday of my-cousin-who-is-more-like-my-nephew. Please try to keep up.)

Steven (my brother, not my cousin) was born in Iceland. Until he was 18, he had dual citizenship, and I always thought this was wicked cool. I loved living in Iceland. Now I know I remember more about his birthplace than he does; we left the island while he was still an infant.

Flash forward from infancy to the day I realized my "baby brother" was a man. It was 9 years ago, and I was leaving New York to embark upon a Great Adventure. My brother helped me move. Together, we packed all of my belongings into the back of a U-Haul and drove to our family farm. It was an incredibly stressful day. But my brother kept his cool. He was patient and loving and in total control. Even when we finally reached the farm and the truck got stuck in the soft spring mud, so that we had to get a neighbor to pull us out with his tractor, my brother kept his cool.

At the end of the Very Stressful Day, he retrieved a bottle of vintage whiskey from the cellar -- if memory serves, it was nearly 100 years old, but as the whiskey also affected my memory a bit, I wouldn't swear to that. But I do remember this much with certainty: The whiskey was old and it was unbelieveably smooth. And as we sat in front of the fire, drinking whiskey and laughing togehter about the day's pitfalls and foibles, I realized that my "baby brother" had become a man. And a damn fine one at that.

Happy Birthday, Steven Lee. I been lovin' you some much, I tells yah' b'y. I hope the year ahead will see you realize some of your fondest dreams. Thank you for all that you do and all that you are.

Happy Father's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 14:59:00 +0000

Photo: Bobby Mikul

My Dad is my hero. He is smart and kind and a true romantic and, as I've mentioned previously on this blog, while I know one or two other human beings with as much personal integrity as my Pop, I don't know a single person who has more. And he's a good-looking rascal, too. When he was in high school, the studio used his senior photo to promote their work. When I was in high school, my girlfriends would get crushes on him. (Naturally, this mortified me. Insert eye roll here. I mean COME ON. He's my DAD!!)

This morning I was remembering an earthquake that hit while we were living in Alaska. I was three at the time and the quake was so strong that it threw me from my bed. My mother ran to grab my brother, who was still an infant and my father raced toward me. I remember crying and crawling to the doorway of my room, more frightened than I had ever been. My father was bouncing from wall to wall as the house rolled with the earth. He looked scared. But I was sure he was scared for ME. And, naturally, the moment I saw him coming toward me I ceased to be afraid. Daddy's here. Everything will be alright.

Every little girl deserves a Daddy like that and how blessed I am to have had one. I believed he could protect me from anything and that there wasn't a broken item he couldn't fix. Of course, as we grow, we learn it's not quite that easy. There are bumps and scrapes we must endure and some things that can't be fixed, even by those who love us. But, if you're one of the lucky ones, you know your Dad would protect you if he could and do anything to make you happy.

Last year, I traveled to Nantucket, where I was born, with my Mom and Dad. As we were standing in front of the house that was my first home, my mother told me that my father, who already worked long hours on the naval base, took another job after I was born. For me. Because, when he became a father, he was overwhelmed with the idea that he was now responsible for this tiny creature's life. Throughout his life, he sacrificed so that my siblings and I were healthy and comfortable.

To all the fathers out there IDW, those who:

make little ones feel completely safe;
keep us warm and dry and well-fed;
read to us, tell us jokes and stories;
sing silly songs to us;
and let us ride on their shoulders -- literally and figuratively

thank you, one and all. But most especially, thanks to my own wonderful father. I love you, Pop, and I so appreciate all you've done for us, and for others as well. Even when you make your Eeyore eyes, I love you.

The Long and Winding Road

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 15:11:00 +0000

Photo: Petr Kratchovil

It's like this sometimes. You're putting one foot in front of the other but the mountain doesn't seem to get any closer.

In a paper-backed collection of adolescent poems I read this:

I can't go on.
I simply can't
Go on.

So I guess I'll
Get up.
And go on.

Incredibly, I can't find this poem even with Google. Which may mean that I've remembered the words incorrectly lo these many years.

But that's okay. Because on days like today. When I feel: Exhausted. Disheartened. And I think I just CAN'T go on. I remember the poem.

I get up. And I go on. Putting one foot in front of the other. Closing the distance between me and the mountain.

Will Ryman's Love Letter to New York

noreply@blogger.com (Deb) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 15:20:00 +0000

I happen to love New York. Yes, it's dirty and it's noisy and sometimes it gets on your very last nerve. But the same could be said of children. And some dogs. And even a few cats. I love it anyway. (I also love children. And dogs. Yup, cats, too. Also hamsters and rabbits. And squirrels. And once, my brother Steven and I saved the life of a chipmunk. But I digress. How unlike me.) Right. Back to New York.

Yesterday morning I had a doctor's appointment and found myself on 57th and Park. I was looking forward to the trip (if not the appointment itself)because, since January, I've been enjoying the 38 giant roses (and 20 giant scattered rose petals) that have been "blooming" on the Park Avenue Mall between 57th and 67th Streets.

Photo: Coutesy of the Paul Kasmin Gallery

Created by artist Will Ryman, these roses are made of stainless steel and fiberglass. They soar as high as 25 feet and are adorned with brass ladybugs, aphids, beetles and bees built to scale.

They make me smile, these flowers, each and every time I see them. They're painted in bright shades of pink and red and they have brightened my winter and my spring.

Photo: Coutesy of the Paul Kasmin Gallery

In fact, I've been meaning to go out with my camera and capture them on ... not film. What DO we capture them on now?! Well, never mind. You know what I mean ... I wanted photos I could post here for you. Alas! I waited too long. The rose at 57th Street was still in place but its base was exposed and it was clear that it would soon be uprooted. Others were already gone.

But, thanks to the Paul Kasmin Gallery, who worked with the City of New York Parks & Recreation Department to mount the installation, and from whom I borrowed these lovely shots, I still have photos to adorn this post.

Photo: Coutesy of the Paul Kasmin Gallery

Will Ryman is a native New Yorker and he (or someone close to him) called this installation "a love letter to the city of New York."

I happen to love New York. And thankfully, Will does, too.