To See and Be Seen

Recently, I took the plunge and signed up on Facebook.  At first, I felt as a scuba diver must feel when swimming among exotic fish.  All the faces of people I hadn't connected with in decades, or ones I had never ever seen, were just as colorful and plentiful...and now, I am one of them, one of 900 million people wanting to see and be seen.

Initially, all I could do was float over the sea of faces, in awe of how many old friends and family members are on Facebook.  Soon, I was commenting on photos and reading what others had to share.  Exchanging quips with my niece was fun; as soon as I made my presence known, she wrote, "There goes the neighborhood!"   Of course, I translated that to mean, "Oh, my beloved aunt, I'm so glad you finally decided to join Facebook!"  Her comment marked the beginning of  old home week, and immediately, I became part of a ready-made, reunited community.

Until I got into the swing of things, I felt like a voyeur; however, I finally figured out that people let me see what they want me to see -- in most cases, that includes a photo of them and their families, unique pictures they have taken, announcements of special events, and brief exchanges with friends, which you can 'like' or 'comment' on.  Those of us who are new friends may have to guess what they're talking about or who's who in the family/friend line-up...that is, if we care to take the time.  Facebook requires time some of us didn't think we had; but when you're among friends, it's amazing how fast the time goes.

It didn't take too long to learn how Facebook works.  With one click per person, I re-connected with high school and college chums; and with another click, I un-friended one of them.  Several days in a row, he and like-minded pals were getting high on politically motivated anger, never giving thought to the fact that their vitriolic comments might alienate a whole lot of 'friends'.  They can believe what they want and are free to share it with the world; but I don't choose to be greeted with hatred the minute I open Facebook.  Does this childhood acquaintance know I gave him the boot?  Maybe he does, but I'll venture to say, he couldn't care less and won't miss one face among a couple hundred. 

The thing that strikes me the most is the number of 'friends' (in quotes because, in this case, I consider it a loose use of the word) some people have.  How can one possibly count hundreds of people as friends?  Four, five, six hundred -- I don't think I even know that many people.  On the other hand, if I want to get word out about Soul Portrait, which is a primary reason I joined Facebook, I'd better get used to the fact that a great many of my future 'friends' will start out as complete strangers.  There are public and private options that come with Facebook accounts, but I'm still in the process of deciding what's best for me and who belongs in which category.

Some might say I'm making much ado about nothing, but this is still new to me.  I can engage in the process, remain a passive onlooker, or completely disengage from the process.  I also have to figure how much time I'm willing to contribute.  Knowing loved ones are only a click away -- sharing their activities, thoughts, and photos -- makes Facebook worthwhile.  We've made our soul connections through the years and Facebook is an added bonus, a reminder that we aren't all that far away.  I remind myself if we need to talk at length, we can call or e-mail. 

Facebook is for fast connections, not soul connections.  I would always choose soul connections over fast connections, but the latter are simpler.  Facebook makes it easy to touch base with someone you haven't seen for 40 years.  You make your presence known; she answers how good it is to hear from you, and asks where are you now; and you move on to the next person you haven't seen for 40 years, perhaps never saying another word to either one any time soon.  We know the other person is there, that our past is still in tact and our memories shared; but neither of us has the time or energy to try to fill in four decades of life-details. 

Superficial chit-chat is difficult for me because it's so....well, superficial.  I much prefer meaningful connections; but knowing that isn't possible, I attempted to find a middle ground with one guy from high school.  My message to him was briefly conversational, with one or two questions that would encourage him to respond.  I haven't heard from him since. I've received the 'friend' response from several people without one word exchanged.  Finally, I tested the waters by writing a couple notes, but to no avail.  When nothing is said, and only a face appears on your page, you wonder, 'why bother?'  Are we making connections or not?  Do these people truly want friends or are they just collecting faces as if they were stamps?  And does it really matter, as long as we have access to each other's page?   I hope I get used to this; but I can see why some people have let their pages go idle. 

One man I know and tried to 'friend' responded by e-mail and told me he was afraid he had let too many weeds grow on his page and wasn't using it much these days.  Was I another weed?  He did not 'friend' me (and contrary to those who have hundreds of friends and can't begin to keep track, I know when I'm being ignored).  This gentleman and I e-mail a couple times a year, so I knew we wouldn't lose touch.   I admit, I wanted to work up to 50 friends and he would have made 48; but the very fact that I'm even looking at numbers makes me feel like I've entered some kind of competition.  There are just some people who attract more people; and I say, ''More power to ya.'  Still, a name will pop into my head just as I'm falling asleep and I know I'm going to try to find that person on Facebook; when they aren't there, I'm disappointed. 

