Peaceful Daily Blog

Service with a smile

My daughter is one of the many infected by the swine flu here in my county.  9 out of 20 kids in her class are confirmed flu cases. Needless to say, there has been a run on the medication being given to those at risk with the flu. Only one pharmacy in the area carries the pediatric version of Tami-flu.

I didn't want to bring her out with a fever to the pharmacy.  I called ahead and told them what time I would be there to get the medication giving them two hours to fill the prescription.  The sitter could only spare a half hour and it took fifteen minutes each way to the store.  You can already picture the tension over a long stoplight, never mind any issues at the store.

I got there and there was no one in line. SCORE!

However, the girl I spoke with put my prescription in the wrong pile and the pharmacist never saw it and said, "It will be at least a half hour."

"But I called and asked if it would be ready."  sounding more nasty then I intended.

"Well, you can just go to another store then."  The pharmacist sourly replied.

"You are the only pharmacy selling the suspension."  I frantically recoiled.

"Then you will just have to wait then."  He smugly retorted.

Sarcastically, I thanked him for his compassion.

I started calling around trying to find a relief back -up babysitter but before I put in my second phone call he said, "Ma'am, your order is ready."

Astonished I walked over to the counter.  He looked wearily at me and said he was sorry.  He was being worked to the bone trying to get this stuff out fast enough.  I apologized too.  Recognizing that when I am stressed with having a sick child my best behavior isn't always shinning through.  We again recognized the other person's position and continued our day.

I would being willing to bet that this is a good illustration of what happens most of the time when we handle or are handled with hostility.  I would being willing to bet behind the clip, angry, or sarcastic comments are stress, frustration or fear.  

I hope I can remember that the next time I am dealing with someone and it is not going smoothly.  I hope I can take the pharmacist's example and be the first to apologize when the moment of clarity arrives.

“You should respect each other and refrain from disputes; you should not, like water and oil, repel each other, but should, like milk and water, mingle together.”

Buddha  Namaste, Krissy

Storytelling

This is a great time to do some storytelling.

A chill in the air, leaves dancing through the sky, hot chocolate brewing in the kitchen.

Oral tradition helps connect us with our past rituals and ancestors .

Find a chilly folktale, turn off the TV, and let the pictures dance in your head.

One story at a time can change the world.

For access to the International Storytelling Collection at the Library of Congress contact the American Folklife Center; folklife@loc.gov; 202-707-5510.

Namaste

Krissy

Paper Potter

For those of us lucky enough to live in year-round gardening climates, it's that time of year to ready the winter garden. After I pull out last season's spent plants and amend the soil with generous amounts of compost, I let everything sit and gel for a couple weeks while eagerly awaiting my shipment of cold season seeds. 

I love to start my seeds indoors, not because of the frost (pretty much a non-issue here in Los Angeles) but because I can tend them more carefully when they sit upon my counter, nudging me for attention while I putter about the kitchen. Starting seeds indoors requires some sort of growing container, and I have tried many over the years--flats, cubicle trays, pots made of peat, plastic or clay--each with their pluses and minuses. Then a few years back I stumbled upon something called a Paper Potter--a simple wooden device used to make sturdy seed pots out of newspaper strips. I’m not one to buy garden gadgets--my hands act as shovel, trowel, and hoe--so naturally I was reluctant to shell out $20 for the Paper Potter. I finally relented and have since found it to be worth its weight in gold. 

Making the pots is a snap, just roll a newspaper strip around the cylinder, fold in the bottom edges, press firmly onto the base mold to lock the edges into place, and the pot is ready for soil and seeds. I can bust out 20-30 pots in about 15 minutes, but I  leave this joyous task to my son who enjoys it most of all. 

The main advantage in using newspaper pots for seed starting is that they can be planted directly into the garden when transplant time arrives, even those finicky plants that prefer direct sowing are less apt to complain upon transplanting. The newspaper breaks down in the soil quickly, and the roots push right through with ease (in the case of squash, the roots generally burst through long before I can get them to the garden).  

