Just Like Barbara Walters...except NOT

My friend Gunfighter (don't let the name scare you!) just posted an interview with me on his blog, here. I really did feel all fancy and Barbara-Walters-y answering his questions! Gunfighter is a long-time blog friend, works in law enforcement in Washington, DC (yes, overseeing cool things like the inauguration!) is a family man, and very active in his church. He asked some excellent questions, and I think you'll enjoy reading the interview and visiting his site. Which is why comments are off here. Because I want you to go over there.

And speaking of linkage and loveage, Happy Mom (who won my giveaway) also recently posted a wonderful review, here. I especially love this line: "Read it aloud...Your voice will tell you things about the text that your eyes alone will miss." Happy Mom is out of town at her daughter's wedding, but I'm sure she'd love nothing more than to come home to a sea of comments from friends like you!


I hope you're all having a wonderful Christmas! Mine is crrraaaazy-busy, but thanks to the spread from What Think Ye of Christmas about how "being busy" teaches us that "Joy is Hard Bought"...I'm not all grumpy and stressed this year! :)

Okay, off you go to comment now...

Relax Where it Hurts

“I brought you some sugar-free candy today,” she said wryly one day, “but it sort of tastes like the floor!” (We cracked up, grimacing over the image of what the floor might actually taste like.) My high school dance teacher was frequently catching us off guard, so full of creative energy there was rarely a dull moment.

The phrase from her that stayed with me the strongest (and mind you, high school was a long, long, time ago) turned out to be a life lesson as well. We’d be on the floor, trying to push our legs into the splits, and she’d say, “Stretch...stretch...now relax where it hurts.” And then, if we focused on relaxing the precise muscle that was pushed to the limit, somehow, impossibly, we were able to stretch just a little bit farther.

I think of that instruction all the time...decades later it still pops into my mind...usually after a workout at the gym, while I’m stretching my back, my calves, my thighs, because these days it seems like everything hurts! I remember what Connie Jo said, and I relax into it...and stretch a little deeper.

A couple of weeks ago I realized my heart muscle needs some serious stretching. —Okay, that was an understatement. I’ve been edgy to the extreme. Wound up so tightly, the slightest irritant would set me off...on a rampage! This was not just your garden-variety PMS. I started to scare myself. In this insane state, everything was going wrong. People were walking all over me. I started pushing back. Complaining. Grousing. Which only made things worse.

Then a few nights ago, just as I was drifting off to sleep, with my last ounce of energy I picked up this book. And the words of the brilliant M. Catherine Thomas taught me exactly what I needed to hear.

The contamination [of negative thought] is what Tibetan philosophy calls drip. He explains that drip is like a dark, heavy goo that thickens our mind; it accumulates through cultivating negativity, and then life seems to get dark and difficult. This contaminated mental state causes us to engage in “nonvirtue” — unkind acts against ourselves and others— and then the drip gets thicker. Thus we engage in an endless cycle of suffering.

On reflection, we see that our gravest problem does not lie in our circumstances, but in our lack of a truer perception of reality, a larger frame of reference, which could liberate our mind from self-will and self-absorption. Much spiritual change can come simply as we become aware of the truth.... Just becoming aware can lessen the power of the negative feelings, as insight and release often go together.

I literally saw myself in that "life gets dark and difficult" line. It was so humbling to encounter myself on this page describing drip! She then quotes Deepak Chopra:

Watch this wave of feeling travel away from you—watch it grow fainter and fainter. Breathe.... Cross the invisible boundary between the ego and the real self.... If you follow any emotion far enough, it will end in silence.

And she says Eckhart Tolle suggests a similar process:

...when somebody says something to you that is rude or designed to hurt, “instead of going into unconscious reaction and negativity, such as attack, defense, or withdrawal, you let it pass through you” as though you were transparent, so that it no longer hits a solid “wall” inside you.

In other words, Relax where it hurts.

As I read, I initially found chastisement, realizing that most of the negativity I encountered around me initiated inside my head. Then I experienced real healing, as I literally felt that anger release.

I’m still learning to apply that “relax where it hurts” principle to my relationships. Because when I find myself angry or hurt (and mind you, I'm not easily offended!), more often than not it’s my own heart that needs stretching. When I remember to literally relax where it hurts — try not to tighten up or take offense when something rubs me the wrong way; Try to loosen that piece of my heart that feels the most pain; Allow my heart to soften and stretch — it seems like the universe stretches with me. And everything improves.