Facebook can be great fun or just another chore, depending on one's attitude and energy.  I want to let certain people know I'm right here and thinking about them often. Everyone on my friend list is important to me, whether they are there because they care about me, want to learn more about my book and blog, or feel the need to add yet another face to their first 400.  Their motives don't concern me, as long as they're getting something out of it.  What does matter to me is why I'm there.  At some point, I'll have to accept the Facebook notion of 'friend' and not worry that I'm not giving everyone quality attention....or any attention, for that matter.  If I can't get to that point, I'll silently slip away.

All this begs the question, what if I go missing from Facebook?  Will anyone care?  More importantly, will anyone notice?  I could be gone for weeks, curled up in the corner of my studio, stuffing my face with chocolate chip cookies and suffocating in swirling dust, yet none of my 'friends' would know.  But for now, I'm staying put.  There's something that tickles me about being a voyeur without breaking the law.  I promise those of you on Facebook, I'm quiet and never stay too long.  It's like a wise man once said,  'Short visits make long friends". 

                                             Lupine in The Columbia River Gorge
                                                                         

Between Friends

Years ago, a very smart author/friend of mine suggested I focus on marketing the legacy component of Soul Portrait, rather than the 'what if' aspect of aging and the possibility of being dependent on someone else for our care.   "Obviously it could still be used for caregiving, but by putting the focus on legacy, it makes the whole thing more palatable", she wrote.   

Like anyone who has written a book and dreamed of it catching on like wild fire, I thought about this for a long time.  I knew nothing about marketing, and certainly, she knew what she was talking about.  Was my friend right about the topics of aging and dependence not being palatable?  

To a certain degree, she was; but that's  because we're afraid of being physically or mentally incapacitated. Talking about those possibilities makes our skin crawl; in fact, just the thought of being helpless puts us in a state of denial.  Because we never see ourselves in that position, we decide not to think about it.  It doesn't matter that only a small percentage of us will ever land in a nursing home; we are still afraid of getting old and being dependent on someone else for our care. 

I have a friend who can't even say her age (63) without feeling a sense of horror; if I accidentally make her one year older than she is, she quickly and vehemently corrects me.  She's not alone; there are times I think about my aging and am amazed that I'm almost 65.  Who?  Me?  65?  Can't be!  And then, there are those who age with grace and accept their aging with an attitude that is enviable.  It seems to be no big deal for them.  When I'm around someone like the latter, I know I can do it, too.  And because I'm a planner by nature, one way I accept aging is to plan ahead.

I believe that once we talk about our fears, we can put them into perspective and start approaching life with joy -- not only for ourselves, but for the sake of our families.  Soul Portrait is a pleasant way to think about these things and start the dialogue with our kids or our parents.  Not only that, depending on where the conversation goes, it can lead to self acceptance and soul-level connections.  I don't know of a family that couldn't benefit from more acceptance, understanding, and forgiveness.

I always encourage family members to use Soul Portrait as a non-threatening introduction to 'the talk' with their aging parents.  What happens to their parents later on will affect their own lives in ways they never imagined, and it's so much better for everyone if aging parent and adult child plan ahead together.  How many of us who are now in our 60's have cared for our parents with no clue as to what they needed to thrive at the soul level?

After fighting my usual self-doubt, I had to honor my instincts and let go of the notion that my book would take off like gangbusters; marketing the truth was the only way I could proceed.  And now that it's out for all to see, my doubt has vanished.  I wrote Soul Portrait to help people deal with the fear of growing old and possibly being dependent upon someone else.  The way to do that is to make aging personal.  What follows is the e-mail response I sent to my friend.

I initially reacted to your use of the word, 'palatable', which would suggest that my current approach is distasteful.  If it is distasteful, it's because we all want to avoid talking about it.  We are frightened of aging and being dependent; however, to dilute my message would be to mask the truth.  The purpose of 'Soul Portrait' is to give people something to think about and to honor those who cannot speak for themselves.  

My target audience is family, institutional staff, medical personnel, and baby boomers.  We can initiate discussion with our parents; we can think about our own futures; we can care for our elders in a more personal way; and we can change the way we and others think about aging.  Our society is in need of a paradigm shift and my approach is just one small contribution to changing the current culture of elder care.

I feel compelled to talk to people about the unspoken, painful issues.  We have buried our heads in the sand for too long; and it's affecting the way we care for our elders, why elders are undervalued rather than cherished, and why they would rather die than go into a nursing home.  Our fears affect our families and those around us; we pass on the message that aging is bad.  Our society has taken a wrong turn by relegating our elders to second-class status, and thus, making them feel unworthy of our attention and respect.

