Category: Uncategorized

Exuberance

“When the world around me is going crazy and I’m losing faith in humanity, I just have to take one look at my dog to know good still exists.”— dogsareloveon4legs.com

This week I saw a meme on Face Book and burst out laughing.  Just imagine this:  A Golden Doodle is on his hind legs, paws propped up in front of the television screen, as a horse race is about to begin.  You see his body tense in anticipation.  His stubby little tail begins to wag, faster and faster as he awaits the beginning of the race.  Even on Face Book, you begin to feel your own excitement growing, as you watch his.  And then the gun fires to begin the race, and this exuberant dog begins to bounce up and down as though on a trampoline.  I chuckle to myself even now as I think of it.

The state of the world being what it currently is, it had been a while since I had laughed that hard.  I considered what it might be like to have such a dog-like attitude in life.  For one period in our marriage, Terry and I had Clifford and Jody, Great Pyrenees siblings.  Clifford was a 172 pound gentle giant.  Jody, his smaller sister, consistently found ways to “best” him.  If we walked in the woods, she would hide herself as best she could behind trees and jump out when Clifford lumbered by, startling him every single time.  In our van, Clifford would start out lying on the back seat.  Before long, Jody would leave her spot on the floorboard, inserting herself into whatever space she could obtain on the seat.  Eventually, Clifford would give in to her and retire to the floorboard.

Once when we were travelling with them to New Mexico, we encountered a heavy snow.  They had never experienced snow before.  They ran, leaped, chased each other joyfully.  One could almost imagine them shouting “Life is good!” Certainly their spirited energy lent itself to my feeling a thrill as I watched them, I myself enjoying a sense that “Life is good!”

In her article “The Sixteen Habits of Exuberant Human Beings,” Kate Bratsker included the reminder that laughter is the best medicine. “In the case of The Blues,” she writes, “ this may hold some truth.  A good, old-fashioned chuckle releases happy brain chemicals that, other than providing the exuberant buzz we seek, make humans better equipped to tolerate both pain and stress.”

Not to minimize the grief of the world, or the difficulty we encounter as we seek to maintain our equilibrium in the midst of it, indeed, humor can be a balm, healing our spirits when we have reached a tipping point, when we are more inclined towards despair than to delight.  (Please refer to the opening quote. 😊)

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  You may recall Norman Cousins, of Anatomy of an Illness fame.  Cousins, who claimed as a child he set out “to discover exuberance,” did research on the biochemistry of emotions,  believing them to be the key to human beings’ success in fighting illness. In 1964, when he was diagnosed with a crippling connective tissue disease and ankylosing spondylitis, and was told he had a 1 in 500 chance of recovery, he developed a regimen of Vitamin C and laughter. He watched re-runs of Candid Camera and other comedic fare, eventually recovering.  An amazing and accomplished man for many reasons, it would seem he achieved his childhood goal of “discovering exuberance.”

It has snowed for two days in a row.  Yesterday as I sat in my meditation spot watching the snow I thought, “How can I meditate when there is this lovely snow to watch?” Then I thought,” Well, that is a silly question!  Meditate on the snow, of course!”  And so I did.

I have great memories of snow as a kid.  We lived on a cul de sac.  Kids on each side of the street built snow forts and hurled snowballs across the street at each other. The father of my friend Kathleen Riley would hitch a big sled to his pickup truck and we kids would pile on.  To our endless delight, Mr. Riley would drive us around the neighborhood.  My mother would gather snow and make “snow cream.” Ahhh!  What a treat that was.  Occasionally we had snow days, like unbidden gifts of time to play.  Even in college, I recall a particular night when we got word that school was called off the next day due to snow.  That night was like a huge party in the dorm.   One of the young women in the dorm offered to pierce my ears, which I had been considering and to which I agreed. She brought out a huge needle, cleaned my earlobes with alcohol and rubbed them with ice to numb them, then proceeded to pierce them.  That just seemed to add to the celebratory atmosphere.