Remember The Grinch, whose heart “grew three sizes that day”?
That was me. I promise you, the “two sizes too small” pinch was what hurt. I could feel it as though the tightening were literal and physical. But what feels great? is the stretching.

* * * * *

There are some reviews of the book out right now that you do not want to miss.
Mommy J posted a lovely one here. There's also a bit of sweetness from Shari, here. Scribbit has a great review here (and her giveaway is still open until midnight on Saturday).
And you simply must read what Deb posted here. Be sure to read all the way to the bottom for her "pay it forward" idea...a Random Act of Kindness she'll perform for every order of five or more. Oh, how I love my readers! Thank you one and all!

Why This Girl Amazes Me

When I was a teenager I was obsessed with being “the best” --and simultaneously gripped with a fear of failure. I wouldn’t play sports...whether it was a high school team or just a game of tennis with my friends...because I couldn’t stand that I wasn’t good enough. My loss.

This girl? has no problem signing up for the baseball team, the volleyball team, the golf team, the tennis team...and doesn’t mind at all if she spends most of the game on the sidelines, cheering on her teammates. She plays for the fun and the friendship. And wins.

Raising children doesn’t come easy for me. I always want to be some amalgamation of Olivia Walton, Caroline Ingalls and Maria von Trapp. (See “the best” above.) :) But when it comes to crowd control I often turn into the Bossy Big Sister, and sometimes even the Wicked Stepmother. I am not fond of this side of myself.

This girl? is a natural nurturer. She has a rare knack for entertaining children, with just the right balance of firmness and fun. I can already see the amazing mother she'll be someday.

I artfully dodge all cameras...as a public service. I have a penchant for ruining photos. My husband is in awe of the sheer odds that we could take x number of photos...and my eyes would be closed/and or my face distorted in every. single. one.

This girl? loves the camera. In fact, knowing we didn’t have a lot of spare cash for gifts this year, for her birthday she asked my hubby to do a photo shoot with her and her friends. And look how it turned out!

On my sixteenth birthday my mom made me a special dinner at home, let me choose the menu, and let me invite one friend to join us.

This girl? had the party of the century! Her friends wanted to throw her a big dance party / surprise party. We told them 100 was too many people. They responded, "Your daughter is friends with EVERYBODY, and we don't want to leave anyone out." (Can't argue with that.) We told them we basically had no budget. One friend offered her vacant garage (which is bigger than our whole house) and flew up for the big day. Her dad hired a sound designer and a lighting specialist to deck it out for the party. Another friend, whose dad owns Magleby’s Restaurant, made their famous chocolate cake (among the best I’ve ever eaten). The girls chose playlists and handled the guest lists. All I had to do was coordinate, communicate, and go to Costco and buy all the food. About 100 people came to wish my little girl happy birthday!

What more could any mother want than to have her own daughter "best" her in nearly every way?
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p.s. If you stop in on Scribbit right now, there's a review of my book and a giveaway, here.
p.p.s. There's also a wonderful review you may have missed here, by Mommy J.

Take Time to Slow Down (Sorry, Mom!)

Some of the last advice my mom gave me before she died was this: “When you have a baby, you need to slow down.” I’m embarrassed to say I sort of shrugged it off. Never mind that she was a veteran, having already raised five children. Never mind that she was approaching death, and had this all-wise eternal perspective on life. I thought I was superwoman.

I got a sort of high out of the adrenalin rush of living life in the fast lane: Meet with clients in their fancy westside offices. Work long hours meeting deadlines with creative solutions. Feed, clothe, house and nurture a family. I prided myself in the fact that I missed only one day of work to have a baby, that I was on the phone with clients from my delivery bed in the hospital, assuring them their projects would be delivered on time. I completely blew off my mother’s slowing-down advice. In fact, if anything, I sped up.

And you know what? I was wrong. Of course Mom was right.

Don’t misunderstand — I took good care of my babies. And I took care of my clients. Nearly always in that order. :) I did the ritual late-night feedings and changings, breastfed my babies while I talked on the phone with clients (only somewhat mortified when they burped loudly into the phone!), I rocked them, sang to them, read to them, nursed them on demand. (And I simultaneously churned out stellar gala invitations and corporate brochures.) But I missed lots of wonderful moments with my children, skipped some of the pure enjoyment of these little miracles growing up right under my nose!

The one person I didn’t take care of was me. I was a pretty stressed-out mom. I fell into a deep depression after about eight or nine years of this designer-supermom craziness. It became clear that taking time for myself was not a luxury, but a very deep need.