Soul Portrait provides us with a way to leave a legacy to those we love, yes, but it is so much more.  It's about the future and life review and memories and personal everyday issues that impact how we feel at the soul level.  Families don't typically plan ahead for personalized health care.  Instead, we spend years on genealogies; we prepare our wills and Advance Health Care Directives for when we are dead or on our way out; we even pick out our urns, grave stones, and sites for burial.  We've saved up as much money as we can to assure our continued standard of living through retirement, and maybe we're paying huge amounts of money for long term care insurance.  There is a part of us that knows we could be dependent some day; but that's where our preparation hits a wall.  Soul Portrait is one more facet of retirement planning, because it takes us one more step towards making aging and health care personal.

As one 80-year old friend tells me, "Old age has a way of creeping up on you."  When it arrives, we don't always know what to think about it; and in most cases, by the time a crisis hit -- if it hits -- we lose our ability to make choices about our care. Soul Portrait is a comforting wake up call for all of us.


(c) SallyZMcBain

In Tune

The other day, an acquaintance asked, "What is Soul Portrait about?"   My response came without a second thought; but years ago when I wrote the first edition of the book, I had a hard time putting the concept into words, knowing most people don't spend their free time talking about soul. We talk about everything else -- our careers, accomplishments, financial status, travels, grand kids, and hobbies.  It's all very interesting, but who are we underneath all that?  What motivates us and keeps us going?  What kinds of things mean the most to us? What has been hard for us, and how have we dealt with it?

Without addressing these questions, we are like a beautiful building that has all its blinds closed; the outward appearance is fascinating and worthy of admiration, but the real treasures are housed within. I don't know about you, but when I'm attracted to a unique structure, typically an older building that has withstood decades of environmental assault and human use, I want to see what's inside. 

Your accomplishments and choices tell me something about you; but share what's in your soul and I'll know the answer to the question, "Who are you?"   Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, author of Kitchen Table Wisdom wrote, "Sometimes when I ask people to tell me their story they tell me about their achievements, what they have acquired or built over a lifetime.  So many of us do not know our own story.  A story about who we are, not what we have done."   

Soul Portrait helps us share our story and shows us how doing so can enrich our lives.  It's all about pulling up the blinds now and then, so our loved ones can get a glimpse of the real person behind the walls.

Some of us are very private and don't want to get personal.  My mother was one of those people. Talking about oneself, certainly on a more intimate level, just wasn't appropriate; and asking someone else about such things was invasive.  Giving friends and family a glimpse into our inner lives may feel like a sign of weakness to some.  Also, there are those who feel self-conscious when they talk about themselves, or think who they are at a deeper level is nobody's business.  An 83-year old relative of mine remarked, "Why would anyone care about that kind of information?"  My response to her was, "Do you care?"  She was speechless, probably because it never entered her mind to reveal more of herself to her family.  She is stoic and distant when it comes to feelings and emotions.  What you see on her surface is all you get. When she is gone, I wonder if her daughters will lament never having really known their mother.  Who she was would tell them a lot about who they are.

What is soul anyway?  A preacher beseeches his congregants to "Save your soul!"  The student put his heart and soul into his science project. The chef promises to prepare a soul-satisfying meal.  A friend counsels us to search our soul for the answer to a tough decision.  We want to find our soul mate.  We listen to soul music and eat authentic soul food.  We call a like-minded friend our soul sister.  An artist's work reflects his soul.  When someone has attributes that move or inspire us, we say she has soul.  Accident reports tell us how many souls were lost.  We believe eyes are windows to the soul.  If someone is mean or has no consideration for anyone else, we say he lacks soul.

With the exception of the first example, these references speak to a soul that is innately good, one that makes each of us human, with our imperfections, feelings, needs, and vulnerabilities. Soul motivates us to make choices about everything that makes up our life -- travel, music, food, surroundings, clothing, friends, mates, hobbies, careers, and vocations.  Soul is our wise center, the part of us that wants harmony, peace of mind, and truth.  The best way to save our soul is to acknowledge it and pay attention to what it's telling us.  