Life shifts.  Would I put my grandchildren on a huge sled and allow them to be driven around behind a pickup truck?  Would I make snow cream, knowing that the snow may carry pollution?  Would I allow an untrained person to pierce my ears? (My mother’s reaction at the time? “You could have gotten an infection!”)  Snow has sometimes presented an obstacle to getting to work. Sometimes snowfall has disrupted other plans.  There was a hundred-year storm in 1993 when we got 21 inches of snow in our hometown in Tennessee.  Terry’s and my expected trip to South Carolina, which would culminate in a workshop for our continuing education credits, was altered.  We couldn’t even get out of our driveway.  However, this weather event allowed for a really good family time.  We cooked on the wood stove and played games with Jenna and our foster children.  I worked with the girls on learning to sew.  Terry and I tramped through the snow, two miles roundtrip, to get more milk. In adulthood, you learn to adapt, to go with the flow, to make the best of your circumstances, or you suffer for failing to do that.

I discovered there is controversy over the claim that the Eskimos have more than a hundred words for snow.  However, they do have a variety: “aput,” snow on the ground; “qana,” falling snow; “piqsirpoq,” drifting snow; “qimuqsuq,” a snow drift, as some examples.  Montana should have a vocabulary for snow too.  Sometimes the snow falls in the tiniest flakes I have ever seen, nearly invisible but present.  Less often, bigger flakes drift and swirl.  Sometimes the snow is “drier,” making snowballs more difficult to pack.  This week the snow has been moister, allowing for easier snowball creation. Always, though, I am aware that the snow is granting us some needed moisture, a blessing. 

As I age, I am aware I appreciate the quiet sense that snow provides, the slowing down of life, a blessing of a different sort, for which I am grateful.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  Terry and I drove to Billings this week in very light snow., the temperature a little above freezing.  We marveled at the fact the sun was shining and the clouds in the sky had no resemblance to what I understand snow-laden clouds to be. On farmersalmanac.com, I learned this fun fact: “Snow forms in the clouds where temperatures are freezing. However it can theoretically fall when the ground surface temperatures are in the mid-40s, sometimes even higher.”

 And I share this quote I love (although I read that two scientists in a Wisconsin snow found two snowflakes alike.  Boo. Hiss.)

“They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?” – Jeanette Winterson 

This week is always a memorable one every year.  What would have been my father’s107th birthday, the 16^th anniversary of my mother’s death, and as I write this, the 16^th anniversary of her funeral, all occurred in this first week of February.  It was only as I began to think about writing this that I recognized I had been sleeping in my mother’s nightgown this week.  I have other things of my mother’s, some jewelry, a few scarves. Even more precious, I have a ring she had made for me from her wedding rings and, most dear of all, a scrapbook of some of her poetry and other collected writings of meaning to her.  But to sleep in her nightgown seems to make her feel close.  I am sentimental that way.

My father’s robe is another story.  My father lived with us for the last five months of his life.  When he died, I went into a deep depression.  I would sometimes sit in the apartment attached to our house where he had stayed, often wearing his robe.  It still hangs in my closet though I rarely wear it now.  As I prepare to observe Lent, I am gathering 40 items to give away.  It is a lovely robe in excellent condition.  I vascillate.  Someone could get a lot of wear out of that robe.  It has been 15 years since he died.  I could think of it as a way to honor his memory if I gave it to charity.  And yet I hesitate.

I recall someone I worked with whose young daughter had died of cancer after a long battle.  I worked a long time with that grieving mother, who so longed to “join” her daughter that she was nearly starving herself to death.  When we finally reached the point, four years after her daughter’s death, that she felt ready to dispense with her daughter’s things, we arranged for a little memorial ceremony for her belongings.  I discovered that in four years, she had never even opened the door to her daughter’s room.  We blessed the clothes, the books, the crayons, all the childhood paraphernalia and designated places for everything to be donated that could be.  In time, the grieving mother found her way back to life and health.

