It's been about a year since my relationship with my older sister, "Gigi" blew up in my face. What started the ball rolling in the direction of permanent estrangement was our mother's debilitating stroke in January 2009. Things then unravelled in a way that showed all the weakness and dysfunction in our family, and the instability of our sibling relationship.
It was a huge disappointment that it's taken me a while to dissect and understand. But I recently came across a framework (which is outlined at the end of this blog post) that lays out five critical human desires that must be addressed in any negotiation and, believe me, settling an estate among siblings IS a negotiation.
In my case, every difference between my sister and me (from personalities and motivations, to life circumstances) became a major stumbling block. We were ultimately unable to communicate, never mind constructively collaborate, respecting our mother's care and organizing her financial affairs with a focus on proper estate planning (which our mother had not done, despite her paying a lot of lip service to it over the years).
Now, I'm a very open and straightforward person, and assumed Gigi was too (or at least would be with me). But she actually keeps things pretty close to her chest and doesn't let you in. She' also capable of nursing grudges, which is something I didn't know.
Gigi put a lot of emotional and geographic distance between herself and our family starting back when she was 18 and left home amid high drama (I was 14 at the time). For about the past 25-30 years, she's mostly lived around 3,000 kms away and rarely visited my parents during that time. The hurts and crap between her and my parents had nothing to do with me but, because I had a less fraught relationship with our parents over the years, I now think that somehow threatened her.
I was the daughter-on-the-spot who dealt with everything over these many years - from our parents' severe marital discord, to always sticking up for my absent sister when my parents carped and criticized her lack of contact/connection with them and her questionable choices in life and love, right through to our mother's complete mental breakdown and commitment to a psychiatric hospital. And these are just a few of the familial "lowlights" that I faced and handled without any help or involvement from my sister. Throughout it all, Gigi stayed away, seemingly content to let me handle all the crises and trauma, and all the while I responsibly kept her up-to-date, in the the communications loop and fostered a sibling relationship with her. With the exception of a three week period in the late winter of 1995 when our father suddenly became ill and died, Gigi was pretty much missing-in-action until 2009.
I essentially served as family "glue" and a communication conduit for decades, but I mostly understood and didn't resent my sister's choice to keep her distance. I knew she had her reasons and didn't expect from her that which she could not give. But I also thought she grasped the burden I shouldered for the both of us, and that she had some appreciation for my efforts at maintaining some semblance of family connection. It turns out I was seriously mistaken.
At the point our mother became physically ill and incapacitated, I stepped in to use the Power of Attorney (PoA) she had granted me years before. I searched out and organized our mother's total rat's nest of financial affairs and undertook the proper estate planning she had failed to do.
I kept Gigi informed (verbally and in writing) every step of the way. Everything I did was in accordance with what our mother said she intended to do for us and in accordance with her will (i.e., to equally divide and leave us everything she had) and done with my mother's awareness as well as the involvement and consultation/advice of her financial advisors, two accountants, and with lawyers' review and advice (Gigi's lawyer and mine). It was untold hours of work and a lot of stress for me, but it needed to be done and I happened to be the responsible offspring on-site with the PoA authority to carry out the work. And so I did it.
Throughout, I was representing and acting in our equal best interets as eventual beneficiaries, as well as safeguarding all of our mother's ongoing material interests and her care needs. However, as the estate planning decisions and actions started to become more concrete, my sister resisted and rebelled against me - in much the same way as she had always rebelled against our parents. Things have always had to be her idea and/or mesh with her unique perspective, or she would just not cooperate - no matter how logical or rational the strategy.
What I experienced as a weary, thankless role in doing all the hard work and "heavy lifting" respecting our mother's care and estate planning, I think my sister saw as some powerful, privileged position that I had, and that I could possibly screw her over. She seems to have imagined some sort of a "good daughter/bad daughter" dichotomy, where she perceived me as the advantaged "good daughter" living in close proximity, with influence and control over our mother. The sad reality of the situation was that I was an abused adult daughter and totally taken forgranted by our mother who wore me out with her constant demands, manipulations and basic insanity. And Gigi, it turns out, had zero understanding or empathy for any aspect of my situation.
I was incredulous when Gigi baselessly started speculating that I could be "feathering my nest" at her expense; she also accused me of being "in cahoots" with the lawyer providing me advice on managing all these affairs. When the government Land Titles Office was slow to provide the legal documentation proving I had voluntarily had my name removed from the title of our mother's condo (I had been on title since our mother purchased it in the 1980's), Gigi immediately hypothesized I could have done something crooked to ensure I would solely inherit the condo and cut her out of her rightful share! I found her constant suspicions outrageous and insulting in the extreme.
All Gigi had to say to explain herself was that she was committed to "protecting our inheritance" and would not stand for any decision or action that, in her view, might in any way jeopardize the future of that inheritance (meaning she thought our mother could disinherit us on a whim). But, despite Gigi's use of "our", I understood she was talking about protecting and ensuring HER share of the inheritance. She felt very insecure in this regard.
Our mother died early in 2010, and settlement of her estate in a straightforward, financially prudent, and transparent manner is only possible because of all the legwork I did in the prior months. Up to the point of our estrangement, I had cared both about my sister and our joint inheritance, but soon came to feel that all Gigi cared about was the money. God knows, she needs it - she doesn't really have or own anything of any value.
Sadly, our story is a very common one. I have since heard and read that this type of family dynamic abounds in these situations - that, more often than not, family hurts, mistrust, and sibling rivalry rooted in the past get resurrected and end up colouring the present and influencing the future.
I recently came across some information that concisely explains what I feel went wrong a year ago. Directors at the Harvard Negotiation Project have written a book called "Beyond Reason" that lays out the five basic human desires that have to be addressed in successful negotiations. In my opinion, Gigi breached all five in her dealings with me about our mother and estate planning. Here are the five things:
A Fulfilling Role - Gigi completely failed to recognize that the role I was stuck in was not fulfilling. Being caretaker, administrator and general sanity-keeper of the difficult woman who was our mother was completely thankless and unrewarding. It did not remotely give me the feeling of fulfillment that the authors say is one of the five critical pieces of constructive deal-making. Further, Gigi often second-guessed and "armchair quarterbacked" me from 3,000 km away. Her ideas and proposed solutions were most often impractical and/or outright idiotic (e.g., uproot our very ill mother and move her 4 provinces east, with no plan in place for her care or even an available nursing home placement).
Appreciation - I never felt Gigi properly valued the work I was doing nor the role I was fulfilling in looking after our mother and responsibly ensuring our potential inheritance was secure. Rather than having and expressing appreciation, at the first sign of initial discord between us she quickly moved to accusing me of all manner of nefarious motives and dealings - all completely baseless and insulting. When she was proven wrong, there was never any retraction or apology.
Affiliation - this is about having a feeling of connection. I felt I was abundantly demonstrating my affiliation to my sister and showing that I had her back and was looking after her interests equally with my own. However, it became apparent she felt no connection to me, as demonstrated by her lack of support and outright opposition to estate planning work that had been underway for months and of which she had been fully informed (and had never previously gave any indication she was not totally on board).
Status - this is about feeling respected. Gigi did not acknowledge or respect my in-depth knowledge and familiarity with the situation that stemmed from the fact I knew our mother a lot better (having lived in the same town all my life, whereas Gigi had seen our mother about 6 times in the past 30 years), I had the PoA and had done all the financial research and legwork to organize these complex affairs, and I was the one on-site managing our mother's ongoing health care and medical/nursing needs. No, Gigi still acted like she knew best when, in fact, she was clueless. She refused to listen to anything I (or my lawyer) had to say.
Autonomy - this is about feeling you are free to make decisions. Although I had all the proper legal powers/authority and had followed all legal steps and legal/accounting advice with respect to estate planning, when I wanted to move ahead with some actions, my sister obstinately said "No way" and seemed to feel she could simply veto my conscientious efforts from across the country. I did not move ahead on the contentious issue as I never did get my sister's agreement, but I deeply resented her unilateral insistence on controlling a situation for which she had such scant understanding and appreciation, not to mention absolutely no formal role or legal authority.
I hope knowing these five basic desires and how they come to bear on a situation like this may help someone else navigate these treacherous waters. It's too late for Gigi and me. We've both written each other off. The estate is almost completely settled now and, on final division, we'll be going our own ways.
I have no interest in trying to repair a relationship with someone who I feel used me for years and ultimately betrayed me. And, now that Gigi has her money, there's no longer any reason to try to keep me in her orbit - I've obviously served my purpose, which was to keep her looped into the family in way that cost her nothing, yet ensured she got her 50% share of the inheritance without ever having to lift a finger.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Way Out of My Comfort Zone
There is a division of labour in our marriage that ordinarily works really well for me. John, my husband, is one of those amazing guys who is capable of designing, building, wiring, plumbing, and generally diagnosing and repairing anything. I rely on him heavily as I'm not good at any of these things and not the least bit interested (not mechanically inclined and lack spatial reasoning). I just want the stuff in my life to work, without my having to know HOW it works.
Of course, most things malfunction (at least in our world, where best buddy B. has recently speculated about Mallett "ju ju" problems!) but, usually, John is around to take the lead on figuring out the problem and fixing it. I appreciate his skills and willingness to shoulder these burdens which include maintaining/fixing: cars, boats, homes, hot tubs, lawn mowers, household appliances and, the biggest bugbear...computers (and, due to our lifestyle, we have four - all quite new and high powered, but each with its own glitches and idiosyncracies).
John has mostly been up at our cottage since we got home from Mexico in April; he's trying to make headway on our large addition that started getting built 2 years ago. Completion is looking like another 2 years away. Anyway, he's got his hands full.
I am back and forth to Victoria each week for work, and to manage some things that ordinarily I would rely on John to handle. I've had to cope, on my own, with two of my biggest areas of weakness - construction repairs and computers. Okay, I admit I usually resort to getting John on speakerphone at the first sign of problems, but it's either that or have a raving crying fit.
Sewer back-up flood repairs are nearing completion on our Victoria condo (it's been almost 4 months). The lower kitchen cabinets in one section were all replaced and I stopped by to check on how they looked (we knew colour matching could be a problem). Here is what I saw - a "two-toned" kitchen with creamy-white lower (new) cabinets compared to the creamy-yellow tones on the original upper cabinets. Not acceptable, yet there they were - installed.
So, I had to raise the ruckus, point out the mis-match, meet with the restoration company, and have the insurance adjustor come and look as well. The restoration services guy apparently didn't agree with me that there was a problem (but didn't tell me that, the chicken) but, luckily, the insurance adjustor wasn't colour blind and actually agreed with me. The cabinets were taken out and are being redone now - fingers crossed.
Then there's been the whole back and forth about proper reinstallation of our built-in dishwasher which has taken 3 times to get nearly right, and it's still not there. Those conversations have been painful in the extreme. WTF - it's NOT rocket science! I can explain what I want and what's wrong with how they've done it but the guy focuses on asking me questions about how it was installed 9 years before...how the " H - E - double toothpicks" would I know or remember anything about that?! Like I said, I have John on speed dial for these moments and he always has the answer and keeps me out of the newspaper headlines for assaulting a repair guy.
The other bane of my existence is computers. The new one we took to Mexico last winter had some weird, undiagnosable/unfixable, problem with the screen - it would turn reverse black and white, like an old photographic negative. Of course it would never do this for the repair technician! I finally took a picture of the problem laptop side-by-side with the monitor we use for our TV screen and was able to provide that as proof of the existence of a problem.