When I'm not in tune with my soul, it lets me know something is amiss. I can be mildly ill-at-ease or suffering acute psychic pain, depending on the situation.   I spent 10 years nurturing my grieving soul after I made a life-decision that tortured it in a way I never could have foreseen.  During that time, the only thing I could do to find some peace was to knit. I knit like there was no tomorrow.  Stitch after stitch, I breathed life back into my soul.  I also ate. I baked muffins until they were coming out my ears.  As soon as I pulled the tins out of the oven, I devoured several before they even had a chance to cool.  The extra pounds I gained came off when I discovered that a daily walk among tall ponderosa pines also comforted my soul; and it helped even more when on sunny days I could see two snow-peaked mountains in the distance.  Pretty soon, I wasn't baking muffins as often as I was walking and meditating on the beauty around me.

Knitting, eating comfort food, walking, and writing became my go-to soul-fillers, part of a prolonged healing process that helped me see myself as a person with good intentions and love in her heart.  I held on for dear life to that perspective, and to this day, I find solace in these activities.  They are me; they have become an integral part of my soul.  These details help my family and friends know me better, understand me more fully, and support me through hard emotional times.  When I appreciate others at the same level, we are linked by a soul connection; and for me, soul connections make up the best moments of my life. 

My favorite illustration of the soul's power comes from a Glee episode.  If you watch this show, you know about the high school student who loved to dance; but his father wanted him to select a more secure career path and choose studies and a school that would reflect that choice.  They had several confrontations; finally, the father forbade his son to dance at all.  Without dance, the young man was miserable; he was torn between obeying his father and doing what he knew he was born to do.  Ultimately, he decided to dance in spite of his father's order.  He took the risk of alienating his father, and remained true to himself.  His father, after finally attending a performance, saw the manifestation of what the boy had been trying to tell him all along.  Dance wasn't just something his son enjoyed doing now and then; dance was his son's soul work.  What we see with their reconciliation at the end of the episode was how the father listened to his own soul.

In spite of our protestations and excuses, I believe each of us wants to be known and accepted for who we are at the soul level.  Being heard and valued is like having someone look directly into our eyes and say, "You are okay, and I accept you for who you are."   And sometimes, maybe more often than not, when we are the listener it's like looking into a mirror.  We are uniquely us, but we are also kindred spirits in more ways than we know.  Feelings, struggles, and victories are universal; that's why I've always said that everyone we meet is a soul mate.

When a soul is nurtured and able to express itself, the result is three-part harmony.  Just like singers whose voices blend as one, what we do and say, how we feel, and what we think are in tune.  As we get older, we know what we need in order to tend to our soul, so the harmony is closer and more natural.  We may get off-key now and then, but we are experienced enough to know how to get back to that one incredible voice. If someone hears it, all the better for us both.

(c)  Sally Z McBain

Just a Tooth

It's spring! And it's snowing in the Columbia River Gorge. I'm sitting at my laptop, coffee on the warming plate, staring out at the white stuff on our grass, and thinking about what to do next. Soul Portrait is finally out and can be purchased on Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites...or at any book store that will order it from Dog Ear Publishing. I'm so happy that part of the saga is over; it's beautiful and easy to read. As one friend told me, "You climbed the mountain".

When Soul Portrait arrived at my front door, I didn't open the box right away; I let it sit for a whole day, just so I could savor the feeling that comes with completion after so many years. The next morning, alone in my sanctum, I grabbed the scissors and opened the box that held my book. The cover is beautiful and I saw no errors on the inside. I held a copy in my hands for the longest time, stroking it so I could get a feel for it, so the reality would sink in. Later in the afternoon, my husband got out the champagne; as we raised the two Waterford crystal stemmed glasses given to us as a wedding gift, we both cheered, "It's done!" I knew I'd have to think about marketing; at that point, however, nothing else was on my mind but the accomplishment of finishing my book. I thought of all the authors in the world who write tomes....how do they do it without going insane?

But not everything went my way. Several months ago, while my new dentist was going through my mouth, he exclaimed my front tooth was suffering from root resorption. We suspect the tooth was damaged by metal braces I had when I was about 40. Since I had no idea they were not helping the situation, I kept the braces on for three years. Maybe they placed too much pressure on that tooth; I've not read that many enlightening articles about root resorption. The dentist told me it should come out or bone would be compromised, there could be inflammation, whatever. Long story short, I waited for 7 months before I finally consented to have it pulled and an implant put in. I had noticed some minor aching now and then, but I wasn't ready to plunk down the few thousand it would require. I knew at some point I'd have to bite the bullet and dip into savings, so now was as good a time as any.

What I didn't think about, or was in denial about, was that by the time Soul Portrait came on the market, I would be sporting a hideously gray provisional crown, made even uglier by a healing mouthwash that just happens to discolor teeth. So much for my biggest physical asset. Some of you have heard this story, but I hope I can be forgiven for repeating a few things. When I was a young girl, I asked my mother if I was pretty. Her answer was, "You have a beautiful smile, Sally". It wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear; but I was never shy about smiling after that. In fact, getting braces again when I was middle-aged was my way of keeping that beautiful smile. As I told my sister, I'll now be one of those women who covers her mouth when she bursts forth with a hearty laugh.