The refreshingly gritty and original Anne Lamott echoed my mom’s advice in this article from Sunset Magazine last spring:

...The good news is that creative expression, whether that means writing, dancing, bird-watching, or cooking, can give a person almost everything that he or she has been searching for: enlivenment, peace, meaning, and the incalculable wealth of time spent quietly in beauty.
Then I bring up the bad news: You have to make time to do this.
She concludes, “I’ve heard it said that every day you need half an hour of quiet time for yourself, or your Self—unless you’re incredibly busy and stressed, in which case you need an hour.”

I almost laughed when I read that last line. I so need that perspective — that when you’re stresed and things are crazy you need even MORE time for yourself. MORE slowing down. Yes.

At the beginning of October I heard this talk, wherein there are echoes of both Anne Lamotte and my mother:

What do you suppose pilots do when they encounter turbulence? A student pilot may think that increasing speed is a good strategy because it will get them through the turbulence faster. But that may be the wrong thing to do. Professional pilots understand that there is an optimum turbulence penetration speed that will minimize the negative effects of turbulence. And most of the time that would mean to reduce your speed. The same principle applies also to speed bumps on a road....Slow down a little, steady the course, and focus on the essentials when experiencing adverse conditions. (italics added)

This line in particular reminded me of my mom’s advice: “We would be wise to slow down a little.”

"Strength comes not from frantic activity but from being settled on a firm foundation of truth and light.” He adds, "too often we attempt to keep the same frantic pace or even accelerate, thinking that the more rushed our pace, the better off we will be."

(Doesn’t that sound exactly like what I did, back when my kids were small?)

"Let’s be honest; it’s rather easy to be busy. We can all think of a list of tasks that will overwhelm our schedule. Some might even think that their self-worth depends on the length of their to-do list.”

(scary!)

“Because they unnecessarily complicate their lives, they often feel increased frustration, diminished joy and too little sense of meaning in their lives." (italics added)

"Let us simplify our lives a little. Let us make the changes necessary to refocus our lives on the sublime beauty of the simple, humble path of Christian discipleship — the path that leads always toward a life of meaning, gladness, and peace."

He then lists four key relationships on which to focus: God, Family, Our Fellowmen, and Self, each of which require spending devoted time. It was that last one that surprised me. Self? But listen to what he says:

The fourth key relationship is with ourselves. It may seem odd to think of having a relationship with ourselves, but we do. Some people can’t get along with themselves. They criticize and belittle themselves all day long until they begin to hate themselves. May I suggest that you reduce the rush and take a little extra time to get to know yourself better. Walk in nature, watch a sunrise, enjoy God’s creations, ponder the truths of the restored gospel, and find out what they mean for you personally. Learn to see yourself as Heavenly Father sees you—as His precious daughter...with divine potential.

I thought of those early, crazy Designer-Supermom years, and what they did to my stress level, to my family, to me, and I knew deep down he was right. (As were Anne Lamott, and my mother.) We somehow need to make nurturing time for ourselves, in addition to everything else. And we need to slow down to do it.

Sorry, Mom. I’ve always been a little slow when it comes to taking your advice. But this time I’m ready to listen. I’m ready to slow down, simplify, and refocus, particularly on those key relationships. I know I could use a bit more time spent in quiet beauty, and the promises of meaning, gladness and peace? Are irresistible.

* * * * *
p.s. My friend Melanie J (I know her in person, and in addition to her rare gift for witty banter, she has some of the world's most beautiful children and a completely adorable husband) has posted a great review of my book, What Think Ye of Christmas, called "Un-Grinching and Embracing Christmas," here.

My Three Kernels of Corn

Legend has it that when the pilgrims first arrived in the New World, conditions were harsh, and at times all they had was a ration of a few kernels of corn.

“But then, as if by the grace of God, their trials began to subside. After three long years, what was once famine eventually became a feast of sheer abundance. They feasted for three solid days… and gave thanks to God for their new found bounty.

However, before that feast began, they all received [three] kernels of corn on their plate as a reminder of where they had come from, and in honor of those who had died.”

One of our favorite family traditions is to place, as the original pilgrims did, three kernels of corn above each plate. After dinner is over we all sit around the table and give thanks for our three kernels of corn — each representing a blessing, or more often a category of multiple blessings.

This year my three kernels of corn are all for miracles:


First, I’m grateful for this miracle, and the joy of having our whole family together this Thanksgiving.






















Second, I’m grateful for this miracle you’ve all been reading about, and still in awe that I had a small part to play in its fruition.