We ended up getting a replacement laptop, and it's now going in for servicing already. It turns on by itself at all hours (which is a fire hazard, especially when it turns on in the confined space of a briefcase) and the screen acts up as well (flickers and goes black). Big sigh.
And I spent almost a day and half this week trying to diagnose and fix the fact that, suddenly, I could not send e-mail from the hotel where we have been living for almost 4 months. This involved lots of time on the phone with John, the tech guy for the hotel (outgoing server) and my internet service provider (incoming server). Everyone else (apart from John) is so quick to suspect your computer and not their server, so I had to learn about and then jump through all the diagnostic hoops and fixes within my control first, before I could convince them they needed to look into this. Have I emphasized enough that this is my definition of hell?
I must say, I learned a lot and am more functional now in some key areas re: setting up e-mail accounts and checking things, but it was painful and frustrating because I despise having to deal with this stuff (my usual contribution to diagnosing and fixing is just to wail "John, there's something wrong with the computer!"). I can only imagine John's pain and frustration having to deal with helping me long distance by phone, but he managed it!
And, it turned out the whole problem was with the hotel's server and their internet service provider (ISP) which had shut down the flow of mail (just via Outlook) due to detecting a virus unleashed by one of the hotel guests who had been spamming...but did they think to tell anyone the system was locked down?? So there I am calling the front desk, asking if anything has changed (because I can't send e-mail) and they keep telling me no, and that I am the only one complaining. The nice hotel computer tech guy didn't even know the ISP had cut off the service. Sheesh, sometimes it really feels like the world is out to make me doubt my sanity.
And, did I mention I am handling all this stress without my beloved red wine? Yup, I have been sticking to my zero alcohol and zero refined carbs regime. With those things eliminated and all the kitchen condo/computer stress, I MUST have lost some weight this week! Please, something good has to result from my suffering!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Of course, most things malfunction (at least in our world, where best buddy B. has recently speculated about Mallett "ju ju" problems!) but, usually, John is around to take the lead on figuring out the problem and fixing it. I appreciate his skills and willingness to shoulder these burdens which include maintaining/fixing: cars, boats, homes, hot tubs, lawn mowers, household appliances and, the biggest bugbear...computers (and, due to our lifestyle, we have four - all quite new and high powered, but each with its own glitches and idiosyncracies).
John has mostly been up at our cottage since we got home from Mexico in April; he's trying to make headway on our large addition that started getting built 2 years ago. Completion is looking like another 2 years away. Anyway, he's got his hands full.
I am back and forth to Victoria each week for work, and to manage some things that ordinarily I would rely on John to handle. I've had to cope, on my own, with two of my biggest areas of weakness - construction repairs and computers. Okay, I admit I usually resort to getting John on speakerphone at the first sign of problems, but it's either that or have a raving crying fit.
Sewer back-up flood repairs are nearing completion on our Victoria condo (it's been almost 4 months). The lower kitchen cabinets in one section were all replaced and I stopped by to check on how they looked (we knew colour matching could be a problem). Here is what I saw - a "two-toned" kitchen with creamy-white lower (new) cabinets compared to the creamy-yellow tones on the original upper cabinets. Not acceptable, yet there they were - installed.
So, I had to raise the ruckus, point out the mis-match, meet with the restoration company, and have the insurance adjustor come and look as well. The restoration services guy apparently didn't agree with me that there was a problem (but didn't tell me that, the chicken) but, luckily, the insurance adjustor wasn't colour blind and actually agreed with me. The cabinets were taken out and are being redone now - fingers crossed.
Then there's been the whole back and forth about proper reinstallation of our built-in dishwasher which has taken 3 times to get nearly right, and it's still not there. Those conversations have been painful in the extreme. WTF - it's NOT rocket science! I can explain what I want and what's wrong with how they've done it but the guy focuses on asking me questions about how it was installed 9 years before...how the " H - E - double toothpicks" would I know or remember anything about that?! Like I said, I have John on speed dial for these moments and he always has the answer and keeps me out of the newspaper headlines for assaulting a repair guy.
The other bane of my existence is computers. The new one we took to Mexico last winter had some weird, undiagnosable/unfixable, problem with the screen - it would turn reverse black and white, like an old photographic negative. Of course it would never do this for the repair technician! I finally took a picture of the problem laptop side-by-side with the monitor we use for our TV screen and was able to provide that as proof of the existence of a problem.
We ended up getting a replacement laptop, and it's now going in for servicing already. It turns on by itself at all hours (which is a fire hazard, especially when it turns on in the confined space of a briefcase) and the screen acts up as well (flickers and goes black). Big sigh.
And I spent almost a day and half this week trying to diagnose and fix the fact that, suddenly, I could not send e-mail from the hotel where we have been living for almost 4 months. This involved lots of time on the phone with John, the tech guy for the hotel (outgoing server) and my internet service provider (incoming server). Everyone else (apart from John) is so quick to suspect your computer and not their server, so I had to learn about and then jump through all the diagnostic hoops and fixes within my control first, before I could convince them they needed to look into this. Have I emphasized enough that this is my definition of hell?
I must say, I learned a lot and am more functional now in some key areas re: setting up e-mail accounts and checking things, but it was painful and frustrating because I despise having to deal with this stuff (my usual contribution to diagnosing and fixing is just to wail "John, there's something wrong with the computer!"). I can only imagine John's pain and frustration having to deal with helping me long distance by phone, but he managed it!
And, it turned out the whole problem was with the hotel's server and their internet service provider (ISP) which had shut down the flow of mail (just via Outlook) due to detecting a virus unleashed by one of the hotel guests who had been spamming...but did they think to tell anyone the system was locked down?? So there I am calling the front desk, asking if anything has changed (because I can't send e-mail) and they keep telling me no, and that I am the only one complaining. The nice hotel computer tech guy didn't even know the ISP had cut off the service. Sheesh, sometimes it really feels like the world is out to make me doubt my sanity.
And, did I mention I am handling all this stress without my beloved red wine? Yup, I have been sticking to my zero alcohol and zero refined carbs regime. With those things eliminated and all the kitchen condo/computer stress, I MUST have lost some weight this week! Please, something good has to result from my suffering!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Debunking Conventional Wisdom
There is so much misinformation out there in the world - much of it masquerading as "wisdom" or, even worse, "conventional wisdom". Much of the misinformation and misleading conventional wisdom I come across has to do with women's health, especially menopausal health.
The misinformation, and conflicting information, makes me frustrated and angry, which is why I call my blog "The Burning Woman" - because I am on fire in midlife, hotly pursuing truth, reason, and authentic wisdom, all the while fighting off hot flashes.
I've been on the planet long enough, and experienced enough bullsh*t, to know crap when I smell it, and to sense truth when I am in its presence. Truth, especially truth about our bodies and health, just feels right; you just instinctively sense the truth when you come across it.
But, we're really in a battle for truth, and facing opposition from decades of conventional Western medical wisdom, "Big Pharma" (the drug industry), and even "agri-business" (which controls the nature and quality of our food supply). Going up against these entities feels like you're confronting the "Flat Earth" society. Conventional wisdom used to dictate that the world was flat - those who suspected, argued, and even proved differently got a really rough ride.
I read somewhere that going against conventional wisdom results in a pattern that consists first of ridicule, then vicious attack, and finally acceptance/agreement. When challenged, the responses so far from conventional Western medicine and Big Pharma fall right into the ridicule and attack postures.
I get so angry and discouraged reading one personal account after another of doctors who poo-poo the concerns and ignore the symptoms of their midlife female patients - even refusing to order certain tests or to prescribe anything that doesn't come from the labs of Big Pharma. Why is it that so many doctors seem to close their minds and refuse to entertain/learn anything new after med school graduation (unless it's embracing whatever the drug reps are peddling)? Why do so many doctors react so poorly and defensively in the face of an informed patient who wants to be a full partner in her health care? Why is that such a threat?
It drives me nuts to hear about doctors who refuse to order thyroid tests or, if they will order a thyroid test, will only order TSH (thyroid stimulating hormone) to be tested, which doesn't tell the whole story. You need to get TSH tested AND also get T3 and T4 tested - then you get a complete picture. I wonder how many GPs don't order T3 and T4 tests simply because they don't know how to correctly interpret the results, especially all 3 in relation to each other.
I remember quite a few years back, my ancient GP at the time admitted he didn't know how to interpret the new way Pap test results were being reported! I changed doctors...but do you know they strip a lot out of your file before they send it to your new doctor? They are free to remove anything they want, so the new doctor can't really tell what was going with you and your previous doc.
Some other conventional wisdom I want to help debunk is around Kegel exercises for minor female stress incontinence (those little leaks from sneezing, coughing, laughing or, bouncing up and down on a trampoline etc). Last week a major women's magazine was trumpeting Kegels as the answer to this problem. But I had recently read a post on VibrantNation.com that explained why Kegels can actually make the problem worse.
The Vibrant Nation article made so much sense as it explained which muscles do what "down there" (the "pelvic floor"), and how squats and lunges are actually the correct exercises for lengthing and toning the muscles that prevent little urine stress leaks, NOT Kegels. Too many Kegels will exacerbate the leak problem. Again, I "felt" the truth of what I was reading, that lunges/squats, not Kegels, are the right way to go.
Here's a link for more info on that issue - http://mamasweat.blogspot.com/2010/05/pelvic-floor-party-kegels-are-not.html
This instinctive recognition, or "knowing" of the truth is what author Malcolm Gladwell writes about in his book "Blink". We often have the capacity to spot the truth, if we would just listen to our guts more, and less to the conventional (often outdated) wisdom that is shoved down our throats.
Everyone seems to believe you need antibiotics to treat a bladder infection (90% of which are caused by e-coli bacteria that cling to the walls of the bladder). But a natural substance called "D Mannose" is a powder you can get at the health food store, mix in water and drink to cure a bladder infection. It works because e-coli love D Mannose and will release their grip on your bladder walls to feed on the D Mannose and then you can just pee it all out. No negative side effects, no prescription medication, no destruction of the healthy bacteria in your system.
And while I'm at it, I will rant against agave syrup, or agave nectar...whatever you want to call it. It's being hailed as a safe, natural sweetener with a low Glycemic Index (making it "safe" for people with blood sugar problems, like diabetics). I was using it and then came across information that it is terrible stuff - far, far worse than the High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS) we've all been warned about. Fructose can only be metabolized through the liver, and apparently it is very hard on the liver. HFCS is about 60% fructose and even Dr. Mehmet Oz strongly warns against it. But, one day on the Dr. Oz TV show, I saw him featuring a dietician's tips and recipes which included agave syrup/nectar...and agave is 90% fructose, so almost twice as bad as HFCS! You can't accept anything at face value it seems - even Dr. Oz can get it wrong. And don't get me started on the medical idiocy they spout on that TV show "The Doctors"...mostly plastic surgery-focused total crapola, and very poorly explained.
I wish that there was a debunking website where one could go to check out and challenge all kinds of "conventional wisdom" - kind of like the Snopes.com website where you can check on the truth of "urban myths/urban legends" that seem to circulate. Until there is, I will continue blogging about anything I can help to debunk.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
The misinformation, and conflicting information, makes me frustrated and angry, which is why I call my blog "The Burning Woman" - because I am on fire in midlife, hotly pursuing truth, reason, and authentic wisdom, all the while fighting off hot flashes.