Perhaps I’ve answered my own question.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:  I have no memory of having selected this poem, or how it came to be in the funeral bulletin for my father.  I only noticed it some years later going through some memorabilia.  Though it isn’t how I imagine afterlife works, I expect it is exactly as my father understood it.  It isn’t great poetry either, but I found it comforting when I discovered it.

“To Those I Love”

“When I am gone, release me, let me go.

I have so many things to see and do.

You mustn’t tie yourself to me with tears.

Be happy that we had so many years.

I gave you my love. You can only guess

How much you gave to me in happiness.

I thank you for the love you each have shown,

But now it’s time I traveled on alone.

So grieve awhile for me if grieve you must

Then let your grief be comforted by trust.

It’s only for awhile that we must part

So bless the memories within your heart.

I won’t be far away, for life goes on.

So if you need me, call and I will come.

Though you can’t see or touch me, I’ll be near.

And if you listen with your heart, you’ll hear

All of my love around you soft and clear.

And then, when you must come this way alone,

I’ll greet you with a smile and say ‘Welcome Home.’”

Care Farms, the therapeutic use of farming practices for marginalized or vulnerable groups of people, originated in the Netherlands and made its way to  the UK and Europe. The concept then traveled “across the pond” to the United States.  Sometimes also known as Green Care, Therapeutic Farming,  Social Farming or Social Care Farming, these programs serve: people with mental health problems; those with a drug or alcohol addiction; individuals on probation; veterans; seniors; youth; individuals with intellectual and/or developmental disabilities such as Cerebral Palsy, Down Syndrome, Fragile X syndrome or Autism Spectrum Disorder.  

Estimates are 6,000 to 10,000 Care Farms exist in all of Europe.  In the United States the number is about 200.  The Louisville Public Media site, from which this information is drawn, points out that there is a dearth of mental health resources in many rural communities where 60% of residents live in areas with a shortage of providers.  “Studies suggest that looking at farms, which are already prevalent in rural areas, as a resource to provide mental and emotional support could be valuable to these communities,” Elizabeth Gabriel wrote on the Louisville site.

Care farming was first used in the Netherlands as early as the 13^th century, when some family farms attempted to take in guests suffering from mental illness in an attempt to aid in their recovery through farm work.  In 1949, the Netherlands established the first modern care farm.  In England in 2001, when Foot and Mouth disease broke out, many farmers had to diversify.  Some did so by developing care farms.

I discovered there is a care farm here in Montana where three different types of programs are available:  Day Programs for those with Developmental Disabilities; Job Readiness Training and Vocational Rehabilitation; and Lifeside Farms designed for seniors who are seeking companionship and are focusing on staying active.

We owe a debt to those who address such a wide range of problems through creative means, to include Care Farms.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus: Agriculture is the most healthful, most useful and most noble employment of man. — as quoted on the BrandonGaille site

If you are concerned about memory problems, take heart.  Music activates almost every area of the brain, its broadest and most diverse networks, according to Harvard Medical School.  Music can help to keep a myriad of brain pathways and networks strong, including those networks that are involved in well-being, learning, cognitive function, quality of life, and happiness. In fact, the medical newsletter reports, there is only one other situation in which you can activate so many brain networks all at once, and that is when you participate in social activities.

A group called “Where Are My Keys?” or WAMK Chorale addresses both components, music and social activity.  WAMK Chorale is a partnership between Key Chorale, Jewish Family and Children’s Services of the Suncoast and Senior Friendship Center’s Adult Day Program.

The Key Chorale has two 8 week programs each year which they offer for patients with memory loss or dementia .  Each patient is paired with a professional singer from the Chorale, a symphonic choir that often performs with the Sarasota Orchestra and Sarasota Ballet. Caregivers are also welcome to participate. Developed in 2019, it is one of several outreach groups. Another group works with Parkinson’s patients to allow them to sing and strengthen their voices. 