Third, I’m grateful for two very sweet experiences this year, also miracles, where I was able to feel the distinct presence of my mother, who passed away almost twenty years ago. One was in the temple on her birthday, too sacred to share; and the other I wrote about here.


Surrounding and encompassing all of these, I’m grateful for their Source: a loving Father who, with his living Son, is still very much involved in the lives of His children, caring enough to send real miracles to otherwise ordinary people. And once in awhile...even to me.

Happy Thanksgiving.

On Piano, Performance Anxiety, (Im)Perfection, and a Pattern...PLUS the big announcement! (Not Pregnancy) :)

On Piano, Performance, Perfection and a Pattern

I experienced my first performance anxiety when I was in junior high. I was playing the piano in a recital at our church. I had practiced for weeks and perfected the piece, I thought. Then suddenly I sat at the piano on that big stage, in front of that big audience, and I panicked. I got halfway through the song and my mind went blank and the notes on the page turned to an indecipherable blur. In slow-motion agony that felt like reliving my worst nightmare, I fumbled, stopped, and started over. I got to the same point and couldn’t find my way out of the abyss and just jumped to the next section and finished the piece.

I remember the mortification I felt to this day: Unable to face anyone in the audience, I slipped out the side exit, rushed down the hall and out the door and walked all the way home.  The house was locked, so I climbed through my bedroom window and hid in my room, for hours. I could not bear the thought of making such a colossal mistake in front of so many people.

In the meantime my family had no idea where I’d gone. They had been looking for me everywhere, and started to worry I’d been kidnapped. My family eventually realized I was home, and all was well. But this experience marked the beginning of a longstanding pattern of piano performance anxiety that has been, at times, crippling for me: 

I practice. I perfect. I perform. I panic. I make mistakes. I can’t recover. I am mortified. I want to quit. Or disappear. 

Ironically, during that miserable performance, my mother discovered I had a germ of talent as a pianist. She didn’t focus on the mistakes. She focused on the potential. A day or two later, after most of the sting had worn off, she told me I had played very musically, with beautiful technique and great expression, and was ready to audition for the big leagues. She took me to play for two of her former teachers, including a wonderful retired concert pianist from New York named Becky Almond.

Here emerges a new phase in the pattern, which I didn’t recognize until years later: I practice. I perfect. I perform. I panic. I make mistakes. I can’t recover. I am mortified. Some surprising and unbelievable good results from this painful process.

Because I thought so highly of Miss Almond, I practiced even harder than before. Miss Almond also helped a little with my performance anxiety, teaching me how to perfect a piece phrase by phrase, making sure I could play each section “six times -- perfect” before I went on. If I made a mistake after #4, I had to start over until I got six in a row. For some reason six was the magic number. I eventually had to play the whole piece “six times -- perfect.” At that point, you can almost play it on auto-pilot. You practice exactness.

She also taught me not to wince or make a big scene, if I did make a mistake. She said everybody — even concert pianists — make mistakes, but they know how to recover and keep going. They don’t get rattled; they maintain their dignity. You practice honor.

Another performance, years later, completely altered my perspective: 

In college I was asked to play for my cousin’s missionary farewell. We were close, and I approached the assignment prayerfully, selecting what I thought was the most beautiful music imaginable, a piano transcription of Faure’s Pavane. My mom wrote a flute obbligato for my younger sister. The addition of the flute made me slightly less nervous. A new-and-improved pattern emerged. I was well prepared. I prayed. I performed. It wasn’t perfect. But I played my heart out. Then something happened that still drops my jaw whenever I think about it.

There was a little reception after the meeting, and while we were all milling about, a man I’d never seen before approached me. He looked a bit ragged, and I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t sure what to think of this stranger at first. But he spoke a sentence that taught me the power of music and changed my life. He said, and I swear these are his exact words, “I was contemplating suicide, and your music gave me the will to live.”

That was one of those moments where the world stops. Freeze-frame. And then everything adjusts to surround this new paradigm.

I realized that my perfectionism was getting in the way of my performance. That genuine expression can eclipse a few false notes. And that acknowledging my imperfections is not the same thing as embracing mediocrity. It’s humbling. And pushes me to try harder each time, hoping.  

Today I had to accompany the church choir for our Thanksgiving program. The pieces were difficult...Rutter. I practiced. Every day. For weeks. Starting slowly. Working out the difficult passages. Counting the ledger lines. Gradually speeding things up. With a metronome. Eventually I had both pieces seamless and up to tempo.