I've been on the planet long enough, and experienced enough bullsh*t, to know crap when I smell it, and to sense truth when I am in its presence. Truth, especially truth about our bodies and health, just feels right; you just instinctively sense the truth when you come across it.
But, we're really in a battle for truth, and facing opposition from decades of conventional Western medical wisdom, "Big Pharma" (the drug industry), and even "agri-business" (which controls the nature and quality of our food supply). Going up against these entities feels like you're confronting the "Flat Earth" society. Conventional wisdom used to dictate that the world was flat - those who suspected, argued, and even proved differently got a really rough ride.
I read somewhere that going against conventional wisdom results in a pattern that consists first of ridicule, then vicious attack, and finally acceptance/agreement. When challenged, the responses so far from conventional Western medicine and Big Pharma fall right into the ridicule and attack postures.
I get so angry and discouraged reading one personal account after another of doctors who poo-poo the concerns and ignore the symptoms of their midlife female patients - even refusing to order certain tests or to prescribe anything that doesn't come from the labs of Big Pharma. Why is it that so many doctors seem to close their minds and refuse to entertain/learn anything new after med school graduation (unless it's embracing whatever the drug reps are peddling)? Why do so many doctors react so poorly and defensively in the face of an informed patient who wants to be a full partner in her health care? Why is that such a threat?
It drives me nuts to hear about doctors who refuse to order thyroid tests or, if they will order a thyroid test, will only order TSH (thyroid stimulating hormone) to be tested, which doesn't tell the whole story. You need to get TSH tested AND also get T3 and T4 tested - then you get a complete picture. I wonder how many GPs don't order T3 and T4 tests simply because they don't know how to correctly interpret the results, especially all 3 in relation to each other.
I remember quite a few years back, my ancient GP at the time admitted he didn't know how to interpret the new way Pap test results were being reported! I changed doctors...but do you know they strip a lot out of your file before they send it to your new doctor? They are free to remove anything they want, so the new doctor can't really tell what was going with you and your previous doc.
Some other conventional wisdom I want to help debunk is around Kegel exercises for minor female stress incontinence (those little leaks from sneezing, coughing, laughing or, bouncing up and down on a trampoline etc). Last week a major women's magazine was trumpeting Kegels as the answer to this problem. But I had recently read a post on VibrantNation.com that explained why Kegels can actually make the problem worse.
The Vibrant Nation article made so much sense as it explained which muscles do what "down there" (the "pelvic floor"), and how squats and lunges are actually the correct exercises for lengthing and toning the muscles that prevent little urine stress leaks, NOT Kegels. Too many Kegels will exacerbate the leak problem. Again, I "felt" the truth of what I was reading, that lunges/squats, not Kegels, are the right way to go.
Here's a link for more info on that issue - http://mamasweat.blogspot.com/2010/05/pelvic-floor-party-kegels-are-not.html
This instinctive recognition, or "knowing" of the truth is what author Malcolm Gladwell writes about in his book "Blink". We often have the capacity to spot the truth, if we would just listen to our guts more, and less to the conventional (often outdated) wisdom that is shoved down our throats.
Everyone seems to believe you need antibiotics to treat a bladder infection (90% of which are caused by e-coli bacteria that cling to the walls of the bladder). But a natural substance called "D Mannose" is a powder you can get at the health food store, mix in water and drink to cure a bladder infection. It works because e-coli love D Mannose and will release their grip on your bladder walls to feed on the D Mannose and then you can just pee it all out. No negative side effects, no prescription medication, no destruction of the healthy bacteria in your system.
And while I'm at it, I will rant against agave syrup, or agave nectar...whatever you want to call it. It's being hailed as a safe, natural sweetener with a low Glycemic Index (making it "safe" for people with blood sugar problems, like diabetics). I was using it and then came across information that it is terrible stuff - far, far worse than the High Fructose Corn Syrup (HFCS) we've all been warned about. Fructose can only be metabolized through the liver, and apparently it is very hard on the liver. HFCS is about 60% fructose and even Dr. Mehmet Oz strongly warns against it. But, one day on the Dr. Oz TV show, I saw him featuring a dietician's tips and recipes which included agave syrup/nectar...and agave is 90% fructose, so almost twice as bad as HFCS! You can't accept anything at face value it seems - even Dr. Oz can get it wrong. And don't get me started on the medical idiocy they spout on that TV show "The Doctors"...mostly plastic surgery-focused total crapola, and very poorly explained.
I wish that there was a debunking website where one could go to check out and challenge all kinds of "conventional wisdom" - kind of like the Snopes.com website where you can check on the truth of "urban myths/urban legends" that seem to circulate. Until there is, I will continue blogging about anything I can help to debunk.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
My Cool Black Boyfriend
I am crazy about this cool, laid-back dude I met. He's from Louisiana - came up north to live after Katrina. Everyone just calls him "Lou." He's so handsome, calm, strong, loving and loyal. He's always happy and excited to see me, and lets me know he doesn't like it when I leave; in fact, sometimes he physically tries to keep me from leaving him. But I know he only means well.
I think my husband, John, might be getting a bit suspicious of me and Lou. Like the other day, John walked in and found me in my bathrobe embracing Lou, my fingers entangled in his thick, black chest hair. Then again, John knows all too well that Lou's not mine and never will be.
That doesn't stop me from loving Lou, from kissing and stroking him and telling him he's absolutely wonderful. John is just having to get used to seeing Lou's head in my lap.
Here's a picture of my cool black boyfriend.
Yes, Lou is a dog - a pure bred black lab. He belongs to our general contractor and comes to work with his owner every day working on our cottage addition. Lou was homeless after Hurricane Katrina and our contractor took him in as a rescue dog.
Lou loves his life on Mudge Island with his "Alpha Dog" (our contractor is definitely the boss of Lou, and is a great dog owner/dog trainer).
I've never spent any time around dogs (grew up with cats, which I love) so I wasn't expecting to be so won over by Lou. It kind of snuck up on me. But it's hard not to fall in love with someone who capers with delight on the dock he's so excited to see you when you arrive on a Friday night. I'll be flopped on the couch watching TV and Lou will lie on the floor right next to the couch, all stretched out in a way that gives me easy access to rub his belly - for the entire time I'm watching TV! Lou just loves "rubs", as his owner calls it. When he sees me head to the car with my suitcase, he tries to "herd" me away from the vehicle and back to the cottage.
One day, I got up from the couch to go outside but Lou blockaded the door and wouldn't let me out - he hadn't had his fill of "rubs" and he was letting me know he wasn't done with me! A game ensued of him playfully chasing me around the couch - with me trying to get to the door and Lou preventing me. I swear he was smiling! When I finally got outside, I said to the guys "Oh no, I think I'm Lou's bitch!"
His owner gave me a few tips for establishing appropriate dominance over the dog, but I am still pretty low on the dog status pecking order. Lou knows he owns me! But I'm okay with it. I know my place - provide Milkbones, fresh water, rubs and adoration - check. And Lou's job is to just keep being excited to see me!
I think my husband, John, might be getting a bit suspicious of me and Lou. Like the other day, John walked in and found me in my bathrobe embracing Lou, my fingers entangled in his thick, black chest hair. Then again, John knows all too well that Lou's not mine and never will be.
That doesn't stop me from loving Lou, from kissing and stroking him and telling him he's absolutely wonderful. John is just having to get used to seeing Lou's head in my lap.
Here's a picture of my cool black boyfriend.
Yes, Lou is a dog - a pure bred black lab. He belongs to our general contractor and comes to work with his owner every day working on our cottage addition. Lou was homeless after Hurricane Katrina and our contractor took him in as a rescue dog.
Lou loves his life on Mudge Island with his "Alpha Dog" (our contractor is definitely the boss of Lou, and is a great dog owner/dog trainer).
I've never spent any time around dogs (grew up with cats, which I love) so I wasn't expecting to be so won over by Lou. It kind of snuck up on me. But it's hard not to fall in love with someone who capers with delight on the dock he's so excited to see you when you arrive on a Friday night. I'll be flopped on the couch watching TV and Lou will lie on the floor right next to the couch, all stretched out in a way that gives me easy access to rub his belly - for the entire time I'm watching TV! Lou just loves "rubs", as his owner calls it. When he sees me head to the car with my suitcase, he tries to "herd" me away from the vehicle and back to the cottage.
One day, I got up from the couch to go outside but Lou blockaded the door and wouldn't let me out - he hadn't had his fill of "rubs" and he was letting me know he wasn't done with me! A game ensued of him playfully chasing me around the couch - with me trying to get to the door and Lou preventing me. I swear he was smiling! When I finally got outside, I said to the guys "Oh no, I think I'm Lou's bitch!"
His owner gave me a few tips for establishing appropriate dominance over the dog, but I am still pretty low on the dog status pecking order. Lou knows he owns me! But I'm okay with it. I know my place - provide Milkbones, fresh water, rubs and adoration - check. And Lou's job is to just keep being excited to see me!
My Secret Pleasure
I can admit it - I enjoy watching the TV soap "The Young and The Restless". As far as soap operas go, I think it's the best daytime TV around. Not that I watch it during the daytime.
My husband (the techno whiz) has it set up to record on the PVR/DVR (Personal/Digitial Video Recorder) and I watch the shows when I can, and mostly when he's not around (he claims not to like it - but he occasionally asks me about the current plot lines when he walks through the room and I have it on).
A girlfriend of mine back in university introduced me to the Y&R (that would be in the late 1970's) and I have followed it off and on ever since. Recording with the PVR means it now only takes 40 minutes to watch the one hour show, since I can zip past all the commercials - actually making this quite an efficient secret pleasure!
The Y&R sets are in major need of an update - the "Newman Ranch" set is particularly bad, and the "Tack House" on the ranch property, where Nick and Phyllis have lived, should be officially re-named the "Tacky House".
But, the clothes, hair and cosmetics more than make up for the outdated interior set design. I learned about Jane Iredale Cosmetics from the Y&R, as this is the brand the show's make up artists use, and those actresses always look great (especially the women who play the characters of Chloe, Sharon, and Phyllis).
I got a real kick out of the 2008 story line that set a few episodes in Bucerias, which was described as "a little Mexican fishing village in the middle of nowhere" where Victor Newman chose to disappear to for a while after his pregnant wife Sabrina died in a limo crash.
Just a few months before these Y&R plot twists, we had bought a condo in Bucerias (see photo included of the central Bucerias vicinity). I just hooted with laughter over the Y&R writers who had obviously never been there; this town is just 15 miles north of Puerto Vallarta - and is hardly the backwater portrayed on the show.
And then recovered alcoholic Nikki (Newman) Chow trying to locate Victor by pursuing him to that "little Mexican fishing village in the middle of nowhere" and spending all her time in a dive of a beachfront bar...where, predictably, she fell off the wagon for a while. I wish Bucerias had such a colorful dive bar! That would be hilarious. But, Bucerias is quite cosmopolitan and upscale - see my photo included of a typical Bucerias bar.
