Category Archives: environment

Fighting Boredom with Adventure

31 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by in environment, pets, travel

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tracks

As difficult as this is to admit, our little Karina is not perfect. Not only does she eat sticks, she swallows them! At first this seemed like typical puppy behavior. And as she grew older, her craving for sticks seemed to abate. We thought that she was finally kicking the habit.

But, like many addictions, this one was not easily overcome. Paul did some research and, as we had begun to suspect, this recurring habit is a common symptom of boredom. Yup, our little princess is such a smarty pants that we have to keep her interested. Unlike me, she finds routine tedious rather than comforting. Imagine that!

So this week, we changed up our morning walks. On Tuesday, we went to Mount Misery. Yesterday, we did our usual route, only backwards. So far, so good, nary a stick was chewed.

This morning, we headed to a trail recommended by a fellow dog walker. When we set off, there were thick clouds overhead, and the temperature was closing in on 60 degrees Fahrenheit —January thaw on steroids.

Even though the mild temperature made my environmentalist side cringe, my inner fashionista was thrilled to forgo the down coat and wear my cool, new jacket — a Christmas present from Paul!

The ground was soft, and spongy, the air like velvet — in spite of a gusty wind.

Heading in

further in

The trail took us along the Sudbury River.

River

RiverView2

After a while it started to spit rain, but we kept going. Suddenly, the wind was whipping all around us, and we heard a long, loud, craaaack. The reverberations wrapped themselves around me. Karina bolted back to my side.

Was it thunder? After a few seconds, it became clear that the wind had knocked down what must have been an enormous tree on the other side of the river.

Giant trees swayed all around us, their branches ominously waving. The rain poured down in earnest. We ran back to the car.

Rain

We arrived home a bit wet, but no one was bored — and no sticks were consumed.

Jacket

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (with apologies to Betty Smith)

28 Monday Jan 2013

Posted by in aging, environment, inspiration, meditation, mid-life transition, music

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Wise tree 2

We recently spent a weekend in Brooklyn. Older son was playing with Raya Brass Band in the annual Golden Festival — two nights of music and dancing. Balkan folk music comes in many forms and celebrates the joy, sadness, and complexity that makes life on earth so sweet.

By Saturday night the festival was in full swing, the sound level and crowds were intense. In one room, an enormous chandelier danced up and down to the beat.

So on Sunday, needing some quiet time, we took a short walk through Brooklyn’s Greenwood cemetery. Our goal was to find Leonard Bernstein’s grave. After a weekend of music, it seemed fitting to pay homage to the maestro.

Maestro

As we walked through, I wondered about the less famous people buried here. Who were they? Who was missing them? What had they done with their time on earth — and, for that matter, what am I doing right now with mine?

shelter Stones

detail

The gravestones provided some information.

Husband

But no specific answers. At least not to the questions I was pondering.

But then we came upon this tree with elephantine roots, its grip on the ground made  stronger by the passing years.

Roots

“Grab on to this awe-inspiring, irreplaceable planet with both hands,” it seemed to say. “We are privileged to live here. Celebrate your beautiful life!”

Before we got in the car, I stood and listened.  After two nights loaded with boisterous music, the only sound I heard was the wind rustling through the dried branches overhead. The earth was singing.

wind

An Icy Pause

21 Friday Dec 2012

Posted by in environment, health, inspiration, meditation, pets

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We woke up earlier this week to an ice-covered world. The dogwood tree outside the bedroom window greeted me looking like a cocktail hostess wrapped in a silvery sheath.

out the window

The glittery theme continued in the garden, where the lady’s mantle posed as a crystal chandelier resting on its side, and the lavender wore translucent stockings.

ladysmantle Lavender on ice

The driveway had a coating that was treacherous, but easily shattered like the best stained glass candy.

Driveway

In the woods, it took us a while to negotiate the trail — why didn’t we remember to dig out our ice cleats?

mananddog1

Still, we walked. We saw tree branches, wrapped in ice, reaching across the path with ET-like fingers.

Fingers1

There was evidence of fairies messing with trees during the night.

tree sculpture tree sculpture2

And shades of Dr. Seuss.

DrSeuss

Pine needles turned into elongated jewels.

holiday best

needles2

It was as if the ice, in coating the plants, the trees, the driveway, and the trail, had also frozen time, and encased us in a cold but protective cocoon. A magic trick.

All too soon the trick was over, and time resumed its normal pace, as the ice quickly melted away.