Since each pot is made using recycled, biodegradable materials, the Paper Potter is about as eco-friendly as it gets.  Additionally, the wood used in making the Potter is harvested from Forest Stewardship Council-certified forests, and its packaging is made from recycled material.

Manufactured in England by Nether Wallop Trading Co. Ltd., you can order your Paper Potter locally through Living Green. Can't get past the $20 price tag? Check out the Feathered Nest for a tutorial on using a spice bottle as a makeshift Paper Potter.

Peace,

Annie

A Final Lesson from Dad

A few days ago my father passed away.

We had an estranged relationship at best.

However, when the call came I wept.  I wept all the tears I had been holding onto.

My daughter, fortunately or unfortunately, was witness to my very truthful moment.

Trying to explain, trying to console, trying to make sense of all the emotions we both had.

My daughter was sad she would never see him again, even though I could  count the times she had ever seen him on one hand.  

We talked about how she could no longer see him with her body eyes, but would now have to use her spirit eyes to see him.

She then told me he was her favorite Grandfather and went on to decorate for Halloween as if nothing had happened.

I couldn't understand how she could make that statement about my dad.  I couldn't see how that could be possible given who he was.

Then I went to help clean out his apartment.

There were notes and letters and photographs and journals.  Things that showed me a man I had never meet.  Things that showed me a kinder gentler man who tried.

 I thought back on the advice I gave my daughter, " See him with your spirit eyes."

It is sad I only used my body eyes to see him when he was alive.  If I used my spirit eyes when he was alive I might have been able to forgive him and love him in away I never was able.

My spirit eyes now see a man who did the best that he could given his circumstance.  My spirit eyes now see a man who loved his children and wanted to find away to express that.  My spirit eyes see that even though he was broken with demons, he went on and aimed for greatness. My spirit eyes see his soul and mine as one.

The eyes of my eyes have been awoken and can never go back to sleep again.  Thank you Dad for giving me one of the greatest gifts ever.  I will see the world with more kindness and love in my heart.  I will be more connected with oneness.  I will use my spirit eyes to see all the people in my life.

Dad- the spirit in me recognizes the spirit in you.

With love, 

Krissy

Gift Giving the Guilt-Free Way

September was a month of birthdays and gift giving for many near and dear in my life. Though joyous they are, such occasions nonetheless bring with them important considerations around the issue of gift giving. What can I give that won’t add to the ubiquitous piles of stuff overtaking our planet, that doesn’t draw upon the planet’s dwindling resources, that is nurturing to the soul, and, lastly,  is cost effective to boot??  Invariably I arrive at the same conclusion: a thoughtfully chosen, gently used book.  

My favorite all around place to acquire used books is from, you guessed it, the used book store. I simply adore used book stores: the smell, the potential, the affordability, the requisite shabbiness, as well as the eclectic mix of bibliophiles that so often comprise the staff and patrons. My love of used book stores was ignited during a month-long trip up the California coast where my husband and I enacted a policy of stopping at all used book stores (and farmer’s markets) along the way. We would buy a stack of books at one stop, devour them (along with pints of berries), then trade them in for yet another stack of books at the next stop. 

Used book stores are great for browsing and perusing, but they are not necessarily the most affordable option. For sheer affordability, rummage sales are the best place to pick up used books. Since most books are in the quarter-dollar range, I buy liberally--if I decide after reading them that they don’t work for me or somebody I know, no sweat, I just donate them. A mere handful of rummage sales this summer yielded a gift-giving bounty that should last me most of the year---all for under ten bucks. 

My next favorite place to find used books, particularly when I’m looking for a specific or hard-to-find title, is Amazon.com. Amazon’s used books are actually sold through independent book sellers and private individuals, so I don’t have to feel guilty about supporting the Big Guy at the expense of the Little Guy--they both win, as do I.  (I have also sold many used books through Amazon as well--it is surprisingly easy to do and a great way to reduce clutter).  

Lastly, I love to pick through my own library from time to time and give away books that I have read and enjoyed over the years. This is a great way to limit the sheer size of my library, while allowing me to share special titles with others. It is perhaps for this reason that I resist using book plates or otherwise marking up books in general--it is my sincerest wish for all books everywhere that they will eventually reside in many, many homes (and hopefully hearts) throughout their lifetimes. 