But, the show never fails to entertain me, so all is forgiven - tacky decor, ridiculous plots, and "magical travel" (the speed at which these people get back and forth from Wisconsin to Brazil is physics-defying - even for the Newman private jet!). And the whole series of Bucerias episodes just served to further bond me with the Y&R. Just don't get me started on wanting to be adopted by Katherine Chancellor. I'd be a much better "daughter" to her than Jill, and I'm dead sure I could run Chancellor Industries.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
My husband (the techno whiz) has it set up to record on the PVR/DVR (Personal/Digitial Video Recorder) and I watch the shows when I can, and mostly when he's not around (he claims not to like it - but he occasionally asks me about the current plot lines when he walks through the room and I have it on).
A girlfriend of mine back in university introduced me to the Y&R (that would be in the late 1970's) and I have followed it off and on ever since. Recording with the PVR means it now only takes 40 minutes to watch the one hour show, since I can zip past all the commercials - actually making this quite an efficient secret pleasure!
The Y&R sets are in major need of an update - the "Newman Ranch" set is particularly bad, and the "Tack House" on the ranch property, where Nick and Phyllis have lived, should be officially re-named the "Tacky House".
But, the clothes, hair and cosmetics more than make up for the outdated interior set design. I learned about Jane Iredale Cosmetics from the Y&R, as this is the brand the show's make up artists use, and those actresses always look great (especially the women who play the characters of Chloe, Sharon, and Phyllis).
I got a real kick out of the 2008 story line that set a few episodes in Bucerias, which was described as "a little Mexican fishing village in the middle of nowhere" where Victor Newman chose to disappear to for a while after his pregnant wife Sabrina died in a limo crash.
Just a few months before these Y&R plot twists, we had bought a condo in Bucerias (see photo included of the central Bucerias vicinity). I just hooted with laughter over the Y&R writers who had obviously never been there; this town is just 15 miles north of Puerto Vallarta - and is hardly the backwater portrayed on the show.
And then recovered alcoholic Nikki (Newman) Chow trying to locate Victor by pursuing him to that "little Mexican fishing village in the middle of nowhere" and spending all her time in a dive of a beachfront bar...where, predictably, she fell off the wagon for a while. I wish Bucerias had such a colorful dive bar! That would be hilarious. But, Bucerias is quite cosmopolitan and upscale - see my photo included of a typical Bucerias bar.
But, the show never fails to entertain me, so all is forgiven - tacky decor, ridiculous plots, and "magical travel" (the speed at which these people get back and forth from Wisconsin to Brazil is physics-defying - even for the Newman private jet!). And the whole series of Bucerias episodes just served to further bond me with the Y&R. Just don't get me started on wanting to be adopted by Katherine Chancellor. I'd be a much better "daughter" to her than Jill, and I'm dead sure I could run Chancellor Industries.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Monday, July 19, 2010
Rebalancing Act
This is a picture of a rock "inukshuk" that we continuously erect on the point of land that our cottage overlooks. It gets knocked down regularly - mainly because seagulls (also known as "sh*t hawks") like to try to land and perch there.
The inukshuks my husband builds last much longer than my efforts do; he's gifted in construction and knowing what makes a solid foundation. I can get height in my structures, but not stability. Sometimes my inukshuks tumble before I've even climbed the stairs back up to the cottage to view my handiwork from the deck.
This ever-changing piles of stones reminds me that life is a continuous effort to build something beautiful, something meaningful, something that has staying power...and that, despite your best efforts, sometimes it's all going to come crashing down.
You can then look at the rubble strewn about and choose to leave it where it lies or, you can choose to try a new design - one that might be stronger and better balanced, that you can enjoy for a longer time...before the next "sh*t hawk" flaps by to wreck your carefully constructed masterpiece.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
The inukshuks my husband builds last much longer than my efforts do; he's gifted in construction and knowing what makes a solid foundation. I can get height in my structures, but not stability. Sometimes my inukshuks tumble before I've even climbed the stairs back up to the cottage to view my handiwork from the deck.
This ever-changing piles of stones reminds me that life is a continuous effort to build something beautiful, something meaningful, something that has staying power...and that, despite your best efforts, sometimes it's all going to come crashing down.
You can then look at the rubble strewn about and choose to leave it where it lies or, you can choose to try a new design - one that might be stronger and better balanced, that you can enjoy for a longer time...before the next "sh*t hawk" flaps by to wreck your carefully constructed masterpiece.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The Irritability Factor
No one would call me a patient person. I have a capacity for being somewhat "long suffering", but that doesn't mean I'm not impatient the entire time. Both my husband and I share a bias for action, and not only want to get things done, but get them done well and get them done fast. Having this orientation means we're disappointed a lot and have to dig deep to the find patience necessary to make it through challenging situations.
For me, the torments of menopause have combined and magnified impatience with another word that starts with "i" - irritability. Whereas I used to get severely irritable once a month for a few days with PMS, with menopause it was like I had PMS the whole damn month. (I am using the past tense of "it was like I had PMS" because the natural-source thyroid hormone I started almost three weeks ago seems to be helping - fingers crossed.)
The "I Factor" (which is what I call my irritability) kind of crept up on me and my husband. I didn't realize how pronounced it was getting until our best friends, B. & S., came to spend a week with us in Mexico last winter. They were really diplomatic and supportive about the changes they were noticing, but they did let us know we weren't our usual selves.
Now, no one would expect us to be stress-free considering what had been going on in our lives for the past two years (a serious range of issues and adversity which I've detailed in other blog posts), but it was a good wake-up call to realize we were allowing the circumstances to change who we are and how we are. Of course, I didn't develop this insight all at once...it only started to hit home after what I call "The Great Maui Jim Meltdown - Part One".
We'd had a lovely afternoon and evening in the beachtown of San Pancho, Nayarit, Mexico (north of Puerto Vallarta). After four previous, failed attempts to have dinner at this Conde Nast-recommended restaurant "Mar Plata", we finally got in for dinner there with B. & S. The challenge has been that San Pancho is in a different time zone - an hour behind Puerto Vallarta - and we had always happened by too early to get in for dinner or even make a reservation. But, I had been determined to eat there, and persistence and some planning finally paid off.
We came up from the beach in time for our reservation, dusted the sand off our feet and put everything in the rental car that we wouldn't need to take into the restaurant. The sun was already setting so I left my new $300.00 "Maui Jim" brand sunglasses on the back seat. We locked the car and headed upstairs to the restaurant with great anticipation.
Mar Plata ("Silver Sea") is mostly open-air and has a lovely and unusual retro-nautical-inspired decor. The back walls are clad in the distressed metal from old ships, the ceiling is hung with myriad "estrellas" (star lights), and there is bold art and metal sculptures everywhere.
We were seated at a table for four that was made out of a weathered old door - the dips and recesses of the distressed panelling meant you had to be careful putting down your wine glass! The menu was oriented towards fine cuts of beef done a variety of ways with French inspired sauces, "frites" and side dishes of deliciously seasoned vegetables. It was well worth my continuous efforts to dine there.
Back into the rental car after dinner, with S. taking the wheel (as she was pregnant and not drinking we had a built-in designated driver). This meant my husband was getting into the back seat with me - in the pitch dark, and plunking himself down right on top of my fragile Maui Jim sunglasses that I totally forgotten I'd left on the seat.
He pulled them out from under his bottom and handed them to me. I l-o-s-t it. They were wrecked - not outright broken, but the frame was dislodged, bent, wonky and they no longer sat right on my nose/face. Three hundred dollars down the drain and 8 more weeks in Mexico ahead of me with no decent, polarized sunglasses to wear (and it's very hard to buy quality sunglasses down there.)
I (and my "I Factor") quickly ruined a fabulous dinner and evening by letting loose a searing rage of swearing (mostly starting with the "f" word) that put everyone into stunned silence. I knew it was over-the-top, but I couldn't stop myself. I wasn't swearing right at my husband, but he felt pretty implicated seeing as how the devastation of my pricey sunglasses was wrought by his buttocks! He has quite a track record dating back to 2005 of losing and/or continuously breaking his own expensive sunglasses, but this was the first time he'd been inadvertently involved in wrecking a pair of mine. I finally shut my mouth and silently pouted for the 40 minute drive back to our condo. B. and S. kindly made light of my breakdown and let it blow over. I think I sort of apologized for it the next day, and we moved on with our vacation - which was great.
The sunglass gods were kind to me because, just a couple of weeks later, we went to the 2010 Latin American Boat Show at the Riviera Marina Nayarit and there was a Maui Jim sunglasses booth! I got myself a brand new pair of Maui Jim's and all was forgotten (or so I thought).
Then, just last week, there was "The Great Maui Jim Meltdown - Part Two" at Moonshine Cove here on Mudge Island. My husband was trying to re-position our boat at the dock, by himself, with his 5 month old Maui Jim sunglasses hanging on the cord around his neck. He somehow got wedged around a barnacle-encrusted pile-on (pillar) and the sunglasses were completely crushed between his chest and the pile-on. I was just coming down the gangway to the dock with stuff to load onto the boat and witnessed an Oscar-worthy rendition of my own reaction from February - a stream of the "f" word uttered at the top of his lungs in complete and utter frustration and rage. Expensive sunglass destruction reaction deja vu.
I was totally sympathetic and just stood there slightly smiling, totally calm and understanding in the face of his upset - I had BEEN there and knew only too well how he felt. I'm also on thyroid meds now which is supposed to help with irritability. Must be working. And, I admit I was also thinking "Yay, it isn't just me who goes off her nut when her expensive sunglasses get broken!" I'm just glad B. & S. weren't around for this display though!
There's really nothing helpful you can say or do...except one thing - which is what I did when I got back to the city. I bought him a replacement pair of Maui Jim's and brought them when I came back to Mudge this weekend. We'll see how long they last.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
For me, the torments of menopause have combined and magnified impatience with another word that starts with "i" - irritability. Whereas I used to get severely irritable once a month for a few days with PMS, with menopause it was like I had PMS the whole damn month. (I am using the past tense of "it was like I had PMS" because the natural-source thyroid hormone I started almost three weeks ago seems to be helping - fingers crossed.)
The "I Factor" (which is what I call my irritability) kind of crept up on me and my husband. I didn't realize how pronounced it was getting until our best friends, B. & S., came to spend a week with us in Mexico last winter. They were really diplomatic and supportive about the changes they were noticing, but they did let us know we weren't our usual selves.
Now, no one would expect us to be stress-free considering what had been going on in our lives for the past two years (a serious range of issues and adversity which I've detailed in other blog posts), but it was a good wake-up call to realize we were allowing the circumstances to change who we are and how we are. Of course, I didn't develop this insight all at once...it only started to hit home after what I call "The Great Maui Jim Meltdown - Part One".
We'd had a lovely afternoon and evening in the beachtown of San Pancho, Nayarit, Mexico (north of Puerto Vallarta). After four previous, failed attempts to have dinner at this Conde Nast-recommended restaurant "Mar Plata", we finally got in for dinner there with B. & S. The challenge has been that San Pancho is in a different time zone - an hour behind Puerto Vallarta - and we had always happened by too early to get in for dinner or even make a reservation. But, I had been determined to eat there, and persistence and some planning finally paid off.
We came up from the beach in time for our reservation, dusted the sand off our feet and put everything in the rental car that we wouldn't need to take into the restaurant. The sun was already setting so I left my new $300.00 "Maui Jim" brand sunglasses on the back seat. We locked the car and headed upstairs to the restaurant with great anticipation.