“Music sparks something in all of us. So when I see these folks singing, it brings them to some time in their lives. And sometimes you can even get them talking about that time. So music is a wonderful therapeutic tool,” said Lynn Lash, another Chorale member, who worked as a music therapist in a psychiatric hospital for 25 years.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Café Bonus: Among the many such groups that have sprung up around the country, is one in New York started by Concetta Tomaine, a close colleague of the late Oliver Sachs. His book about the power of music on the brain, titled Musicophilia,  was dedicated to her.

With her permission I have borrowed this from our daughter Jenna’s FaceBook post this week after the loss of their beloved cat LuLu…. (Courtesy of Jenna Spain Hurley)

When we first moved to Bahrain, we were working really long hours, and we would come home to find Jack frantically waiting for us at the door. We decided he needed a friend, so we went to Bahrain’s only no-kill facility to see who we could find.

We went looking for a specific kitten, a beautiful calico nicknamed Edward Scissorhands who wanted absolutely nothing to do with us. As I stood in the cattery, looking around, this little scrawny orange tabby circled through my ankles. I picked her up, and she curled up on my chest. I told Matt that I knew in that moment that she was mine.

I say “mine,” but really, Matt was her North Star. She adored him. Once, he went on a work trip to Kuwait, and Lu wandered the halls, yowling, like it was my fault he wasn’t there.

We named her Lu’Lu’ – Arabic for pearl, in honor of the Pearl Roundabout, the Arab Spring rallying point in Bahrain that had been destroyed not long before we got there, in the regime’s bid to get the protests under control. She ended up living up to the spirit of that name, a feisty little chaos agent who was the manic energy we never knew we needed in our lives.

For years, she rode on Matt’s shoulder like a parrot. She stole every pair of athletic shorts and shoes with strings, always stashing them in her water bowl for us to find. She murdered Christmas trees with vigor. When I tried to outsmart her by getting a vinyl adhesive tree, that little maniac plucked the vinyl ornaments off it with serious serial killer energy. One of our friends pointed out that she was also the poster child for feline RBF.

The biggest surprise, though, was how she took to the boys. She loved them like her own and was remarkably patient in the face of Gabriel’s grabbiest instincts. She was a beautiful, manic ninja of a cat, and we will love her forever.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Cafe Bonus: “I think having an animal in your life makes you a better human.” – Rachael Ray “Our pets are our family.”

Recently I saw some football players skipping on the sideline of a game.  I have read that skipping has to do with agility and balance, good reason for their behavior.  While as children we seem to instinctively skip, as we age we tend to abandon that activity.  However, skipping is much easier on the joints and burns 30% more calories than running that sometimes replaces it as exercise.

  I was stunned at how much information is available on skipping and jump rope from the benefits to ways to skip “properly” and jump ropes with magnetic sensors that record fitness data. But what I recall about skipping is the sense of joy, on a par with splashing in mud puddles. The author of the blog CALMERme suggests that as children we are free to experience life, as adults are generally making all the decisions about us.  But as adults we become more focused on the narrative of our lives, the decisions we are now making ourselves. She wrote that as adults “We go from joy to satisfaction. From play to work. From experiencing self to narrative self.”

While Jeanne on iSkip.com offered that skipping might resolve many of our adult health problems, I think of how it might provide something even broader in scope.  Consider:

I don’t think it’s possible to skip with a frown on your face… I’d like to see the world’s governing and terrorist leaders on a skipping tour through the Middle East and across the subcontinent and China to Korea. ~Sue Irwin, courtesy of iSkip.com

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Café Bous: ” I often think of the time when we were all young… how naturally we lived, how we bounded along — we seldom walked — don’t you remember it? Why did we go tripping over the ground, do you suppose? Because of the lightness of our hearts. I, for one, hope never to outgrow my childhood… But we are apt to let the dry husks of responsibility make us stiff in the joints, and playing… gets to be one of the lost arts.” ~Alwyn M. Thurber, Quaint Crippen, 1896

As we head into a new year which seems guaranteed to bring challenges, “Cultivating Resilience” in the January edition of Costco magazine caught my attention. We don’t “bounce back,” one of the experts was quoted as saying. “….we bounce forward.  Resilience is the ability to effectively face challenge, change and complexity—what I call the three C’s—in a way that ultimately enhances us, not diminishes us,” noted Taryn Marie Stejskal, Ph.D. and founder of the Resilience Leadership Institute (resilience-leadership.com).