I've tried so hard to deal with my vanity as I age. I have friends who have had all kinds of procedures done to their faces, so I know I'm not alone in my vain pursuits. Still, I confess, I feel some shame, given how blessed I've been physically. With the exception of a few manageable issues, I'm healthy. Interestingly, I've taken up knitting again to direct my thoughts to things that really matter in life: there is nothing like knitting a prayer shawl for a friend to get me out of a self-pity mode.

My husband told me a story about one of his cows back in the day. She was an aggressive animal, so proud of her strength and her horns. None of her peers had horns, so she was able to poke them out of her path to the feed bunkers. She was bossy and arrogant. One day, my darling husband decided to put her in her place; after all, the way she was taking over, she could end up goring other cows. He asked the vet to saw off her horns. The way he describes her human-like sadness and embarrassment speaks to me. For days, she stood far from the others, under a tree. Her soul had been shaken. For days, I was despondent and felt the same way; but after spending plenty of time under my own tree, I got tired of hiding my smile and decided to get over it. My new photo on this blog speaks to the fact that my senses have come back. It's just a tooth, after all.

So, what have I learned about myself and soul? I've learned that how I perceive myself and feel about myself goes soul deep. My husband told me over and over, "It's just temporary." While I knew that, I also felt my soul had been assaulted. I learned that, yes, vanity is only skin deep, and yes, we are so much more than how we look; but when something becomes an integral part of one's identity, it goes much deeper. It goes straight to the soul.

The Library Escapade

It has been years since I've been a library patron. I had a friend who had a friend who worked in a library, and she said to my friend, "You'd be amazed at how dirty library books are." That did it for me; over the next few weeks, my library visits dwindled to nothing. I didn't want a bunch of filthy, possibly germ-ridden, books in my home, let alone in bed with me. I had options, of course, none of which included paying for my reading material; I could not afford that luxury twenty-some years ago. I thought about wearing gloves and a mask while handling library books, but decided that could be problematic if I were in public or wanted to eat and read in the privacy of my own home. I must have borrowed from friends or gone without and spent my free hours knitting instead. As much as I love to read, when push came to shove, I wanted yarn more than I wanted books.

Years later, married again and with a better-paying job, I bought novels, self-help, and spiritual books. I felt pretty flush when both my husband and I were working, and the first things I wanted were books of my own. I had to make up for lost time, after all. My shelf space expanded, and I kept buying.

There is a negative side to greed, but when you are spending money on something you think you have to have, you aren't thinking about the negatives. The last 5 years, I've given more books away than you can shake a stick at. Books weigh a ton; and when you are moving all over the country and back again, you want to lighten your load considerably, especially when moving rates are based on weight. Besides, as one grows older, one's interests change; certain books are no longer relevant to our lives. In the end, charities benefit; I have less to pack; someone re-buys my books and enjoys a good read; and we're all happy.

Now that we're retired, living on a fixed income, and trying to live a 'less-is-more' lifestyle, it's back to the library. So many books, so little time! Fortunately, the books I've checked out are not that old, so they haven't had a chance to get really grimy. On the other hand, one book was relatively new, yet already had an orange-yellow stain (sweet potato?) on one page and coffee stains on a couple others. The novel is Someone Knows My Name, by Lawrence Hill....a marvelous story that captured my attention the whole time it was in my hands. The moment I turned the page to see colored smears from whatever my fellow reader ate, I felt a kinship with him/her. I was not repulsed, only amused (I was munching on something at the time). I shudder to think what Hill's book will look like after a few of us are done reading while we eat (better than reading a public library book while sitting in the bathroom -- but that's just my opinion).

Being at the library is like wandering inside a cloud-lined cocoon; it's a different world, one that I have missed. Books collected over time speak to a town's history and reading choices of the people in it. The library takes me back to a sweeter period of my life, something a bookstore cannot do. I remember when, as a grade school student, I spent hours in the big old library in Erie. Now, the books reside in a modern building; there is no old-book smell or architectural charm. I went into the new library a couple times after we moved back, only to exit as quickly as I could. I couldn't feel the spirit of the little girl who lived and breathed books, communed with Edgar Allen Poe, and held in her hands the same volumes her ancestors held.