Mar Plata ("Silver Sea") is mostly open-air and has a lovely and unusual retro-nautical-inspired decor. The back walls are clad in the distressed metal from old ships, the ceiling is hung with myriad "estrellas" (star lights), and there is bold art and metal sculptures everywhere.
We were seated at a table for four that was made out of a weathered old door - the dips and recesses of the distressed panelling meant you had to be careful putting down your wine glass! The menu was oriented towards fine cuts of beef done a variety of ways with French inspired sauces, "frites" and side dishes of deliciously seasoned vegetables. It was well worth my continuous efforts to dine there.
Back into the rental car after dinner, with S. taking the wheel (as she was pregnant and not drinking we had a built-in designated driver). This meant my husband was getting into the back seat with me - in the pitch dark, and plunking himself down right on top of my fragile Maui Jim sunglasses that I totally forgotten I'd left on the seat.
He pulled them out from under his bottom and handed them to me. I l-o-s-t it. They were wrecked - not outright broken, but the frame was dislodged, bent, wonky and they no longer sat right on my nose/face. Three hundred dollars down the drain and 8 more weeks in Mexico ahead of me with no decent, polarized sunglasses to wear (and it's very hard to buy quality sunglasses down there.)
I (and my "I Factor") quickly ruined a fabulous dinner and evening by letting loose a searing rage of swearing (mostly starting with the "f" word) that put everyone into stunned silence. I knew it was over-the-top, but I couldn't stop myself. I wasn't swearing right at my husband, but he felt pretty implicated seeing as how the devastation of my pricey sunglasses was wrought by his buttocks! He has quite a track record dating back to 2005 of losing and/or continuously breaking his own expensive sunglasses, but this was the first time he'd been inadvertently involved in wrecking a pair of mine. I finally shut my mouth and silently pouted for the 40 minute drive back to our condo. B. and S. kindly made light of my breakdown and let it blow over. I think I sort of apologized for it the next day, and we moved on with our vacation - which was great.
The sunglass gods were kind to me because, just a couple of weeks later, we went to the 2010 Latin American Boat Show at the Riviera Marina Nayarit and there was a Maui Jim sunglasses booth! I got myself a brand new pair of Maui Jim's and all was forgotten (or so I thought).
Then, just last week, there was "The Great Maui Jim Meltdown - Part Two" at Moonshine Cove here on Mudge Island. My husband was trying to re-position our boat at the dock, by himself, with his 5 month old Maui Jim sunglasses hanging on the cord around his neck. He somehow got wedged around a barnacle-encrusted pile-on (pillar) and the sunglasses were completely crushed between his chest and the pile-on. I was just coming down the gangway to the dock with stuff to load onto the boat and witnessed an Oscar-worthy rendition of my own reaction from February - a stream of the "f" word uttered at the top of his lungs in complete and utter frustration and rage. Expensive sunglass destruction reaction deja vu.
I was totally sympathetic and just stood there slightly smiling, totally calm and understanding in the face of his upset - I had BEEN there and knew only too well how he felt. I'm also on thyroid meds now which is supposed to help with irritability. Must be working. And, I admit I was also thinking "Yay, it isn't just me who goes off her nut when her expensive sunglasses get broken!" I'm just glad B. & S. weren't around for this display though!
There's really nothing helpful you can say or do...except one thing - which is what I did when I got back to the city. I bought him a replacement pair of Maui Jim's and brought them when I came back to Mudge this weekend. We'll see how long they last.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Friday, July 16, 2010
Gratuitous Blogging
It's Friday. I have nothing of any importance or insight to share on my blog so, that means this is what I'd call a totally "gratuitous" blog post. And, since I'm indulging me, I may as well indulge you, too!
I took the photo below in March at a polo game in Mexico. Not an hour before, I had wiped out on a concrete curb and totally skinned my upper left thigh. It was n-a-s-t-y, bled and hurt like the dickens, but I stayed for dinner and the polo match. "Antonio Banderas" on a polo pony was my distraction from the searing pain in my lower butt.
It wasn't just me, or the two back-to-back double vodka martinis I swallowed in lieu of painkillers. At intermission (or whatever they call a pause in the series of polo matches) all the women in the ladies' room were discussing this guy!
Seems we all had loving and secure husbands who didn't mind our noticing this player; after all, in Mexico they get all day by the pool or beach to look at attractive women in bathing suits - fair's fair.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I took the photo below in March at a polo game in Mexico. Not an hour before, I had wiped out on a concrete curb and totally skinned my upper left thigh. It was n-a-s-t-y, bled and hurt like the dickens, but I stayed for dinner and the polo match. "Antonio Banderas" on a polo pony was my distraction from the searing pain in my lower butt.
It wasn't just me, or the two back-to-back double vodka martinis I swallowed in lieu of painkillers. At intermission (or whatever they call a pause in the series of polo matches) all the women in the ladies' room were discussing this guy!
Seems we all had loving and secure husbands who didn't mind our noticing this player; after all, in Mexico they get all day by the pool or beach to look at attractive women in bathing suits - fair's fair.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Java's Got A Hold On Me
I never liked coffee until I turned 40. I didn't even own a coffee maker. I think it had a lot to do with the fact my parents only ever drank instant coffee made from those horrid crystals, and I found nothing appealing about the swill it was my job to make and serve them each evening after dinner. It was made even more unpalatable with the addition of the powdered skim milk which they both added to their cups.
But about the time I turned 40, I landed a job where my office was right next to the coffee room and someone brewed the most delicious-smelling coffee there every morning. I threw some money in the coffee collection can and gave it a try. It was as good as the aroma and I've been drinking coffee ever since.
I've learned it's probably no coincidence that coffee started smelling good to me right around the time my hormones took the long dive into peri-menopause. When our adrenal gland starts to flag or fail, we can crave caffeine which essentially "kicks" the already exhausted gland further (which is about as smart and effective as flogging a dead horse).
So, I try to be responsible and mindful about my coffee consumption, knowing full well it is probably interfering with my other goals (like restoring my adrenal function, losing 20 lbs and sorting out my insulin resistance issues etc.). But I have already given up all alcohol and eliminated all simple/refined carbs from my diet; I'm just not ready or able to give up my cuppa joe.
I make a good cup of coffee - well, to my way of thinking and tasting. People who come to visit us in Mexico, or at our cottage, usually ask what our coffee is and where they can get it. It's a two part process, and the second part is the key.
For the past couple of winters we've been spending a lot of time in Mexico as we bought a small condo outside of Puerto Vallarta. Mexico is a coffee producing country, but finding good coffee in the local supermarket there is almost impossible. So, I stock up and bring coffee with me from Canada.
My favourite is an Italian brand--Lavazza Crema e Gusto --that comes in little 1/4 lb bricks of ground coffee that are really easy to pack. Once in Mexico, for the second part of my process, I buy packages of "Coffee De Olla" which is a ground coffee flavoured with raw cane sugar and spices like cinnamon. I add just one scoop of Coffee de Olla to my Lavazza and magic happens. It adds a deeper, richer, most delicious dimension. Add some Xylitol (a "safe" natural sweetener that I bring from Canada) and cream, and it's a great start to any day.
I brought two packages of Coffee de Olla home with me from Mexico in April - one for home and one for the cottage - and both are almost gone. I am now looking at a long stretch of no "C de O" until December when we head south again.
Oh well, it will make me appreciate it all the more when I get up that first sunny morning and brew a pot of my "Mexican coffee" to drink on the deck looking out at the palm trees and ocean.
Todo bien. (it's all good.)
But about the time I turned 40, I landed a job where my office was right next to the coffee room and someone brewed the most delicious-smelling coffee there every morning. I threw some money in the coffee collection can and gave it a try. It was as good as the aroma and I've been drinking coffee ever since.
I've learned it's probably no coincidence that coffee started smelling good to me right around the time my hormones took the long dive into peri-menopause. When our adrenal gland starts to flag or fail, we can crave caffeine which essentially "kicks" the already exhausted gland further (which is about as smart and effective as flogging a dead horse).
So, I try to be responsible and mindful about my coffee consumption, knowing full well it is probably interfering with my other goals (like restoring my adrenal function, losing 20 lbs and sorting out my insulin resistance issues etc.). But I have already given up all alcohol and eliminated all simple/refined carbs from my diet; I'm just not ready or able to give up my cuppa joe.
I make a good cup of coffee - well, to my way of thinking and tasting. People who come to visit us in Mexico, or at our cottage, usually ask what our coffee is and where they can get it. It's a two part process, and the second part is the key.
For the past couple of winters we've been spending a lot of time in Mexico as we bought a small condo outside of Puerto Vallarta. Mexico is a coffee producing country, but finding good coffee in the local supermarket there is almost impossible. So, I stock up and bring coffee with me from Canada.
My favourite is an Italian brand--Lavazza Crema e Gusto --that comes in little 1/4 lb bricks of ground coffee that are really easy to pack. Once in Mexico, for the second part of my process, I buy packages of "Coffee De Olla" which is a ground coffee flavoured with raw cane sugar and spices like cinnamon. I add just one scoop of Coffee de Olla to my Lavazza and magic happens. It adds a deeper, richer, most delicious dimension. Add some Xylitol (a "safe" natural sweetener that I bring from Canada) and cream, and it's a great start to any day.
I brought two packages of Coffee de Olla home with me from Mexico in April - one for home and one for the cottage - and both are almost gone. I am now looking at a long stretch of no "C de O" until December when we head south again.
Oh well, it will make me appreciate it all the more when I get up that first sunny morning and brew a pot of my "Mexican coffee" to drink on the deck looking out at the palm trees and ocean.
Todo bien. (it's all good.)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
A Random Act of Generosity
Summer took its time arriving on the Canadian West Coast this year, and it's still looking a bit iffy. All the more reason, when we do get some sunshine and warmth, to drop everything jump in the boat and get out on the water!
We had a flotilla of three boats out yesterday with a large group composed of bona fide "Mudgekins" (which is what us folks with places on little Mudge Island call ourselves) plus some brand new acquaintances (who were weekend visitors of one of the Mudgekins).
We were actually multi-tasking out there on the bounding main - socializing, dropping crab traps in the hope of catching dinner, visiting the famous Dinghy Dock Pub on Protection Island (near Nanaimo), and eventually getting the visitors to the floatplane terminal to catch their flight home to the big city.
With the crab traps dropped, we headed over to the pirate-themed Dinghy Dock Pub and took over a large table. Delicious food, refreshing drinks and conviviality ensued and, all too soon, it was time for the visitors to depart. One of the boat captains took the visitors over to the floatplane and then rejoined the rest of us who had stayed on at the Dinghy Dock Pub.
It was finally time to leave and check the crab traps; we called for the bill and were told it had been taken care of by the visiting guests of one of the Mudgekins! Unbelievable - the visitors had picked up a pretty enormous tab of a bunch of virtual strangers (did I mention we all like our grub and grog?!). We were just knocked out by their random act of kindness and were chagrined not to have realized at the time what they had done and been able to thank them in person.
I have connected with them by e-mail, but that didn't seem like enough, so this is my blog "shout out" to the kind folks who gave us all such an unexpected treat that was thoroughly appreciated!
We were further rewarded by Mother Nature (King Neptune?) as the crab traps were full and we each caught our limit of full size, male "keepers" which we brought home and communally boiled up.
Our generous new friends are welcome back any time, and we promise them a "crab fest" when they do return!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Sunday, July 11, 2010
An (Educational) Menopause Rant!
