Ida's Mark

My dear friend Ida is 98 years old and lives in a continuing care retirement community (CCRC) in Redding, CT.

We first met in 1996 in the hallway at Sarah Neuman. I was with my then 5-year-old daughter, Kate, and Ida was coming from her husband's room. She spoke to Kate first, and we exchanged some pleasantries. After a few minutes, Kate came out with a response that just delighted Ida. We've been friends ever since.

For many years, Ida lived in a house in Pleasantville, and I would occasionally visit and take her to the local diner for lunch. She lived alone, as her husband had passed away soon after she and I met. Although she suffered hardships throughout life, Ida's optimistic disposition always found the positive take on any a situation. As the years unfolded, I learned that Ida's husband had suffered from depression and she had lost a child to lupus, a disease she herself suffers from. She's developed other ills, including macular degeneration, and had to give up needlepoint, a favorite pastime we both enjoyed.

One of Ida's favorite topics is her grandchildren, and she now has a six-year-old great grand-daughter as well. She is very proud of these young adults, and I've heard so much about them that I feel like part of the family. They visit her often and share a close bond. At the time, Ida's surviving daughter lived nearby, and the family kept in close contact. One day several years ago, Ida reported that she had fallen, fortunately with no major injuries. After the second fall about nine months later, when she blacked out and had to crawl back to the house, I suggested it was time for her to move into a facility where she wouldn't be alone. After much research and many visits, she moved into the facility where she still lives independently today.

It is no coincidence that Ida shares my grandmother's name. She's a present-day grandma to me, comforting and inspiring. One day, I took mom to meet Ida, and they, too, became fast friends. We visited regularly, either dining at her place or going out to a local restaurant. My dad joined us one time as well, and Ida got to know my family as I had hers.

As someone who does not have a particularly good memory, I am astounded by how sharp Ida is, always asking me about events I'd discussed on a previous visit. She has given me advice on a wide variety of issues, and we speak quite freely with one another. In the past few years, Ida has developed spinal stenosis, and finds that if she rides the stationary bike, it keeps the pain at bay. Can you imagine a 98-year-old riding a bike daily? Where she was once isolated, Ida now has lots of friends and enjoys her life. She is happy being in such a beautiful place with interesting people, and knows that if she needs more care, it is right there for her. In fact, she regularly visits people who are in the nursing part of the facility. It's not hard to see why she has lived such a long life, despite the challenges she's faced.

Ida is the quintessential role model of aging gracefully. Since my mother died, Ida has been like a guardian angel, sharing in my sadness and knowing how to give comfort. I know she misses mom too, and yet, when we are together, we talk about the present, what we are looking forward to, and how grateful we are. Ida has made her mark on me in the most profound way.

Life Without Mom

The house is blissfully quiet and still. An airplane buzzes overhead. My first thought is to call mom and talk, about anything and everything or perhaps nothing in particular.

That’s not an option anymore.

It’s been a busy week, with my aunt’s funeral in Florida and getting my youngest daughter back to college. A lot of moving around, so being still and quiet has its appeal. I start thinking of how life has already changed in the past 5 weeks:

--I talk to mom in absentia

--My siblings and I have a weekly call

--I check in with my dad daily

--There are acknowledgment notes to write

--I've started to get hot flashes!

The last is an interesting phenomenon, and not welcome especially in the heat of the summer. Something must have been triggered in my body’s chemistry (undoubtedly due to stress). I’ve not had time to focus on possible remedies, but I’m going to get busy and see if I can’t “re-balance” things. It’s obvious something is “off-kilter.” Amazing my body presents a living illustration.

The Jewish holidays are approaching, when mom and I would cook together. She and dad starting coming up to our temple years ago to attend services, and it was a time of being together to start a new year. As much as I have been trying to take one day at a time, I am keenly aware these days are almost upon us, and I know we will all feel the loss, the hole, the empty place that mom would have occupied.

I am told that getting through the first of everything over the next year is a process in itself, and after that, it will get easier. Just allowing time to pass is healing. When I’m busy, and I’ve seen this with my father too, it is easier, with other activities to occupy and distract us. It’s the quiet times when my thoughts drift to mom. And for my dad, the evenings and weekends alone are the hardest.