Next week, I hope to replicate that magic by slowing down and savoring every quiet and not-so-quiet moment with loved ones. I hope you can do the same: take a breath and reflect, before we all gear up for 2013.

I wish all of you safe, happy, holidays, and health and joy in the coming year.

GiftPup

“If It Were Up to Me”

16 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by in adult children, environment, meditation, music

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reflections of grief

Most likely everything that can be said about Friday’s tragedy in Connecticut has been said. Since Friday, I have been weighed down with a sadness that is punctuated by moments of extreme anger and disgust.

There are candlelight vigils to attend and petitions to sign, but nothing will undo what has already been done. As singer-songwriter Cheryl Wheeler sings below, “If it were up to me, I’d take away the guns.”

Right now, though, the one thing that has made me feel better at all, besides signing petitions and communicating with my own kids, has been to give money to organizations that advocate for children. There are plenty of them out there, but here are two that are near and dear to me.

Mom’s Clean Air Force: Like the proliferation of guns in our society, clean air is a public health issue. Air pollution hurts the most vulnerable among us. By pulling together the voices of mothers, fathers, and other engaged citizens, this organization works to counteract the lobbyists in Washington who fight for polluters’ right to dirty our air. The site provides up-to-date information and lists ways we can act in the interests of ourselves and our children.

Donate now, and for every tax-deductible dollar you donate by January 1, 2013, a dedicated funder will provide two additional dollars tripling your gift.

The Strong Kids Program at the McBurney YMCA in New York. I have a special interest in this program. My younger son taught these kids life skills for several years, helping them learn how to advocate for themselves, and my older son has done some academic tutoring there.  I was often privy to dinner table discussions about how much potential each of these kids—who hail from every borough in the city—have, and how, with some consistent, adult attention, their lives could be improved.

Click here to donate.

“Do we have the courage to stop this?” asks Nicholas Kristof in his column in today’s New York Times, where he makes an excellent case for gun regulation. I hope we do. And I hope that our leaders will exhibit the kind of heroism we need right now, and stand up to, and defy the all-powerful gun lobby.

Finding Happiness on Mount Misery

08 Saturday Dec 2012

Posted by in environment, friendship, health, inspiration, meditation, pets

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Reflection

We woke up this morning to the steady patter of rain. A raw, gloomy chill hung over the house. Plus our newspaper was late. Blech.

Then at 9 am sharp, my phone rang. It was my friend Kathleen calling to invite Karina and me for a walk with her and her dog Zoe at Mount Misery.

After a few deep sighs, I accepted. After all, as Kathleen said, we have to walk the dogs anyway. We might as well go someplace different and more interesting.

Not nearly as bleak as its name suggests, Mount Misery is a set of trails a few minutes’ drive from our respective houses. Bordered on one side by the Sudbury river, its trails lead up a hill, through the woods, and past a pond. There’s farmland in the area as well.

The woods always feel so peaceful in the rain.

Heading to the riverKarina in the mistMist cloudriver bendLinesThe mist and wet wood make all the colors and textures stand out in sharp relief.

Eel-log close up

Foot fungus

Rhododendron leaves

Karina and Zoe had a blast.

on the trail

They even made some new friends.

GinnyBlue eyes

There was a remnant from Hurricane Sandy.

ShardAs well as some remnants of hard work by squirrels.

Squirrel work

Squirrel work close up

A tree eating a sign …

No swimming

and a lost and found.

lost and found

It was a beautiful walk. In the end, I was grateful for the rain.

Pond

And my walking companion was ready for a nap.

Post-walk naptime

We Are the Good Guys

14 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by in environment, politics, writing

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A couple of summers ago, my sons encouraged me to read Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, a novel about a father and son fighting for survival as they traverse a cold, sunless, ash-covered landscape. What touched me most about the book was the way the father tried to explain, even normalize, this post-apocalyptic world for his son.

In this fictional world, other people pose a threat. They may help you, but they are more likely to kill you. The father helped his son understand this dangerous world by dividing it into good guys and bad guys.

“This is what the good guys do,” he told his son. “They keep trying. They don’t give up.”

Amid the devastation left by Hurricane Sandy, I imagine parents up and down the Eastern Seaboard are doing the same for their children. They have to put a hopeful spin on their new reality and project an optimistic future.

Fortunately, in today’s post-Sandy, nonfiction catastrophe, most people are “the good guys.” Together, they are helping each other navigate their devastated lives.

I’ve watched this video taken in Rockaway Queens over and over again.