But there’s that darn performancy anxiety again. Literally anything could happen if I panic. I pray. I’m prepared. I perform. It’s not perfect. It’s never perfect. I make mistakes. Every single time. But I recover. I play my heart out. And I hope somebody who needs to hear it is listening. 

I’ve decided this new-and-improved pattern is a lot like life: I’m not perfect. Not even close. I keep making mistakes, no matter how hard I try. But like Peter, if I panic, I sink. I pray. I recover. I live my heart out. And I hope I manage to reach someone who needs me. Then watch for some unexpected good to happen.

* * * * *

And now for the big announcement:
First...the winner of Luisa Perkins’ wonderful cookbook, Comfortably Yum, is The Mom, from Outnumbered. I just know you’ll love this—I could tell from your comment that it’s a perfect fit.

Now...I loved your gift lists, especially the ones who took the time to type out something extra thoughtful. Thank you. I really do wish I could give ten books to every single one of you. But Random.org chose only one. So finally, the winner of a copy of What Think Ye of Christmas for every person on your gift list goes to: Happy Mom, from Hunyville Happenings. When her smile first showed up on my list of followers it made my whole day. She has a wedding going on over there, and I’m guessing this gift will relieve some stress. Congratulations!

Winners: Don't forget to send me your mailing addresses. And acceptance speeches are always welcome.

Note to the rest of you: Be not dismayed. You can order the book on my website, and still get a killer deal! If you order ten or more, the quantity discount lets you steal these books at less than $8 apiece. On top of that, if you enter the discount code CHARRETTE you get an additional 5% off your entire order, reserved only for my blog friends. So go crazy!

Also, there's another giveaway going on right this very minute from Steph over at Diapers and Divinity. I always love her sense of mission, and am excited to see what she has to say today.

Oh, if only there were a better word than WINNER...

I have exactly six winners to announce here today. But, even as I type this, I'm suddenly not crazy about the word "winner". Alternatively, "prize-taker-homer" doesn't sound very sharp or official, or even literate. I think I prefer the way the Oscars® do it, acknowledging in advance that they are all, each of them winners, but the prize ultimately can only go to one person. --Oh, wait, and since this is about Christmas, we'll call them gifts:
First, a used copy of the original 1978 book PLUS a copy of my new edition, as mentioned in this post, goes to: (I'm opening the envelope, but not wearing a glitter gown) my new friend Shari, of Think, Dream, Inspire.

Second, a set of six notecards from the book PLUS a copy of the book, as mentioned in this post, goes to my friend Kate, of Walking Kateastrophe fame. (Rumor has it she tripped on the red carpet on her way in tonight!)

On Day 3 I offered two books instead of one — one to each of two lucky commenters — to commemorate the two paintings a day I mentioned in this post. The two books go to my friend LisAway, of Away From It All (please just tell me I don't have to ship the book to Poland!) and my friend Heather, from...um, around the corner from my house? :)

Next, we have another set of six notecards AND a copy of the book, as mentioned in this post, all of which go to: (drum roll please) my friend Rachel, of Shoes—and Ships—and Sealing-wax.

And now the moment we've all been waiting for: The art print (giclée) and one copy of the book as announced on this post (no, don't start the music — I haven't announced the winner, er, um recipient yet!) The art print (giclée) and one copy of the book go to my friend Mary Ellen, whose blog is private.

Even though the awards were selected by random.org, I'm quite pleased with its selection of winners, all people I know and love. You celebs have until Sunday night (Nov. 21) at midnight to claim your gifts (by emailing me your mailing address and your card/art selection, if applicable). Any gift not claimed will be tossed into another drawing and a new prize-taker-homer announced on Monday, the 22nd.

More good news? Well, I have one more giveaway left, here. A big one. A book for everyone on your Christmas gift list (up to ten). Just leave your list in the comments. I also have book reviews and giveaways scheduled to appear on some of my favorite blogs from now until Christmas, so check back often. In fact, right this minute there's a giveaway up at One Wild and Precious Life by my friend Jessica, in Ohio. She and I started blogging within days of each other, never having met, but with a similar sense of mission. It only took the universe a few short weeks to make our worlds collide. (Thank you, Heather of the EO.) Total kindred spirits. You can read what she has to say about the book (and maybe win a copy) here.

Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments, your interest in my book and my art, and your friendship, which means the world to me! I'd also like to thank my— *static white noise*

* * * * *

Please leave congratulations and acceptance speeches below. I promise I won't cut you off after 30 seconds!