I haven't been a member of Vibrant Nation all that long, but I have been shocked and distressed to read how many of us are suffering serious, adverse symptoms in menopause and how much confusion and misinformation is out there about the topic.
I love reading and learning about many things, but especially medical stuff (if I had my life to live over I would have applied myself more in the sciences and maybe become a doctor). That said, of course I am NOT a doctor, but I have worked very hard at learning and putting together the menopause puzzle pieces, so I have information and resources to share that may help other women.
I find it disheartening that the women who feel they "sailed through menopause" seem to judge those of us who are suffering. This blog post is NOT for the women who have not been there and who do not get it. If you have not suffered the more severe symptoms associated with hormone decline and imbalance, do me and the other sufferers a favour and don't join the conversation thread simply to tell us how it was no big deal for you, and you can't understand why the rest of us whiners can't seem to tough it out without supplements. Thank you in advance for refraining.
For those of you are are suffering daily with distressing symptoms that are reducing your quality and enjoyment of life, you need to do some serious homework - now.
I have read more than a couple of dozen books on the subject and think the best one by far is Suzanne Somers' book Breakthrough. Yes, I know she was "Chrissy Snow" on the TV sitcom "Three's Company" and a Las Vegas performer for many years, and that she pushes things like the "ThighMaster" and "FaceMaster," but don't let that fool you.
This woman has devoted herself to getting access to the most leading edge medical minds in the area of healthy aging and dealing with menopause etc. and she captures and explains everything they have to say in her books. (She also wrote The Sexy Years and Ageless which are excellent, but if you only have the time or inclination to read just ONE book on this topic - choose Breakthrough - it will empower you with knowledge like you cannot imagine).
Another warning, if you read Breakthrough, you will likely know much more than your doctor about the endocrine system, the "hormone cascade" in your body, exactly what a synthetic hormone is and why they are dangerous, and what a "bio-identical" hormone is and why they are not dangerous.
If your doctor is like most of the ones I have dealt with, he/she will be threatened by your newfound knowledge/insight and will attempt to put you in your place. You may get admonished about the dangers of gleaning medical information from a mainstream bestseller versus a medical textbook, or told to stop looking up things on the internet. You may get snidely told by your doctor that he/she is the one with the initials "M.D." after their name, not you.
All these things have been said to me and more. Don't fight with these sorts of "god-complex" doctors - they are not going to change. Try to find a new, more open-minded and up-to-date doctor if you can.
Be aware that most medical schools provide only about 4 hours of training on the endocrine system (the basic building block of hormones). And for most doctors, that 4 hours of med school training was m-a-n-y years ago. And, I believe most doctors are still men and so can't have a CLUE about what menopause is like.
Most of doctors' ongoing medical education is by "drug reps" (pharmaceutical salespeople) who give them literature on new drugs and free samples to give to their patients. And medical education conferences are mostly sponsored by and dominated by big drug companies - meaning the ones that make and sell synthetic drugs on which they hold patents (which is what enables their monopoly and big profits).
You cannot get a patent (monopoly) on a naturally occuring substance (i.e., a bio-identical) therefore there are not the profits to be made like with synthetic drugs, hence the big drug companies and the people they fund discredit bio-identicals every chance they get.
"Breakthrough" will also open your eyes and educate you about cholesterol and statin drugs ("statins" are the cholesterol lowering drugs - they are actually dreadful for us and are likely contributing to and responsible for the huge increases we're seeing in decreased brain functioning, memory problems and even dementias). Statin drug sales are currently about $12 billion annually, I have heard. What a cash cow!
You will also learn about additives in our food (designed to make it taste better so we'll buy/eat more) called "glutamates" (there's much more than just MSG to avoid) - these are "excitotoxins" that actually kill the neurons in brain cells! And they are added to most of our processed foods under innocent sounding names such as "spices" or "yeast protein". The glutamate industry actually has a lobbying presence in Washington, DC!
Okay, I digressed, back to menopause. I believe many Boomer women are having a harder time with menopause than past generations because the pressures and stress of modern life actually burn us out and deplete our hormones before we reach our 50's.
For those of us who took birth control pills - the bad news is those are synthetic hormones we were on. My current doctor tells me that she sees much worse menopause symptoms in women who took birth control pills when they were younger.
Add in our poisoned environment filled with toxins and pesticides, our meats, poultry and dairy is all now laden with synthetic hormones that enter our bodies when we eat them, and all the products we use in our lives that contain preservatives called "parabens" that are endocrine system "disruptors" (almost all personal grooming products - shampoo, conditioner, cleansers, cosmetics, and body lotions etc. contain one to three types of parabens). Each product is deemed "safe" in its individual level of parabens, but what the federal safety testing agencies do not take into account is the cumulative effects of using 10-20+ such products per day! In the morning when getting ready, I have counted putting 16 different things on my body that all contain parabens (these mainly mess with estrogen levels).
I learned about all this stuff, and much more, from reading Breakthrough. Get it. Read it. Do something proactive with the information you learn. It will improve, or even save, your life.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I love reading and learning about many things, but especially medical stuff (if I had my life to live over I would have applied myself more in the sciences and maybe become a doctor). That said, of course I am NOT a doctor, but I have worked very hard at learning and putting together the menopause puzzle pieces, so I have information and resources to share that may help other women.
I find it disheartening that the women who feel they "sailed through menopause" seem to judge those of us who are suffering. This blog post is NOT for the women who have not been there and who do not get it. If you have not suffered the more severe symptoms associated with hormone decline and imbalance, do me and the other sufferers a favour and don't join the conversation thread simply to tell us how it was no big deal for you, and you can't understand why the rest of us whiners can't seem to tough it out without supplements. Thank you in advance for refraining.
For those of you are are suffering daily with distressing symptoms that are reducing your quality and enjoyment of life, you need to do some serious homework - now.
I have read more than a couple of dozen books on the subject and think the best one by far is Suzanne Somers' book Breakthrough. Yes, I know she was "Chrissy Snow" on the TV sitcom "Three's Company" and a Las Vegas performer for many years, and that she pushes things like the "ThighMaster" and "FaceMaster," but don't let that fool you.
This woman has devoted herself to getting access to the most leading edge medical minds in the area of healthy aging and dealing with menopause etc. and she captures and explains everything they have to say in her books. (She also wrote The Sexy Years and Ageless which are excellent, but if you only have the time or inclination to read just ONE book on this topic - choose Breakthrough - it will empower you with knowledge like you cannot imagine).
Another warning, if you read Breakthrough, you will likely know much more than your doctor about the endocrine system, the "hormone cascade" in your body, exactly what a synthetic hormone is and why they are dangerous, and what a "bio-identical" hormone is and why they are not dangerous.
If your doctor is like most of the ones I have dealt with, he/she will be threatened by your newfound knowledge/insight and will attempt to put you in your place. You may get admonished about the dangers of gleaning medical information from a mainstream bestseller versus a medical textbook, or told to stop looking up things on the internet. You may get snidely told by your doctor that he/she is the one with the initials "M.D." after their name, not you.
All these things have been said to me and more. Don't fight with these sorts of "god-complex" doctors - they are not going to change. Try to find a new, more open-minded and up-to-date doctor if you can.
Be aware that most medical schools provide only about 4 hours of training on the endocrine system (the basic building block of hormones). And for most doctors, that 4 hours of med school training was m-a-n-y years ago. And, I believe most doctors are still men and so can't have a CLUE about what menopause is like.
Most of doctors' ongoing medical education is by "drug reps" (pharmaceutical salespeople) who give them literature on new drugs and free samples to give to their patients. And medical education conferences are mostly sponsored by and dominated by big drug companies - meaning the ones that make and sell synthetic drugs on which they hold patents (which is what enables their monopoly and big profits).
You cannot get a patent (monopoly) on a naturally occuring substance (i.e., a bio-identical) therefore there are not the profits to be made like with synthetic drugs, hence the big drug companies and the people they fund discredit bio-identicals every chance they get.
"Breakthrough" will also open your eyes and educate you about cholesterol and statin drugs ("statins" are the cholesterol lowering drugs - they are actually dreadful for us and are likely contributing to and responsible for the huge increases we're seeing in decreased brain functioning, memory problems and even dementias). Statin drug sales are currently about $12 billion annually, I have heard. What a cash cow!
You will also learn about additives in our food (designed to make it taste better so we'll buy/eat more) called "glutamates" (there's much more than just MSG to avoid) - these are "excitotoxins" that actually kill the neurons in brain cells! And they are added to most of our processed foods under innocent sounding names such as "spices" or "yeast protein". The glutamate industry actually has a lobbying presence in Washington, DC!
Okay, I digressed, back to menopause. I believe many Boomer women are having a harder time with menopause than past generations because the pressures and stress of modern life actually burn us out and deplete our hormones before we reach our 50's.
For those of us who took birth control pills - the bad news is those are synthetic hormones we were on. My current doctor tells me that she sees much worse menopause symptoms in women who took birth control pills when they were younger.
Add in our poisoned environment filled with toxins and pesticides, our meats, poultry and dairy is all now laden with synthetic hormones that enter our bodies when we eat them, and all the products we use in our lives that contain preservatives called "parabens" that are endocrine system "disruptors" (almost all personal grooming products - shampoo, conditioner, cleansers, cosmetics, and body lotions etc. contain one to three types of parabens). Each product is deemed "safe" in its individual level of parabens, but what the federal safety testing agencies do not take into account is the cumulative effects of using 10-20+ such products per day! In the morning when getting ready, I have counted putting 16 different things on my body that all contain parabens (these mainly mess with estrogen levels).
I learned about all this stuff, and much more, from reading Breakthrough. Get it. Read it. Do something proactive with the information you learn. It will improve, or even save, your life.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Once Upon a Time in Rome
In my spring 1979 semester at university, I took an art history course on "Roman Art and Archeology" that was a revelation to me. I was fascinated and intrigued by the subject and enjoyed talking about everything I was learning.
Roman art and history made for safe dinner table conversation when I had to visit my parents. I had moved out of their home soon after my 19th birthday, despite my father's desperate pleas to stay and "continue to be a buffer" between him and my mother. They had a long history of emotional ups-and-downs and often engaged in horrific, raging, dirty fights that could last for two to three days before they lapsed into hostile silence. Peace in their house only meant things were simply simmering under the surface and could boil over at any moment, scalding anyone in proximity. I had escaped from their self-made hell as soon as I could.
Their fights were all about power and control, although they had no clue that their continual rows over infidelity, money and decision-making were about each of them trying to assert and maintain dominance over the other.
Any expenditure of money, no matter whether large or small, was cause for an ugly fight filled with name-calling. They rarely agreed on anything. They were both very cheap, but my mother was the worst. She seemed to live to deny my father, and us her kids, anything we seemed to desire.
Their loggerheads over spending money was probably what was behind our family driving the same ancient cars for about twenty years. Pretty much my whole life growing up we had the same cars - a 1958 Hillman and a 1962 Valiant. The Hillman was a total rust bucket - you could actually see the road going by through the rust holes in the floor under your feet! They had finally upgraded to a VW Rabbit, but I knew my father harboured aspirations beyond an economy car. My mother maintained her firm stance that "cars are for going from A to B and not for ego trips."