I can’t get the images out of my head: streets buried in sand, cars scattered into piles like pick-up sticks. “It’s like a scene from some end-of-the-world movie,” says the film’s narrator. It has been weeks since Sandy raged through this neighborhood, and many people are still without power, heat, or hot water.

This is where we are. We can’t go back. We can only move forward. But the fork in the road that will take us toward McCarthy’s dystopian future is ever closer.

These superstorms are the new normal. And while it will take decades to bring our planet back from the brink, actions we take now can slow and maybe even halt climate change tomorrow.

We have to be like the good guys in McCarthy’s book, who keep trying  and don’t give up.

Fighting for a clean and safe environment is like every other battle we’ve undertaken.  We haven’t made progress in attaining civil rights, equality for women, or gay rights by asking politely. We demand those rights, loudly, consistently — because we are entitled to them.

We must do no less in our fight to stop climate change. Not only are we and future generations entitled to a clean and healthy environment, our lives, and theirs, depend on it.

A slightly different version of this post appeared on Moms Clean Air Force. Click here to act now and join the good guys.

Turning Back the Clocks

05 Monday Nov 2012

Posted by in aging, environment, meditation, pets, politics

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Last weekend we turned back the clocks. We do this every autumn in the U.S. — excepting Hawaii and parts of Arizona. I always savor the extra hour in the morning, yet as the day progresses, and the light thins, that bonus hour is soon forgotten. During this annual transition, evidence of time’s passage is everywhere.

The heat of late summer is long gone, and the brilliance of early fall is fading fast. The winds from Hurricane Sandy expedited the process. But a few, last gasps of color remain.

Changing the clocks marks the passage of Time.

Those turkey chicks that sashayed through the yard last August are all grown up.

Time.

We buried our 16-year old cat, Boots in September. She was a plump bundle of thick black fur that padded around on dainty white feet. Boots, I should mention, was an excellent mouser, and she proudly announced every kill in a loud, guttural, yowl. When she joined our family, she was tiny enough to fit inside a teacup, and our boys were aged 10 and 13.

Time.

She has been gone less than two months, and yet her grave has already weathered its first major storm.

And more Time.

The race toward winter has begun. This dogwood shrub, for example, has already donned its red winter coat.

With most of the leaves down, we can now see through the woods behind our house into the farmer’s fields and beyond.

We can turn the clocks back, set them ahead, and stop them. But no matter what we do to our timepieces, the future arrives with every minute.

Tomorrow is election day. The future of our country’s 99% hangs in the balance. Will the voters turn back the clock, erasing hard fought gains and reopening old battlefields? Or will they keep up with Time and allow the country to continue moving forward?

Pink + Green = Breast Cancer Prevention

22 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by in environment, health, politics

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October is breast cancer awareness month. Pink ribbons are everywhere, from lapels and teddy bears, to cleaning products and perfume. So much levity and cheeriness for a disease that is deadly seriousness.* So much hypocrisy when these ribbons adorn items containing carcinogens.

When I think about breast cancer, I think about my mother, who died of it at the age of 50. I think of my own diagnosis 22 years later. And, I think of the women I encountered in the waiting room during treatments, and the many I’ve spoken to since, who unlike me, had no genetic risk factors and yet, just like me, were diagnosed with the disease at a relatively early age.

Why them? For that matter, why me? Why are so many of us being stricken?

Some of the answers can be found in a small, green paperback that my father presented to me a few months after my mother died.

Silent Spring by Rachel Carson was published fifty years ago last month and is often credited with igniting the environmental movement. Carson addressed her widely-read book to the general public. It clearly explains how man-made chemicals used to kill insects, weeds, rodents, and other such pests, can travel up the food chain and impact human health.

She asked:

Can anyone believe it is possible to lay down such a barrage of poisons on the surface of the earth without making it unfit for all life?

Carson also sounded the alarm back then for how these poisons can change us on a cellular level.

Some would-be architects of our future look toward a time when it will be possible to alter the human germ plasm by design. But we may easily be doing so now by inadvertence, for many chemicals, like radiation, bring about gene mutations. It is ironic to think that man might determine his own future by something so seemingly trivial as the choice of an insect spray.

Carson wrote these words in the midst of her own battle with metastatic breast cancer. She died two years after Silent Spring was published. Her wise and prescient voice silenced, just like the spring she envisioned in her book’s opening pages.

So while I applaud organizations that use pink ribbons to raise money for breast cancer research, I also agree with my fellow blogger, Elisa Batista, who says,

“It will be a good day when pink mixes with green.” 