The neuroplasticity that we have often heard about in recent years, the brain’s capacity to change its structure,  undergirds resilience.  Dr. Amit Sood, also quoted in the Costco article, describes resilience “as the core strength we use to lift the load of life, leveraging the brain’s ability to change itself with experience.”

Sood developed a program called Leveraging the Stress Management and Resilience Training (SMART).  He reports that this approach involves awareness of what challenges you, paying attention and “the five principles of attitude:  gratitude, compassion, acceptance, meaning and forgiveness.”  While those principles all are important, it comes as no surprise that gratitude heads the list, that foundation of wellbeing and understandably contributes to resilience.

Another piece that caught my attention came from John Pavlowitz, author, pastor and speaker,  who wrote  in his Christmas blog:

Friends, you may be struggling to hold onto the light within you right now. I am too. But I also know that right now it is more valuable and powerful and necessary than it’s even been.

Do something to remind yourself why you live.

Embrace the people you love.

Use the gifts you have to bring joy.

Be present to this day.

Laugh fully.

Give what you have to give.

Give thanks.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Café Bonus:  “I can be changed by what happens to me but I refuse to be reduced by it.” — Maya Angelou

It’s my daughter’s fault.  In my estimation, my daughter is very nearly a gourmet cook. When she and her family visited last January, my daughter was horrified at the state of our knives.  Since Terry does the majority of the cooking in this household, I decided to give him a set of really good knives.  For supper last night he was going to make us chef salads with leftover ham and turkey we had.  Using one of the very new, very sharp knives, he took a chunk of his left index finger along with a slice of ham The kitchen took on the appearance of a grisly murder scene.

It quickly became apparent that a trip to the emergency room was in order.  I’m very thankful for the care we have received at the clinic and the ER.  But last night, despite Terry’s being the only patient, everything moved verrrrrry sloooooooooooowly.  In the haste to get to the hospital, I had not thought to take my computer with me to get my blog written.  When we finally returned home, Terry all stitched up, I was tired and past caring whether I was timely in my post.

So there you have it: “The Dog Ate My Homework. It’s Not My Fault.”  Despite my tongue-in-cheek approach, blame is a serious problem.  We seem to learn blame early in our families and carry it into our adult lives and relationships.  But some of the most egregious effects of blame are visible in our societies.  Think of the holocaust and the millions of Jews and other “undesirables” exterminated.  Think of the migrants at our borders and the accusations against them as rapists and murderers, drug dealers. Think of the current wars occurring in the Middle East and between Russia and Ukraine.

Consider this analysis from anthropologist Marvin Harris, who, in a discussion of witchcraft accusations from the 15th through 17th centuries in Northern Europe, argued that “vilification of this sort is an attempt to distract the broader population from the implications of disturbing social changes and, more specifically, from the corruption and incompetence of leaders. During this time in Europe, perhaps 500,000 people were accused and murdered for being witches. Typically, the victims were poor, old, female, and otherwise discreditable. They died so that others would not have to contemplate directly the vast changes of modernization that were happening around them.” — from Psychology Today, May 18,2020 issue, article by Dr. Thomas Hendricks

We as individuals may feel little within ourselves to influence society’s ills.  But we can take responsibility for our own behavior and pay attention when our own tendency is to blame.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Café Bonus:  Ironically, I write this as Terry is listening to a story that is full of news items that involve one party blaming another. 

A book worth reading on this topic is The Anatomy of Peace from the Arbinger Institute