Being in my body keeps me rooted here on earth, and so yoga, exercise, meditation, spending time with friends and family, and work all help to keep me grounded. I still remind myself it will take time tofeel as if life is normal. Or maybe it will just be a new-normal.

Unmoored

It's finally starting to sink in. Or, rather it's starting to feel real: mom not being here, in my life. I wake up thinking about her. She's in my dreams. I try to remember when I last had a real conversation with her. The weeks in the hospital are all a blur.

It’s been ten days since mom died and eight since the funeral. During the last day of Shiva (having people over to sit with us and remember my mother), I started getting a sore throat which turned into an upper respiratory infection, complete with cough. My favorite naturopath reminded me that grief is the emotion associated with the lungs, so it’s not really a surprise where it hit me.

My life is up-ended, figuratively and literally. It doesn’t help that we moved in early June. I become confused by things I have known for years. Which way to go to the airport? Scheduling two things on the same day. Not sure whether I’ve done tasks. Discombobulated. Unmoored. My mom was an anchor, always there, and she isn’t anymore.

I am driving and start to cry. I never thought she would die. I knew she was going to die some day, but I had no awareness that it could possibly be so soon. Which in many ways is terribly naïve—and ironic. We all know people who are unwell, and who live with illness and disease every day, sometimes so valiantly, or not, but they live and get through their days.

Mom took such good care of herself and dad, made sure they exercised and ate their greens. She was vital up to the day she went into the hospital with the aortic aneurysm. And 11 weeks later she is gone, not from the operations themselves but from the infections and complications. Her body was strong but she would not want to have lived in a weakened and needy state, and we knew it. So, in the end, here was this beautiful, vibrant, healthy woman who loved her life and loved us so well, and whose time had come.

And that is the point, I guess. We never do know. And those trite expressions about appreciating life, having no regrets, and not taking people for granted, well, I know what they're talking about. It does make me wonder if I will live my life differently from now on. It's possible. I just need some time to get my bearings again.

Time with Mom

I haven’t posted for awhile because I’ve been spending a lot of time in the ICU at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York, and writing updates about my mom’s condition to family and friends every few days. However, I’d like to share some reflections I’ve had in light of the past nine weeks, and her now quite serious condition.

There is no doubt that my experience during these past few months would have been much different had I not had this sabbatical year. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is to be in the present moment. We’ve been on a roller-coaster ride: one day mom’s looking better and we’re feeling positive, and the next day, her condition worsens. We learned not to get too optimistic—or too pessimistic. It is most important to be with mom no matter what the numbers say, to be there FOR her, and interact as best we can.

A few weeks ago, we were told mom was terminal, only to see within two days she had miraculously rallied. There is no script, only working closely with experienced and compassionate doctors and nurses who are doing their best to monitor mom’s condition and guide us as best they can. But in the end, mom’s fate is unknown. Instead of feeling powerless, I feel grateful for the small victories, like the day we didn’t know if she was lucid and she blew me a kiss and touched my cheek. My hope is that I can reassure her and coax her to be brave; that her body can recover—perhaps not fully—but enough to enjoy life with her loved ones for some period of time.

In some ways, I can see how many of my life experiences have prepared me for dealing with the practical aspects of what I’ve been through. I’m comfortable in a hospital because of the summer I volunteered at Memorial Sloan Kettering as a 19-year-old, taking a library cart around the pediatric ward. I have some sense of the healthcare system from working at a benefits consulting firm. And I have an appreciation for caring for sick elders in my role as a volunteer and board member of a rehabilitation and long-term nursing facility. These experiences have helped me in understanding mom’s care and in developing relationships with a wide range of medical personnel.

And as good as this preparation has been, I’ve come to realize that there is no way to prepare for seeing a loved one have two life-threatening surgeries, three bouts of pneumonia, the zoster virus, as well as two collapsed lungs and a tracheostomy. With the support of my brother, sister and father, I have been strong enough to be there with her through these horrific events, in the trenches, day in and day out. At the same time, on a different plane, I know this is her path and mine as well. There is a reason we are doing this dance through life together, and there is much to learn.