A library is a reader's paradise filled with brilliant writers here and gone, incredible stories classic and new, and knowledge about everything under the sun. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the excitement of entering a library, I don't pay attention to what my body is doing. The other day, I was returning a couple books and picking up one I had requested to be put on hold. While standing at the counter, I had to take off my clip-on sunglasses so I could find my library card inside the dark interior of my very large handbag. When I finished my business with the librarian, I decided to head for the stacks. I usually visit the novels first, and then the craft and cooking sections. But first, I was careful to put my sunglasses in an outside pocket of my purse. I'm always losing them, and lately, have made a concerted effort to tuck them safely away the minute I take them off.

When I finished browsing, I headed for the door and reached for my clip-ons. They weren't where I thought I had put them. I dug through my purse and when nothing turned up, I went to my first stop to see if I had only dreamed I put them away. They were not on the counter and the librarian said no one had turned them in. I retraced my steps through the stacks and eventually to a table where I emptied my purse. I handled everything at least twice, to make sure my clip-ons glasses didn't slip between notepads or my checkbook pages. I came up empty-handed.

These are my lucky sunglasses; I've lost them dozens of times in the course of 3 years, only to find them right where I left them. I refused to say they were lost again; still, I decided right then and there to go to Walgreens before heading home, so I could buy another pair. I didn't want to admit to my husband that I had lost them one last time, and he wouldn't know old ones from new ones. In any case, it wouldn't hurt to have a back-up pair.

Once in the car, and still determined, I furiously dumped all the contents out onto the passenger seat; they had to be there because they weren't anywhere else! I couldn't believe it. I stashed all the stuff (big bag, big stash) back into my purse, and with my jaw clenched all the way, went back into the library to start the process over again. One more dump on a table (a different one, just in case that would change my luck) and nothing. How on earth could I lose those things? I'd had them in my hand only 30 minutes ago! I gave the librarian my name and phone number, and she assured me they'd call if my clip-ons showed up. I walked back to the car in gale force winds (I had to hold on to a tree branch at one point to keep from getting swept down the sidewalk), cursing my carelessness and searching my surroundings -- sidewalk, bushes, pavement around the car, floor of the car. I wondered how I could have scoured every inch of where I had been, yet no glasses. They disappeared into thin air.

Picturing Walgreens and their huge wall of concealers, foundations, blushes, mascaras, and eye shadows, (a consolation for having to make a quick detour), I got into the car one last time. As I was getting situated in my seat, I heard a familiar sound. I knew that sound; it was the sound of the tiny coiled spring mechanism that gives stretch to clip-on lenses!

In the process of putting on my seat belt, I lifted my left arm to see if I was correct, and there they were -- my sunglasses hooked on a stitch of my hand-knit sweater and hanging by one clip. They must have been sticking up out of the outside pocket of my bag and got caught when I threw it over my left shoulder on my way to the stacks. They went everywhere I went; they were with me the whole time. If I were into anthropomorphizing inanimate objects, I would think they had a great time watching me look for them, snickering as I searched like a wild woman.

So, what did I learn from all this? I learned several things: (1) Stay focused and slow down; (2) appreciate avid readers who have taken out the garbage just before settling down to read, have cut a finger while trying to read and chop veggies at the same time, have suffered a cold and blown their nose all over a book, or have eaten a 6-course meal while reading the very book I'm about to bring home; (3) donate over-sized handbags to charity; (4) wash my hands now and then when handling library books; and (5) do some research on all the germs that have killed library patrons in the past. It's the least I can do, just in case.


(c) Sally Z McBain

My Soul Council

Methinks all things have travelled since you shined, But only Time, and clouds, Time's team, have moved; Again foul weather shall not change my mind, But in the shade I will believe what in the sun I loved. Henry David Thoreau


This winter has been one of clouds and fog, sadness, and personal indecision. Two close friends are battling cancer; a couple more recently lost their mothers; another is suffering over the life-path her 18-year old son is taking; and yet another friend is trying to get psychological help for her troubled daughter. In the middle of this angst, I'm nervous about the dental surgery I'm soon to have. And then there is the upcoming debut of Soul Portrait, which is in the final step of the publication process. I'll soon receive my copies and try to decide what to do next; I'm having a difficult time letting go.

Once again, my thoughts travel all over the place and I struggle to stay in the moment. It's life, I know that; but when it happens, I find myself at a loss. What do I do about this? How do I handle that? How can I be supportive? Should I express my feelings about such-and-such? At moments like these, I wish my mother were alive so I could talk to her, absorb into my cells her silent wisdom.