Divorce was threatened often on both sides but, when you came right down to it, they stayed together because neither of them wanted to give the other half of the money, home and household possessions they had accumulated. They stayed together, choosing emotional misery and keeping their assets intact over the alternative.
I was an unwitting pawn in one of their marital games in the spring of 1979. I had come over for a visit after one of my classes and I had my art history books with me. My mother expressed some interest; coming from a family of antique auctioneers, she fancied herself something of a connoissuer of fine arts and antiquities. I started showing her the many photographs in my textbooks and explaining the incredible stories behind the sculptures, frescoes, friezes and architecture of Rome and ancient Italy.
My mother got very animated and, with a glint in her eye, looked over at my father (who was sheltering behind his newspaper as usual) announced out of the blue "I'm taking Lisa to Italy." Say w-h-a-a-a-a-t?? We're going w-h-e-r-e?
My mother's mind was made up and before I knew it, dates were selected and travel was booked for a three week sojourn in Rome in May 1979. My father was less than impressed, but didn't say much.
This was really out of character for my mom, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. My mother was not a generous person, in fact, she was a total skinflint. But, at age 20, I didn't think about her motivations - all I knew was that I was going to Rome and would soon be seeing everything from my textbooks in three dimensions!
We arrived in Rome exhausted and jetlagged after 24 hours of travel. A friend of a friend of mom's had booked us accommodation in a pensione in the Trastevere section of the city. It was awful - gloomy, dank and smelly but we collapsed and slept for 12 hours before going out to explore.
I completely fell in love with Rome. I quickly became convinced I had been an ancient Roman in a past life because I didn't even need a map to find my way around the city. I had this eerie sixth sense and actually knew which monuments and historic artifacts would be around every corner. I was also a fantastic tour guide (back then) as I knew the history and interpreted the meaning of every significant site we visited - no guidebooks required.
None of this made any difference to my mother, who vehemently decided she HATED Rome and Italy with an all-consuming passion, and that we were going home after just two days in the country! After picking my jaw up off the floor, I argued as hard as I could for logic and rationality - to no avail. Her mind was made up and we were leaving first thing the next morning.
We were up at dawn, packed and in a taxi to the airport by day three of our sojourn. I was confused, miserable and not speaking to my mother. Disembarking from the taxi, I encountered a gorgeous Italian man getting out of his sporty silver Citroen. He flashed me a brilliant smile and said hello in English. I told him I really liked his car. He looked at the "Departures" sign then back at me and said "If you stay, perhaps I will let you drive it" in a way that gave me wonderful goosebumps and put an even darker stormcloud on my mother's face. She grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the terminal entrance. I looked back at Senor Citroen who gave me a wistful smile and shrugged his beautifully clad shoulders. My mother hissed "He's not interested in you, don't get any ideas!"
I parked myself in a chair in the general lounge area while my mother frantically did the rounds of all the airline offices at the airport trying to book us seats on a flight back to Canada. But it was a Sunday and they were all closed. After a couple of hours of fruitless efforts knocking on doors and trying to phone the airlines, it became clear to my mother that we weren't leaving today. Beyond that, something shifted in her outlook and her demeanor somewhat softened. She was willing to give Rome another chance, but not at the Trastevere pensione. We'd spend the day looking for more central accommodation in a "better" part of the city. Fine by me!
Back into a taxi (alas, Senor Citroen was long gone) and off to the heart of Rome. We found a modest, but lovely, little hotel just a block away from the Spanish Steps on the Via Condotti. I gave thanks to the panolpy of Roman gods for saving my trip. Those thanks were offered a bit too soon.
The day-shift front desk clerk at our new hotel was a tall, dark and handsome Italian fellow, a few years younger than my 46 year old mother. She started talking a lot about him and nicknamed him "Hadrian" after one of the Roman emperors. Hadrian had lived in Canada for a bit and spoken English well enough to start flirting with my mom. I thought it was creepy, but harmless. Then he asked her out on a date and she said yes!
At the time, the English newspapers in Rome were full of stories trumpeting the dangers lurking for foreign girls travelling in the area. Apparently there had been some abductions of American girls who were taken out to the countryside, raped, beaten and left in the middle of nowhere. My mother became convinced this would happen to me if I was out of her sight or left unattended. Her dilemma was how to go out on a dates with Hadrian and still ensure my safety (imprisonment!) while she wasn't around.
For the better part of two weeks, after she started running around with Hadrian, my life entailed touring around the city with her during the day, but wrapping up our outings by 5:30 when Hadrian got off shift. This meant eating dinner at 4:30 pm - no small feat in a culinary and nightlife capital where dining starts at 9:00 or 10:00 pm! But I was stuck daily with the equivalent of the "seniors' early bird special" so that my mom could have her assignations.
It was a surreal experience watching my mother get ready for dates with another man. She giggled and primped and asked my opinion on various outfits. I morosely lay on my bed with my only book and engaged with her as little as possible. She didn't notice. Because of the completely overblown risk of abduction and rape, I was expressly forbidden to leave the hotel room and, as there was no TV, all I could do was read, or look out the window, and go to sleep early. I've probably never been better rested on a vacation. I think I complied with her ridiculous edict because she had succeeded in spooking me a bit with the rape stories.
My mother would creep in very late (like 2:00 and 3:00 a.m.) and I would pretend to be asleep. I knew she must be sleeping with Hadrian and I wondered how she could justify such actions, especially with me as a witness to her inappropriate escapades. I was so happy I did not live at home any more. My father was no angel in their marriage, but I felt pretty sorry for him at the time.
The holiday finally ended and I spent over 18 hours travelling home with my mother weeping and clutching a cassette tape of some music Hadrian had recorded for her. Oh my god, a "mix tape" from her Italian lover! Unbelievable. I smirked - how was she going to listen to it? My parents didn't own a cassette player; their old hi-fi just had reel-to-reel tape capability. And neither of their cars had a cassette tape deck. That tape was going to remain a mystery.
I thought she was really out of her mind when she started wondering aloud to me if she could convince my father to help her sponsor Hadrian to emigrate to Canada! It didn't seem like she was even going to attempt to hide her shenanigans. I could not imagine how my father was going to react to the tear-stained, love-lorn version of his wife that would be stepping off the plane.
We picked up our baggage and reunited with my dad. Everything seemed under control. He walked us out to the parking lot and my mother asked "Where's the car?", looking around for the robin's egg blue VW Rabbit. My father put our bags down next to a brand new, smokey grey Audi 5000S that he had obviously bought during our absence, when my mother could not stop him. Automobile infidelity met romantic infidelity - if this had been a chess game, it would have been "check"! A stalemate (pun intended).
I could tell my mother wanted to sputter and unleash on him about this unauthorized, enormous expenditure but, as self-rigtheous as she could be, even she knew she was on thin ice, especially with me right there.
We got into my dad's beautiful new wheels and my mom looked around taking it all in. Then her face lit up. She dug in her bag, extracted her Italian mix-tape and plugged it in to the Audi's stereo system with smug aplomb - her version of "checkmate".
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Roman art and history made for safe dinner table conversation when I had to visit my parents. I had moved out of their home soon after my 19th birthday, despite my father's desperate pleas to stay and "continue to be a buffer" between him and my mother. They had a long history of emotional ups-and-downs and often engaged in horrific, raging, dirty fights that could last for two to three days before they lapsed into hostile silence. Peace in their house only meant things were simply simmering under the surface and could boil over at any moment, scalding anyone in proximity. I had escaped from their self-made hell as soon as I could.
Their fights were all about power and control, although they had no clue that their continual rows over infidelity, money and decision-making were about each of them trying to assert and maintain dominance over the other.
Any expenditure of money, no matter whether large or small, was cause for an ugly fight filled with name-calling. They rarely agreed on anything. They were both very cheap, but my mother was the worst. She seemed to live to deny my father, and us her kids, anything we seemed to desire.
Their loggerheads over spending money was probably what was behind our family driving the same ancient cars for about twenty years. Pretty much my whole life growing up we had the same cars - a 1958 Hillman and a 1962 Valiant. The Hillman was a total rust bucket - you could actually see the road going by through the rust holes in the floor under your feet! They had finally upgraded to a VW Rabbit, but I knew my father harboured aspirations beyond an economy car. My mother maintained her firm stance that "cars are for going from A to B and not for ego trips."
Divorce was threatened often on both sides but, when you came right down to it, they stayed together because neither of them wanted to give the other half of the money, home and household possessions they had accumulated. They stayed together, choosing emotional misery and keeping their assets intact over the alternative.
I was an unwitting pawn in one of their marital games in the spring of 1979. I had come over for a visit after one of my classes and I had my art history books with me. My mother expressed some interest; coming from a family of antique auctioneers, she fancied herself something of a connoissuer of fine arts and antiquities. I started showing her the many photographs in my textbooks and explaining the incredible stories behind the sculptures, frescoes, friezes and architecture of Rome and ancient Italy.
My mother got very animated and, with a glint in her eye, looked over at my father (who was sheltering behind his newspaper as usual) announced out of the blue "I'm taking Lisa to Italy." Say w-h-a-a-a-a-t?? We're going w-h-e-r-e?
My mother's mind was made up and before I knew it, dates were selected and travel was booked for a three week sojourn in Rome in May 1979. My father was less than impressed, but didn't say much.
This was really out of character for my mom, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. My mother was not a generous person, in fact, she was a total skinflint. But, at age 20, I didn't think about her motivations - all I knew was that I was going to Rome and would soon be seeing everything from my textbooks in three dimensions!
We arrived in Rome exhausted and jetlagged after 24 hours of travel. A friend of a friend of mom's had booked us accommodation in a pensione in the Trastevere section of the city. It was awful - gloomy, dank and smelly but we collapsed and slept for 12 hours before going out to explore.
I completely fell in love with Rome. I quickly became convinced I had been an ancient Roman in a past life because I didn't even need a map to find my way around the city. I had this eerie sixth sense and actually knew which monuments and historic artifacts would be around every corner. I was also a fantastic tour guide (back then) as I knew the history and interpreted the meaning of every significant site we visited - no guidebooks required.
None of this made any difference to my mother, who vehemently decided she HATED Rome and Italy with an all-consuming passion, and that we were going home after just two days in the country! After picking my jaw up off the floor, I argued as hard as I could for logic and rationality - to no avail. Her mind was made up and we were leaving first thing the next morning.
We were up at dawn, packed and in a taxi to the airport by day three of our sojourn. I was confused, miserable and not speaking to my mother. Disembarking from the taxi, I encountered a gorgeous Italian man getting out of his sporty silver Citroen. He flashed me a brilliant smile and said hello in English. I told him I really liked his car. He looked at the "Departures" sign then back at me and said "If you stay, perhaps I will let you drive it" in a way that gave me wonderful goosebumps and put an even darker stormcloud on my mother's face. She grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the terminal entrance. I looked back at Senor Citroen who gave me a wistful smile and shrugged his beautifully clad shoulders. My mother hissed "He's not interested in you, don't get any ideas!"
I parked myself in a chair in the general lounge area while my mother frantically did the rounds of all the airline offices at the airport trying to book us seats on a flight back to Canada. But it was a Sunday and they were all closed. After a couple of hours of fruitless efforts knocking on doors and trying to phone the airlines, it became clear to my mother that we weren't leaving today. Beyond that, something shifted in her outlook and her demeanor somewhat softened. She was willing to give Rome another chance, but not at the Trastevere pensione. We'd spend the day looking for more central accommodation in a "better" part of the city. Fine by me!