Much of the time, I feel calm and centered as I go through each day, firmly believing in a higher power. Once a day, I allow the tears to flow, if they are there. My mother is beloved by so many people, and I agree it’s not fair what has happened to her. But it’s not about fair. I cannot know why, now or perhaps ever. It simply is what it is, and all I can do is be in the moment, take in my mother’s essence, and truly absorb it so that it is with me forever.

Seeing Through The Haze

There are times in life when our focus gets so narrowed, the rest of the world slips away. We bring all our attention, energy and emotions to bear on the event, and often, it is over fairly quickly. Studying for final exams comes to mind, or getting ready for a big presentation or performance.

When a loved one is critically ill, like my mother is now, the rest of the world falls away. So many of my waking hours are focused on her that I feel detached from the rest of my life. I know it's a beautiful day outside: I see it and have actually walked outside to get from my car to the hospital. And yet, I find myself not experiencing it. To maintain my sense of self and stay grounded, I have to force through that cocoon-like haze and do some things that bring me back to the natural world. Yesterday, I went for a walk for the first time in my new neighborhood. This morning, when I opened the door to get the paper, I opened it wider and stood there listening to the birds singing their hearts out welcoming the day.

It's true I am taking part in almost no outside activities these days, and I'm not sure how the near future will unfold. As in all things, there is a balance and I will work on finding it. Meditation, yoga, journaling, spending time with friends and connection with nature are some ways I'm holding on to myself and my world.

Moving Reflection

I am sitting in my small den off the kitchen listening to the birds on a sunny morning, two days before we move. Suddenly, I am overcome with missing this home, this room, this place.

My days have been spent packing and planning, coordinating and making sure the process will go as smoothly as possible. It took a long time to sell our house, and it is time to go. Yet, as I sit in the stillness, with the sun streaming in familiar ribbons across the room, I stop to feel the solemnity of the moment. Almost 14 years, the house my girls remember most as their home, a chapter in our lives.

In this room, there is a beautiful fireplace with two different moldings. It reminds me why my husband and I have always liked old homes. However, we are now moving into a newly built house, albeit a "colonial" with high ceilings, wide moldings and other attractive features.

I will also miss the familiarity of the house; it is known and comfortable like a favorite pair of shoes. The neighborhood has beautiful old trees and rock outcroppings, lots of streets of various grades which are perfect for walking. Within a couple of blocks, three good friends of mine are just a spontaneous phone call away. I know I'll continue to see them, but it will not be like it is now.

Except for our three years in London, we have lived in the same general area for 28 years. Whatever I need, I know where to go. I now understand why people return to their old neighborhoods and stores for shoe repairs or fresh fish; these are vendors we've been doing business with for years and it's familiar, like a family that has relied on each other for a long time.

In many respects I am lucky to be moving only eight minutes away, so that I can come back if I choose to do so. However, I have a feeling that once we're in the new house, it will be fun to explore and find new haunts: restaurants, services, walking routes and ways to get from here to there.

So I allow myself the momentary melancholy and know that the missing is what makes the parting so much sweeter and more poignant. It reminds me of what and whom is most important to me, and I feel blessed to have so much.

Doing Hospital Time

During the past month, I learned more than I thought I ever wanted to know about hospital health care, and have thought about some small changes that could make a difference in helping people heal. Even with the purported best accomodations and intentions, it is still the case that our Western medical system sees the patient as a "care-receiver" and does not think more broadly about how to help each individual heal in the fastest way possible.

I recently spent 2 nights in Greenwich Hospital, which is a modern, beautiful, upscale facility. Many call it the "country club" of hospitals. Two days later, my mother was admitted to Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan, where I had the opportunity, over a 15-day period, to see another system at work. Perhaps due to my own recent experience, and my involvement as a Board member at Sarah Neuman in Mamaroneck (the Westchester campus of Jewish Home Lifecare which provides long-term, rehabilitation and home care), I felt slightly detached, and was able to watch and observe what was happening around me.

Here is some of what I learned, and I hope it may be of help if you ever find yourself in a position where either you or a loved one is in the hospital.

1. For the most part, doctors care very much about their patients, and want to understand patients' symptoms and have them get better as quickly as possible.