There is one place I go that immediately fills and speaks to my soul. On a walk around our neighborhood, I'm able to be in the moment. I look up into the pine-lined basalt bluffs on one side of me, and soft, rolling high hills on the other. In between, our town stretches out alongside the Columbia River, taking on the shape of a horseshoe as it follows the natural flow of the water. It's the town I have come to love more than any other place I've ever lived. It was here, back in 1986, that I developed an intimate relationship with Nature through my poetry, photography, and walks in the Gorge. Nature enveloped me in her forgiving love; and I found peace over and over again. My soul was comforted.

I still find myself drawn into all that is silent, beautiful, and mysterious. Inside this world, I see life clearly, especially if the sun is shining. Light, as my younger son once told me, is what brings out the beauty of a photograph. It's also what brings out clarity of thought. Nature is miraculous and soul-filling. Soul-deep. Soul-soothing. Soul-encompassing. I look at the naked hibernating oak trees and am overwhelmed with Nature's wonders, knowing beyond a doubt I am part of every tree, leaf, and animal that adorns or travels worn paths behind our home. A friend of mine fills her soul by going to the sea; I fill my soul by walking among big boulders, deer tracks, and trees.

These winter days, when I feel adrift inside clouds and gloom, I walk through this familiar scene and find myself talking to those who have passed on....Mother, Dad, Rosie, George, David, Grandpa Z, Grandma B, and Arthur. Where are they? Are they part of the breeze that brushes up against my face? Do they hear me say their names? Do they know how much they mean to me?

In rain or shine, they are members of my Soul Council, the ones I go to when I want to feel unconditionally loved, and when I need to sort through things I may think I don't understand, but have no real doubt I do....at the soul level. Talking to them reminds me that my thoughts are more upsetting than reality, that life is just doing what it does naturally. Walking with them brings them back to life in my life.

A few years ago, I might have read the words I've just written and thought I was losing my mind. It took the deaths of my parents to help me realize that even after our seemingly final transition, we live on in the dreams, thoughts, triumphs, and tears of those still here. By recognizing my Soul Council, I am honoring my own soul, the very essence of who I am. Soul defines me; and if I listen to it, it always leads me in the right direction. I've known it subconsciously for decades, but it has taken this long for me to recognize the presence of something deep inside, and then, to trust it. The older I get, the more often I go to my Soul Council to be reminded of all this.

Aside from my own actions and their possible consequences, I try not to question too much anymore. When I need clarity, I call on those individuals who passed on their DNA to me, either through their genes or their love. I am who I am because of loved ones who are no longer standing in front of me, looking into my eyes, hugging me, laughing with me, cheering me on, or offering consolation. I carry within me Mother's depth of courage, Rosie's infectious joy, Dad's focused determination, David's everlasting love, George's encouragement, Grandpa's gentle nature, Grandma's quiet humility, and Arthur's artistic discipline.

Some would call them angels. I like the term 'Soul Council', an idea I borrowed from Peggy La Cerra, Ph.D.; only she calls it a 'Sage Council'. In a piece she wrote for Spirituality & Health, she says, "An imaginary sage council is a panel of wise individuals who can be brought to mind when you are stressed or fearful, or simply looking for sound guidance. Consider those people, living or not, whom you most admire -- people whose character, wisdom, and way of being in the world you wish to emulate. Imagine them as available to advise or inspire you whenever you need them." I love this idea, though I wouldn't use the word 'imaginary'; and I prefer to call upon those who have passed through the ultimate portal to a soul realm.

Life is all about soul. It's also about knowing what soul is, how it looks as a collage of components that make up our unique portrait, and how to honor it. Soul is everything that tells us, intuitively, who we are. Soul needs attention and care. Knowing how we express the needs of our soul helps us give it that tender care. My soul needs Nature, but that's only one part of my portrait.

After re-reading the opening quote, I've decided to add Thoreau to my Soul Council; in fact, I think I'll appoint him the honorary chairperson. After all, he speaks directly to my soul.

The Gift of Another Year

While I wait for Soul Portrait to be published, my mind is spinning like a top. I received a sample of the book a couple weeks ago, advised Dog Ear Publishing about minor format changes, and finalized my choices for the cover design. My photographer, now a good friend, took two beautiful photos (one each for the front and back) that will invite readers into the world of soul-sharing. The back cover image is the Columbia river flowing through part of the gorge, which warms my heart, since the Columbia River Gorge is my favorite place in the whole world.