Finally, after the perfect book is chosen, I lovingly wrap it in newspaper topped with either a shredded magazine bow, newspaper star or fan, or plastic baggie pom pom. And there you have it: the perfectly soulful, thrifty-but-thoughtful, quintessentially eco-friendly, guilt-free gift. 

Peace,

Annie

Miss Shane

I have a friend that a made just a couple of years back.  We met on the playground at our children's school.  In no other set of circumstances would we have met or become friends.  We are so different. But friends we have become.

We see or talk with each other everyday.  It could be a call in the morning about hot lunch options or walking ours dogs(by the way, I think our dogs like each other...but that's another blog).  It could be over drinks with the ladies or at a PTA meeting.  

Needless to say, we know each other pretty well now.  But today I was floored by how well Shane knew me.

She called me last night to remind me that sewer bills were due today.  I hung up the phone thinking, "wow, that was random."  Never had someone called to tell me a bill was due.  I shrugged it off.  But going through papers in the morning I realized, in fact, I had not paid that bill.

So I trotted off down to town hall to avoid a late payment.  When I got there I was informed that I had missed the last sewer bill payment and they were about to put a lien on my house.  Yikes.  Luckily it was easily adverted by paying the delinquent bill as well.  Normally, I am not so flaky with payments.  This was unusually.

On the ride home I got to thinking how that "random" comment wasn't so random after all.  That somehow we are connected and her looking out for me transcended reason and fell into the realm of coincidence.

What a wonderful feeling to know that it is possible to connect on such a level with another human being.  And even more wonderful feeling to know I am blessed enough to actually have that connection in my life.  It made me stop and think about all of my friends and how special and wonderful they are.  It made me realize how connected I am with each and everyone of them all in different ways.

I invite you to take a moment and think of your girlfriends, boyfriends, animal friends, whom ever and bask in the wonderful feeling of connection we have with them.

I heard someone say once that very often you are not born into your family but you find them along the journey. That's how I feel today.

Thank you my dear friend Shane.

Namaste

Krissy

Friend Power

The June 22, 2009  issue of the Archives of Internal Medicine came to the conclusion that the more socially active you are, the longer you’ll live.  A groundbreaking study from UCLA in 2002, implies that  friendships between women are more than special.  Scientists who authored the study believe that spending time with friends can actually reverse stress because of the cascade of hormones that are released in women’s brains when they are interacting with friends.

The health benefits of strong friendship bonds aren’t exactly surprising.  Friends offer us a primary support system along with our families and mates.  They balance the emotional blanks we may have in our other relationships.  They also offer us the opportunity to care and nurture another human being. 

Peace, Joan

Markers

Indelible ones like your first kiss or your last good-bye.

 

I have been trying to live my life fully. Spending each moment of each day with thought and care for that moment itself, and it sounds a bit harder to do than it really is. It is a conscious thought that makes a life style change for many of us that zing through our day, before catching our breath to see what has happened since we left the house in the morning.

 

My life is like any of yours, complicated and hectic, but I made a commitment to “take over” and it’s going pretty well!

 

I love setting new Markers…I make more time for the needs of my friends, and I focus harder at work. I permit lazy time, just a bit, for each day and remember to just breathe.  I stay in touch with folks that I love, by telephone, email and social networking. I smile wider and faster, and laugh harder.

 

Small and big markers have been coming and going and I love participating fully each day.  Some of those markers are tough, too. I have a partnership with the world though and I truly feel I can get through each day with the support and love I find so easily in this universe.

 

Peace to each one of you that reads this blog. Peace to you when you are giddy, confused, crying, frustrated, joyful and just plain in love.  Peace is there to take from all those you love around you and, most of all, inside yourself.

 

Elizabeth

Breaking News....

This just in:  It seems that women across the world are suffering.  Suffering from something so awful that a team of experts have banned together to solve this problem.  I am talking about (insert menacing sound cue) INADEQUATE EYELASHES!