2. Many nurses are in their profession because they are caring individuals, and they tend to their patients efficiently and with compassion. However, there are those who see their work solely as a "job," and their patients know it almost immediately. These nurses leave call bells unanswered, do not get to know their patients, and either do tasks too quickly (and often painfully) or leave procedures for the next nurse to attend to. While these discrepancies are true of most professions, in a hospital, these differences can have a profound effect on the physical, emotional and mental well-being of the patient.

3. Some hospitals rotate doctors so that the patient rarely sees the same doctors unless the patient is there for an extended period of time. This was my experience, but my mother had a team of doctors she saw regularly. There were some other interns, residents and doctors on occasion, but she got to know her doctors and THEY GOT TO KNOW HER. I cannot stress the importance of this.

How many times did I need to repeat my "story?" In the two days I was in the hospital, I must have repeated it 5 or 6 times, once being awakened in the wee hours of the morning by an intern who probably had to get "just one more history" before her shift ended.

4. Which leads to the fact that it is virtually impossible to get a good night's sleep in the hospital. We have all heard this. From a healing perspective, it is essential for the body to rest in order to mend. My mother was awakened countless times from a deep sleep. Many times it was to monitor blood pressure or temperature, but there were other times the nurse could have used discretion and allowed her to get the rest she needed.

5. There is little to no understanding or connection between nutrition and health in a hospital. My roommate was a diabetic, and when she could finally have a meal of clear liquids, everything on her tray was loaded with sugar (jello, ices, fruit juice, etc.) Especially for people trying to recover from infection, sugar is something to be avoided. While hospital food, in general, can be very unappetizing, if you get to know the person taking the orders for meals, you can often request certain dishes more to your liking which are not on that day's menu.

6. Communication between medical personnel and patients is extremely poor. I'm not sure whether this has to do with the differences among patients (education levels, language barriers, cultural differences) and how sick they may be, a patronizing attitude, or if it's simply not a priority, but as a patient, you have to actively pursue getting your own test results. The doctor may mention it or not. Yet, there is no hesitation to draw blood, request urine samples, and prod and poke patients to no end, day or night, to get what they need.

7. Like most other things, there is a learning curve in the health care system, both as a patient and a family member. It is possible to overcome most of a hospital's shortcomings by having family and friends serve as advocates, and provide preferred foods and other essentials.

One aspect of the hospital I did appreciate was what I refer to as "hospital time." It might also be considered a time warp. In either case, everything slows down, and it is as if the outside world does not exist. The focus is on the present. No sense in talking about what may happen, other than in the context of care. In that sense, I didn't mind the hospital at all.

A Good Reminder

As I was getting ready to go to the city to visit my mother in the hospital, and so hoping she would be released today, a small volume of Pema Chodron teachings caught my eye. I opened it randomly, as I always do. Yet again, I was reminded that all moments unfold from this present moment. To live in the future or the past is a futile exercise.

How Much Do We Really Need?

Note: This entry was written in the spring and inadvertently left as a draft. However, the message is not date- or time-specific.

No electricity.
No phones.
No heat.
No internet.
No transportation (other than one's own two feet!).

With the flooding a few weeks ago, we had this very predicament. There was a large tree across our driveway, so no way to get the cars out.

In some ways, it was like a snow day, until it stretched to two days, then three (we were able to get the cars out after two and a half days). The house got very cold. I didn't mind the candles and figuring out how to do things by the light of day (sort of made me feel like a pioneer woman). Then I got sick with a bad cold. It made me wonder how much and what I need to be comfortable in this world.

One would think the simpler we live, the less we need. But living simply out of choice is very different from being forced to live "simply" because you cannot afford to live any other way. And where is the dividing line between a pared down way of life and not having enough food on the table?

I like to think I don't need that much but I wonder. I wonder what would happen if there was a more serious situation, a prolonged period of doing without. The media has recently given us a heaping dose of cataclysmic events (movies such as 2012, The Road). Current events around the globe reek of wars, genocide, and crises like Hurricane Katrina and the earthquake in Haiti which give hardship and deprivation new meaning.

How much do I really need? I'm not sure. Most people would not voluntarily choose to test themselves on this score. I may never truly know the limits of my discomfort.

I do know I have what I need, and much more, and I'm grateful.