To hasten that day, we must honor Rachel Carson’s legacy by educating others about the environmental causes of breast cancer. For the sake of our daughters and our sons (yes, men get breast cancer too), we must take action now.

And we shouldn’t rest until we pin the last pink ribbon on the lapel of the last corporate polluter, and send them packing.

***

This post was originally published by Moms Clean Air Force

* To better understand why so many of us resent the girly, pink symbolism associated with breast cancer, check out this terrific post by Erika Lade.

Yes. I Was Rude.

03 Wednesday Oct 2012

Posted by in environment, inspiration, work, writing

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You’re expecting a “but” here aren’t you? There are no buts about it. It wasn’t intentional, and I didn’t mean it, but yes, I was rude: To a customer.

There I was, head down, lost in thought, and elbow deep in cashmere as I processed a delivery. Two women walked into the store. I think I greeted them….. maybe not.

Then, out of the blue, one of them made a seemingly innocuous statement, “I thought you no longer sold bottled water in Concord.” *

“Huh?” I thought to myself, “we sell cashmere, not water.” But then, instead of making me purr, the way cashmere usually does, this popped out: “What’s your point?”

Oops. This is something I might say in jest to my husband when he drops the occasional non sequitur. But somehow, in that moment and context, I didn’t add my usual lilt of amusement. Even if I had, it still would have sounded wrong.

The polite response would have been something like, “Why do you ask?”  But before I could apologize she left the store in a huff, muttering loudly about “rude shopkeepers.”

These porcelain berries are the closest thing I have to an olive branch.

I don’t know why this happened. I do know I had been feeling rather discouraged that day.

Perhaps it was the residual sliminess I felt from watching Scott Brown’s sleazy debate performance the night before.

Speaking of two-faced conservatives, did the woman’s shrill-ish voice conger up memories of a former landlady — the one who made a point of telling me how much she liked Jews?

Or maybe it was the fact that I was doing better with the cashmere, than I was with my blog. I was starting to feel as though I had nothing new to say.

Bingo.

So, in addition to apologizing to the customer, I guess I should thank her for sparking a post. That is, if she ever sets foot in  my “shop” again.

While I’m waiting for that day, tell me, have you ever inadvertently let loose a snail on an unsuspecting victim? If so, please confess. It will help me feel like less of a jerk.

*The town of Concord, Mass. has banned the sale of less than 1 liter bottles of water, which goes into effect next year. You can read more about the reasons behind the ban here. 

Fall Forward

12 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by in adult children, aging, environment, inspiration, mid-life transition, writing

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There’s a definite chill in the air. Last night I layered two wool blankets on top of the summer one. Before long I’ll have to pull out the down comforter. Outside, the garden is making its yearly journey from the sunny yellows of mid-to-late summer, to the richer, more textural pinks, reds, and purples of my fall bloomers.

As the garden makes its turn into fall, and we pile on the blankets, it’s easy to wax nostalgic about the days when there were four of us rushing out the door each weekday morning. But I’m resisting that temptation.

Instead, I’m focusing on what I will make happen — as opposed to what might happen — next.

It’s been two years since I lost my job, and during that time, I have created a framework on which to build my days.  Daily walks with the dog, thrice weekly swims, and Tuesday and Thursday afternoons working at a local store, provide the bones for my week. In between each of those activities I work on my blog and other writing assignments.

The transition from the formal structure and demands of full-time employment and parenthood that I’ve clung to for most of my adult life, to the looser requirements of freelance work and empty-nest living, feels like a chasm that I will continue to cross for some time to come.

I don’t know if I will ever feel I have “landed” again. In fact, it’s possible that I’ve never felt that way. Not really. What I do know is that my current writing assignments, both paid and unpaid, feel more authentic, are more satisfying, and bring me more joy than anything I’ve done in the past. And, much to my surprise, this new work and lifestyle have brought me friends and supporters from some unlikely and even far-flung places.

Although I’m still working on how to turn this more joyful work into a decent income, I am grateful that I no longer have to fake excitement or passion when I don’t feel it. I can say what I mean and mean what I say. The ability to just be myself has been one of the most rewarding aspects of my ongoing transition.

This fall, I’m putting on some new shoes, and adding to my my already existing framework. My new DIY structure will continue to evolve. It may never be fully finished, but it will be strong enough and flexible enough to feed my brain and nourish my psyche. With luck and hard work, it might just sustain me through the ever-changing, always surprising, journey ahead.