There are days I'm calm about it, knowing Soul Portrait is in the hands of capable professionals; and there are days I'm higher than a kite, edgy to see it in its final form, and filling my life with activity so I don't obsess about it. Soon, I will have the entire proof on my computer (unfortunately, they don't send out hold-in-your-hands galley proofs -- I'll have to copy it on my printer, which is hardly the same) and will have to carefully read it for the hundredth time to check for errors and typo's. I've been advised by a friend --one who has gone through this a couple times -- to ask someone who has never set eyes on Soul Portrait to read it from beginning to end for spelling errors. The designer at Dog Ear thinks it will be about 116 pages, so it's hardly a daunting task. It's a great suggestion, and I have just the person.

In the meantime, I'm thinking about my goals for this next year. I just turned 64, which means I've entered my 65th year of life, and I want it to be a meaningful one. By the way, I've turned a corner about aging: I'm no longer lamenting the speed with which I arrived here; instead I'm just grateful I got this far.

So, what do I want this year to be about, aside from Soul Portrait's debut? For several years, a close friend and I have been following a concept from Mira Kirshenbaum's book, Gift of a Year. The point is to live life fully and with awareness, not having to look back and wonder, "Where did the time go?" Each year of life is a gift, so we savor it and respect the time given to us. We choose a special focus for the year and dedicate ourselves to it, knowing whatever we do will add to our lives in some way. Each 'gift of a year' has personal growth and spiritual components to it; sometimes we choose the same one and other times we take slightly different paths; but always, we check in with each other on a regular basis throughout the year to see how we're doing and what we're learning about ourselves.

This year, there are two things I want to focus on: (1) clearing my to-finish list, thereby adding both physical and spiritual energy to my life, and (2) writing letters (the hand-written, put-on-a-stamp, head-for-the post-office kind), thereby reaching out to others in a more personal way. My first letter towards this end was to my former mother-in-law (my sons' grandmother), wishing her a happy birthday, recounting memories, and thanking her for the role she played in my life. She is living her 90th year and I want her to know, even though I'm no longer married to her son, that she impacted my life in a huge way. I admit, there were times I was extremely frustrated with her; but it's amazing (now that I'm a mother-in-law) how much I value her forgiveness of the past and the love she has expressed over the years.

I give credit for my letter-writing campaign to another dear friend, who shared a book entitled, Always First Class, by Oregonian, Lois Barry. After going through Barry's enchanting world of letter-writing, I knew I had to get back to that time when things went at a slower pace and were more personal. Call it an aging thing if you wish (and I won't take offense), but the bottom line is, many of us are giving away our lives to electronic devices. I fear for the destiny of the hand-written letter and civility in general (I recently had a meeting with a county official who carried on a conversation with me while he checked for in-coming e-mails). At the same time, I'm also heartened at what seems to be renewed interest in the art of writing a letter (several books on the topic are available); some of us are reacting to e-mails written in haste, with no greeting, discernible body, or signature. More often than not, e-mails begin much like a horse charging out of the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby; they are written quickly and to get a point across.

There are many people in my life with whom I haven't connected in a very long time. Christmas and birthday cards are sent with little notes, but I rarely sit down and spend quality time with the recipient of my good wishes. E-mails aren't usually that personal, though with some thought and effort they can be. I've received some powerful e-mails that meant so much to me I had to print them out and tuck them away for safe-keeping. Still, there is something wonderful about opening up a stamped envelope and finding inside a personal letter, filled with news about the sender, written in a familiar hand, and signed with love. Letter-writing is a way I can make time for those special people in my life -- quality time, slowed-down time, just with them.

As for the to-finish list, authors Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin (Your Money or Your Life) suggest unfinished business is just as energy-sapping as is all the crap we save that collects and procreates (like paper) around us. It's all clutter. I have so many unfinished projects and books, that I feel like I'm in Unfinished Project Purgatory. There are 2 unfinished needlepoint and 6 knitting projects that are cluttering up my sanctum; and there are 10 partially-read books on my shelves. It would take a psychologist to analyze my problem; still, the outcome is a confused, mis-directed, brain. Even though I have written out my list of projects (and that helps), I keep re-registering them with my already overloaded brain cells. I want to get those things off my list before I feel even more overwhelmed; but I also want to enjoy the process while I'm doing it, deliberately and with care. And then, I will try to figure out why I jump from project to project and book to book. I will work at slowing down -- and really, maybe that's my gift of a year....slowing down and savoring life, projects, and people.

The planning month is over and my gift of this next year has begun. The big gift is knowing I'm alive, in good health, and surrounded by wonderful people. Freeing up my psychic and physical energy by finishing projects and reaching out to others by writing letters will require my keeping up with the practices of gratitude and meditation. While God/Spirit has given me a life filled with family and friends, these two practices are the gifts I give to myself.