Daily Discovery

As a young teen, lying on the shag carpeting of my room with my feet up on my dresser, I sometimes thought about the many different roles adults play and how impossible it seemed to be all those people at once. I was just becoming acquainted with myself, looking at how I played out my limited repertoire: student, daughter, sister, friend, camper, dancer, etc. How can a person be all these things and go from one to the other so seamlessly, I wondered?

I wanted to fit in, be accepted. External appearances were important. The more I tried to keep up with everyone else, the more fractured I felt. Who was I really? It was at this time I started to have my own unique thoughts about the world. I was discovering I did have an internal life as well as an external one.

It is the deeply rooted sense of who we are inside that gives us our center and makes us feel connected to everyone and everything. We cannot go inside, be connected to this Source, and at the same time be concerned with comparing ourselves to everyone else. So it is no wonder that my teenage self was confused about who she was.

This feeling has lasted to varying degrees for most of my life. Like Dani Shapiro, in her memoir, Devotion, I came to a point in mid-life where I needed some answers. We each have our own questions, and they are often of an existential nature. Mine were primarily about my purpose, my contract in this lifetime. It is clear that I am on a path, a journey of discovery. I know that each and every day something new may be revealed. But what am I meant to be doing, what is my life’s work?

I’d like to think of myself as a patient person but I am not. I want to KNOW. I’ve always been like that. Sometimes, when the suspense of a story became too scary, too big, I flipped to the back of the book just to KNOW that the hero did not die. So, too, I want to know what is in store for me, where I’m heading.

What I do know is that it will unfold at the perfect pace for me. I need to be open, be patient and be aware of what IS happening, right in front of me and to me, each and every day (“moment” would be more than I could hope for). Then gracefully, effortlessly, it will be revealed.

The Space Between Breaths

I have just finished reading Devotion, a memoir by Dani Shapiro. It is a story of her spiritual journey, and it could just as easily have been mine or yours. So often I felt myself nodding at her self-discoveries, Truths with a capital “T.”

We all grapple with finding that quiet space within ourselves, trying to find it over and over again. That, and not getting lost in the distraction of everyday living. It is my greatest challenge.

Why do I go weeks without posting on this blog? I don’t make the time to sit and write—it’s not my “job” or “profession.” So, I go from one airplane ride to the next train ride, having a period of an hour or two, suspended between two destinations, like that space between breaths. It is in that space I can give voice to what I have been experiencing.

We each find space in our own way, when we come to realize we crave that quiet, that opening. Whether sitting in meditation or communing with nature, it is the first step, the awakening, in the process of becoming more conscious.

Soul-Connected Living

It's taken me some time to write about a workshop I took in early December with Tom Monte*, a gifted spiritual teacher. During this sabbatical year, I‘ve been researching classes, trips, and other experiences that would further me on my path. Tom’s class seemed ideal because it would help me get in touch with my deepest feelings about who I am and what I want to have in my life.

I first met Tom when he spoke to my class at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition in 2002, and I have had a couple of individual sessions with him over the years. He teaches classes both in the US and abroad, and also conducts a year-long Healer's Program.

The weekend workshop's theme was "Living From The Soul," and I felt so moved by what Tom was teaching that I am committed to making it part of my life's work. Tom has developed a construct of understanding what the deepest and highest parts of ourselves want and need to be fulfilled. He led the class through this process of discovery, and facilitated deep healing as each of the eleven participants shared their stories. We made use of drawings to bring us closer to our true feelings, and which also helped us to uncover some hidden aspects of ourselves.

Imagine working with someone who honored and respected each individual, shined a light on his or her best self, and then taught how to recreate this for ourselves in our daily lives. Tom is a true role model of what he teaches, which is rare in any field but particularly in one which requires integrity and total acceptance of where each individual is on his or her path.

One aspect of the class I'll share with you is the importance of prayer. It doesn't matter what religion we are or who we pray to. Connecting with the soul, and then communicating what it is we want most, coming deep from the heart, is a wonderful way to begin the process of realizing our dreams. And perhaps for some of us, making that connection with the soul in the first place is the biggest challenge. In our culture today, there is so much noise, it's no wonder we don't know what we really think, feel or want for ourselves. Spending some quiet time making that connection, through meditation or just sitting quietly, is a good first step.