But no need to panic.  There is a new drug out there, with celebrity endorsement,  that can help.  Sure, there is risk and sometimes irreversible side effects, but you will have long beautiful lashes.  

I didn't even know the quality of my life was being effected by my short stubby eyelashes.  I am so glad money went toward research and development for this product rather then on ..I don't know...cancer.

The truth is I buy some products because I think I need them.  This really opened my eyelash deficient eyes to where I  m manipulated to feel inadequate and into thinking a product or service will make me better or more complete.  I look forward to a day when we collectively know we are good enough short eyelashes and all.

Namaste

Krissy

New Kid on the Block

On Wednesday, I was scheduled to teach a class at an established studio that opened a second asana space and needed more instructors. As I had recently resigned from another studio, I was thrilled to join this new community, bringing some of my students along to mingle with a whole new crowd of yogis. The auspicious day, however, became memorable for all of the wrong reasons.

 

To begin with, the owner of the studio was there when I arrived 15 minutes before the class; I wanted to learn the procedures for signing folks in to class, opening and closing the studio and all other pertinent functions. Rather than being able to spend any appreciable time with me, however, the owner was running around, attempting to corral the three young children who were romping around the new space, throwing handfuls of Cheerios everywhere and attempting to sneak out of the door when mom was not looking. I patiently watched the mother-child ritual, hoping for a small window of opportunity to ask some questions. The owner quickly talked through the basics of the studio and then grabbed the kids and left; I didn’t even receive a key to lock up. The capper on the evening was the fact that no one showed up for class. I know that a new teacher and a newly scheduled class are not big draws, but I expected at least ONE curious person to show. And where were my “loyal” students, the ones who had clamored for me to find a new space when I resigned my previous position? Nowhere to be found…

 

Although my pride was injured, I spent the rest of the night at home reflecting upon the dreadful first experience. I realized that my ego had been wounded when no one showed up for the class. I reminded myself that the class is NOT about me; the students are the reason that I do what I do, and if they are not there, so be it. I should be thankful when they do attend and want to share a practice with me. I vowed to relinquish my attachment to my ego and just accept that some night there are zero students and other nights there are fifteen.

 

Good thing I made that vow, too, because the following evening, I was enlisted to sub a class for another instructor. Again, no one arrived for class. I handled this episode with much more grace and humility, especially since this was not one of my regularly scheduled classes. I did, however, run into another ugly aspect of studio teaching: lack of respect for others. Once again, I arrived early for the class, to help people sign in and to be there to introduce myself before class. The class before mine was scheduled to end 15 minutes before my start time. I peered into the studio ten minutes before class and saw that the instructor and her students were still in the space, engaged in discussion. No problem, since no one had yet appeared for my class. Then, five minutes before class, I looked again and the teacher and students were standing around chatting about life. That’s fine, but could you do that in the foyer or hall, so I can set up for class? Finally, at the appointed start time of my class (still no students!), I entered the space and was greeted with an icy stare from the instructor. She asked if I had a class in there and I replied that I did. Instead of excusing herself, she went right on talking! I quietly set up my mat and dimmed the lights to the desired level, and still she continued her banter with a student. About five minutes later, the student left and the instructor took her time gathering up her mat, her bag and then continued to linger in the space. I got up and closed one of the two doors to the room, hoping that she might understand that the next class was imminent. She looked at me and curtly said, “When does this class start?” I told her about five minutes ago. She offered no apology and made no discernible attempt to go. She said that next time, she would try and remember that another class was starting at this time. I had no response. After she left and I was once again without students, I pondered the way that I had been “welcomed” to this studio so far: the owner could barely find time for me, students were not coming and one of my peers lacked the courtesy to exit the room when my class was going to start. A rough start, I would say.

 

Next week, I will give it another try. I hope that students will come; if not, I look forward to a time when they can. I hope that my fellow instructors are welcoming; if not, perhaps I need to make the effort to break the ice and extend a friendly hand. In the end, I am like a new kid who arrives in an elementary school class: I need to take my lumps before I am accepted.

 

 

 

Peace,

 

Trent