Unlike teachings from The Secret, Tom doesn't believe we can ask for what we want, attract only those good, positive outcomes, and live a happy life. What we attract may make us happy for a short time, but doesn't necessarily fulfill the needs of the soul. He believes it is important for each of us to first get in touch with our own suffering, which most of us push down and try to forget. The reality is, however, that the experiences and memories of our suffering are deep within us and affect what we think and how we behave. Connecting with, feeling, and embracing our pain is the beginning of true connection with our soul and with healing.

The weekend spent with Tom at the Ananda Ashram in Monroe, New York was a deeply moving one. The ashram is on a lake and we had a lovely snow that weekend--it was magical. In allowing the experience to sink in over time, I realize what a gift I've been given to share a sacred space with both a wonderful teacher and fellow students to explore the depth of who I am, deep in my soul, and the path upon which it will unfold.

*Tom has co-written over two dozen books about health-related topics, and has therefore spent a lot of time with healers and medical professionals learning about what they do and how they do it. These healers include Michio and Aveline Kushi (preventing disease through diet), Susan W. Kurz (holistic beauty), Richard Fleming (inflammation), Wataru Ohashi (oriental diagnosis), and Joel C. Robertson (dealing with depression naturally; peak performance).

A Prophetic Step

I was fortunate to recently spend the better part of a week taking a class with Rosalyn Bruyere and her husband, Ken, in picturesque Sierra Madre, California. Rosalyn is best known for her work as a spiritual teacher, healer, clairvoyant and author (Wheels of Light, 1994). Working with Dr. Valerie Hunt at UCLA, she helped to provide scientific documentation of the human energy field. Over her esteemed career, Reverend Bruyere has studied a wide range of topics and worked with both allopathic and other healing professionals.

The topic for our study was The Prophetic Journey and the Chakra System. To be honest, it didn't much matter to me what the topic was. I had read Rosalyn's book and she had been recommended to me by two people who assured me "she is the real deal. . . she has integrity and is a wonderful teacher." Many of the 34 people in the class have been studying with Rosalyn for years--we're talking 10, 12, 15 years. They are doctors, nurses, psychologists, holistic practitioners and healers, and other professionals and lay people. Some came from as far away as Germany. After being in Rosalyn's presence and her energy field for 5 days, I can see why. She and Ken both have a tremendous breadth of experience. They have a lot to share and do so with grace and humor, while also making time for students to experience their own learning.

Just to give you a taste, here is a sprinkling of the topics we covered during the week:

1. Using one's intuition.
Pre-work for the course was reading a book by a prophet and writing what you thought and felt. We talked about the assignment briefly; it was only afterwards I realized that the learning was in the doing. Having read the Book of Micah, I could listen more intelligently to the discussion. We also learned about the history and forms of prophecy, who is a prophet, and linking the spiritual with the prophetic.

2. What the different chakras tell us--about prophecy as well as the state of our health . We talked about the color of the chakras, their energy and emotions, and how to strengthen them.

3. Applying what we learn to help others. We need to trust what we are feeling and don't need to always come to some sort of mental conclusion about it.

4. Creative play. We had assignments every day where we drew, we colored, we observed and worked with energy. We were out in nature. Rosalyn and Ken, who both paint, did a watercolor demonstration for us. I was so inspired, I'm starting painting lessons this week!

5. Helping make sense of the world we live in. For example, we talked about the study of different sciences and how sharing information between the sciences creates breakthroughs, which is happening exponentially in the internet age.

6. Some other topics: Harry Potter, the building of the pyramids, current events (e.g. earthquake in Haiti, Conan O'Brien and the Tonight Show, the Mayan calendar).

The week was food for the soul and senses. I left feeling very filled up and eager to take another class with Rosalyn. She teaches primarily in California, Cincinnati and Genermany. If you would like more information, visit her website: http://rosalynlbruyere.org/.

Multi-tasker--To Be or Not to Be?

As I was teaching a class to high school students last week about How We Eat, the topic of eating and . . .watching TV, being on the computer or their cellphone (iPhone, video game, etc.) or reading came up. I was happy to hear that many students did sit down to eat dinner with their families several times a week, but they thought the ability to multi-task was a badge of honor.

While sometimes a necessity, multi-tasking while eating is not a great idea. To start with, it inhibits good digestion. If you are eating and doing something else, you often have no idea what you are eating: you don't chew it well, can barely taste it, and have no sense of being full. Not to mention how quickly many of us eat because we are eager to be onto the next task. And how many of us eat standing up, on the run, with our muscles tense, not allowing our bodies to relax and process the food?

This has implications beyond eating, of course. When we do more than one task at a time, how well can we perform each one? I've been giving this some thought, and I believe there are tasks that are so practiced or mindless that it is possible to pair them with something else (like folding laundry and watching TV). But most tasks require more concentration. How well are we really doing each task? How focused can we possibly be?

Being accessible to friends and colleagues is easier than ever; we have gadgets galore which go off with different tones and jingles almost constantly. In a crowded room, who can pick out their own ring tone? "Was that mine?" we wonder, as five people reach into their pockets or purses. What had we been doing? Were we in a conversation with someone or listening to a talk? We are so available, responding to our electronic toys and reacting to the technology, that we forget that technology is supposed to help us manage our lives in a more thoughtful and productive way.

It's ironic that in attempting to stay socially connected, our behavior has actually become more and more anti-social. From loud conversations on the train, and furtive glances at Blackberry's during lunch, to having someone walk into us on the street while texting, we often feel we are not as important as these small machines. We are losing the human social connection.

Let's face it, there is nothing more important at times than knowing we have someone 's full attention, that they are listening and we are being heard. Children know this well, when they look over to see if we are watching during a ball game or come to show us their latest creation. With the pace of our busy lives, these times are the oasis in our days, moments to be valued. How many people are seeing therapists for just this reason, week after week?

Slowing down our lives so that we can focus on what is truly important might lead to making small changes that can have a huge impact on the quality of our relationships and our work . We can have the advantages of electronic connectivity while also feeling humanly connected, but it takes a concerted effort to define the boundaries. We need to give ourselves permission to shut off the noise and be present. When we try to be there for everyone and everything, we end up being there for no one, ourselves least of all.

New Beginnings

As we begin this second decade of the millennium, each of us is on the brink of a powerful transition. There is so much happening on a spiritual plane that I'd like to share some of the many astrological and numerological insights that might help us get a little further along our spiritual path.

Greer Jonas, an artist and numerologist I know, says that we are leaving the first nine years of the century behind and embarking on a "10" year, which numerologically is a "1" (1+0=1), a time of new beginnings. In any new year, it is beneficial to write down your goals and dreams, what you wish to attain and what you'd like to leave behind. However, this year, any NEW ventures (ideas, businesses, relationships, etc.) have a better chance of happening. The "0" signifies that one phase of life has ended and we're taking steps into the new and perhaps unknown. Anything is possible.

Interestingly, 2010, (2+0+1+0=3) is a "3" year, and as Greer says "is all about creativity in every form of self-expression: art, music, speaking, writing, dancing and listening. . .what creation can I 'birth' this coming year that perhaps I have never done before." Astrologer Pamela Cucinell says, "a '3' year. . . relates to the Empress card in tarot. The Empress symbolizes your creativity, fertility, playfulness and ability to tap into resources and opportunity. If you are feeling cut off from your ability to attract and connect to wealth and promise, . . . go within." So take your list from above, of what you want to manifest in 2010, and think "outside the box" about making it happen.

Astrologers provide detailed information about the most auspicious days for doing this work. Did you know that every month, based on your sun sign (mine is Scorpio), there are a couple of days ("power days") that are the best for accomplishing our goals and other time periods ("voids") where it is best to tend to the everyday (sorting, filing, clearing out) and not attempt to begin new projects? For example, even though 2010 is a year of new beginnings, astrologer Jenni Stone (Jennisd914@aol.com) suggests that we wait until after March 10 when Mars is no longer in retrograde, to begin a new business. Both Jenni and Pam Cucinell, two talented astrologers from my Westchester Holistic Network have websites and e-newsletters which have great information.

Happy New Year to all. May this be a year of articulating our most deeply-felt desires and thinking of creative ways to make them happen!