Back into a taxi (alas, Senor Citroen was long gone) and off to the heart of Rome. We found a modest, but lovely, little hotel just a block away from the Spanish Steps on the Via Condotti. I gave thanks to the panolpy of Roman gods for saving my trip. Those thanks were offered a bit too soon.
The day-shift front desk clerk at our new hotel was a tall, dark and handsome Italian fellow, a few years younger than my 46 year old mother. She started talking a lot about him and nicknamed him "Hadrian" after one of the Roman emperors. Hadrian had lived in Canada for a bit and spoken English well enough to start flirting with my mom. I thought it was creepy, but harmless. Then he asked her out on a date and she said yes!
At the time, the English newspapers in Rome were full of stories trumpeting the dangers lurking for foreign girls travelling in the area. Apparently there had been some abductions of American girls who were taken out to the countryside, raped, beaten and left in the middle of nowhere. My mother became convinced this would happen to me if I was out of her sight or left unattended. Her dilemma was how to go out on a dates with Hadrian and still ensure my safety (imprisonment!) while she wasn't around.
For the better part of two weeks, after she started running around with Hadrian, my life entailed touring around the city with her during the day, but wrapping up our outings by 5:30 when Hadrian got off shift. This meant eating dinner at 4:30 pm - no small feat in a culinary and nightlife capital where dining starts at 9:00 or 10:00 pm! But I was stuck daily with the equivalent of the "seniors' early bird special" so that my mom could have her assignations.
It was a surreal experience watching my mother get ready for dates with another man. She giggled and primped and asked my opinion on various outfits. I morosely lay on my bed with my only book and engaged with her as little as possible. She didn't notice. Because of the completely overblown risk of abduction and rape, I was expressly forbidden to leave the hotel room and, as there was no TV, all I could do was read, or look out the window, and go to sleep early. I've probably never been better rested on a vacation. I think I complied with her ridiculous edict because she had succeeded in spooking me a bit with the rape stories.
My mother would creep in very late (like 2:00 and 3:00 a.m.) and I would pretend to be asleep. I knew she must be sleeping with Hadrian and I wondered how she could justify such actions, especially with me as a witness to her inappropriate escapades. I was so happy I did not live at home any more. My father was no angel in their marriage, but I felt pretty sorry for him at the time.
The holiday finally ended and I spent over 18 hours travelling home with my mother weeping and clutching a cassette tape of some music Hadrian had recorded for her. Oh my god, a "mix tape" from her Italian lover! Unbelievable. I smirked - how was she going to listen to it? My parents didn't own a cassette player; their old hi-fi just had reel-to-reel tape capability. And neither of their cars had a cassette tape deck. That tape was going to remain a mystery.
I thought she was really out of her mind when she started wondering aloud to me if she could convince my father to help her sponsor Hadrian to emigrate to Canada! It didn't seem like she was even going to attempt to hide her shenanigans. I could not imagine how my father was going to react to the tear-stained, love-lorn version of his wife that would be stepping off the plane.
We picked up our baggage and reunited with my dad. Everything seemed under control. He walked us out to the parking lot and my mother asked "Where's the car?", looking around for the robin's egg blue VW Rabbit. My father put our bags down next to a brand new, smokey grey Audi 5000S that he had obviously bought during our absence, when my mother could not stop him. Automobile infidelity met romantic infidelity - if this had been a chess game, it would have been "check"! A stalemate (pun intended).
I could tell my mother wanted to sputter and unleash on him about this unauthorized, enormous expenditure but, as self-rigtheous as she could be, even she knew she was on thin ice, especially with me right there.
We got into my dad's beautiful new wheels and my mom looked around taking it all in. Then her face lit up. She dug in her bag, extracted her Italian mix-tape and plugged it in to the Audi's stereo system with smug aplomb - her version of "checkmate".
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Who Do You Pretend To Be
Those of us midlife women who experience a feeling of deep disconnection from our true selves (that we struggle to regain), I can tell you where that starts and how it happens. How you repair that disconnection will be very individual to each of you, but you're hampered in fixing it if you don't understand how it arose in the first place.
Most of us are lucky enough to be able to start off in life as fairly secure and cared for little toddlers and young kids who are open to the world and up for exploring and learning. As far as we know, there's nothing we can't do or be. Our imaginations are limitless. We have not yet developed the sense of "I'm like this, or I'm like that" or "I can do this, but I can't do that." Young kids have a "Who Am I" sense that is unbounded.
This is best illustrated in a story I read somewhere about an adult observing and comparing kids in kindergarten with kids in grades 3 and 4. When asked "Who can sing?" every kindergarten kid will stick up their hand. But just a few short years later, the same question results in only a few kids sticking up their hands because by then, they have been taught there is a distinction between "good singing" and "bad singing," and they've also gotten clear signals as to which category they belong to. Not being a "good singer" means I can't sing.
The unbounded, limitless freedom of the initial "Who Am I" explorations later gets corralled and fenced by well-meaning parents, teachers, coaches, and any other adult authority who gives you corrective feedback, that ends up in you allowing it to define who you are and what's possible for you. Because a lot of this well-meaning feedback is delivered in terms of your deficits, shortcomings and the things you need to work on (grades, athletic skills, musicality etc.), you develop a sense of "Who I'm Afraid I Am," meaning when someone feels they are lacking or not good enough in many areas in life.
You can then end up devoting your energies to addressing the aspects of who you are afraid you are. In your efforts to overcome these deficits or weaknesses (and please others in the process), you develop the next phase of disconnect which is "Who I Pretend To Be." This is why a lot of women live the majority of their adult years feeling they are faking it, or an impostor, and live in fear of being found out they are not as good as they are pretending to be. They'd love to stop the feeling of pretense but they have become very far removed from the starting point of "Who Am I".
We need to strip away those two added layers of "Who I'm Afraid I Am" and "Who I Pretend To Be" and get back to the basic question. You need to go back and figure out the true essence of "Who Am I?"
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Most of us are lucky enough to be able to start off in life as fairly secure and cared for little toddlers and young kids who are open to the world and up for exploring and learning. As far as we know, there's nothing we can't do or be. Our imaginations are limitless. We have not yet developed the sense of "I'm like this, or I'm like that" or "I can do this, but I can't do that." Young kids have a "Who Am I" sense that is unbounded.
This is best illustrated in a story I read somewhere about an adult observing and comparing kids in kindergarten with kids in grades 3 and 4. When asked "Who can sing?" every kindergarten kid will stick up their hand. But just a few short years later, the same question results in only a few kids sticking up their hands because by then, they have been taught there is a distinction between "good singing" and "bad singing," and they've also gotten clear signals as to which category they belong to. Not being a "good singer" means I can't sing.
The unbounded, limitless freedom of the initial "Who Am I" explorations later gets corralled and fenced by well-meaning parents, teachers, coaches, and any other adult authority who gives you corrective feedback, that ends up in you allowing it to define who you are and what's possible for you. Because a lot of this well-meaning feedback is delivered in terms of your deficits, shortcomings and the things you need to work on (grades, athletic skills, musicality etc.), you develop a sense of "Who I'm Afraid I Am," meaning when someone feels they are lacking or not good enough in many areas in life.
You can then end up devoting your energies to addressing the aspects of who you are afraid you are. In your efforts to overcome these deficits or weaknesses (and please others in the process), you develop the next phase of disconnect which is "Who I Pretend To Be." This is why a lot of women live the majority of their adult years feeling they are faking it, or an impostor, and live in fear of being found out they are not as good as they are pretending to be. They'd love to stop the feeling of pretense but they have become very far removed from the starting point of "Who Am I".
We need to strip away those two added layers of "Who I'm Afraid I Am" and "Who I Pretend To Be" and get back to the basic question. You need to go back and figure out the true essence of "Who Am I?"
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Understanding and Using "The Secret"
The Secret is a book and DVD written/promoted by Aussie Rhonda Byrne; it is basically a dramatic distillation of everything learned over the past 100 years or so in the burgeoning area of what is generally known as "positive psychology."
What happens with the basic tenets of "The Secret" is that everyone puts it through their own "filter" and interprets the premise of The Secret in ways that make sense to them (here I wish to give a big nod to VN blogger DuffyM, who wrote about the phenomenon of "filtering" in one of her recent blogs).
What I have noticed is that people either love The Secret or hate it. I actually support the philosophy and use The Secret and its principles in my life and professional coaching work. Where things go off the rails, and cause people to dismiss or trash The Secret, is the complete failure of book/DVD to adequately stress the ACTION (i.e., hard work!) side of the formula.
The Secret has mistakenly been characterized as just "putting out there to the universe" whatever it is you want (a "vibration" so to speak), and then sitting back and waiting for it to be delivered to you on a silver platter. The DVD inadvertently reinforces this erroneous message, especially in the segment where a little boy is shown focusing on a brand new bicycle that he wants. He focuses on it, cuts out and regularly looks at a picture of his object of desire and, lo and behold, one day opens his front door and there sits the bike of his dreams! Bad message in my view.
In my opinion, the DVD should have shown him taking the action necessary to warrant "attracting" the bike into his life - he certainly could have the photo on the wall in his room and tell his parents/grandparents his goal is that bike, and then he could deliver papers, mow lawns, do chores, or even enter contests where a bike is the prize - anything that would show he was actively working towards the desired goal...then it would make sense to have someone in his life bestow the bike on him as a well-earned reward, or he may have earned enough to buy the bike himself. But this aspect of The Secret gets skipped over time and time again, leading people to dismiss it as a stupid philosophy for lazy, materialistic, and "magical thinking" people.
The Secret is really about goal setting - something most people are terrible at. Fact is, most people WISH positive (which makes for vague, far-off goals) and THINK negative (they are distinct and concrete about what they dislike). Most people are great at telling you in detail what they DON'T want, but totally lousy at describing in detail what it is they DO want. And because we tend to get what we focus on in life, if you tend to be really clear about what you don't want, the chances are you will get and/or notice more of it in your life.
The neuro/brain science behind this is something referred to as the "Reticular Activating System" or RAS. This is our method of filtering and only noticing that which is important to us. For example, have you ever noticed that when you've bought a car, say a blue Volvo sedan, that all of a sudden you see blue Volvo sedans likes yours everywhere? Yesterday there were none in sight, and now it seems there are lots of them around? That is your RAS at work. Or, you've decided to buy a new refrigerator and you open the paper and spot a great sale on refrigerators and think "How lucky, just when I need one there's a sale on!" Well, the chances are there were appliance sales advertised in the paper regularly in the lead up to your decision, but you simply never noticed them until it was important to you and, therefore, the ad made it past your filter. Once again, that is your RAS.
The Secret is just an approach for activating your RAS effectively. You have to be clear and specific about what it is you desire AND, most importantly, you have to TAKE SUSTAINED ACTION that is aligned with achieving that desire.
If you have this goal clarity and an action plan that you implement, The Secret calls this putting out a "vibration" that will "attract" your desire...this is just a fancy way of saying you are more likely to step up, take chances, put yourself out there, ask for what you want, and consistently put yourself in the place of most potential for the thing you want to manifest itself in your life - be a partner, a job, or a material possession.
I do not subscribe to the "genie in a bottle" aspects of The Secret (i.e., I don't think the universe hears me and responds with "Your wish is my command - relax, have a mani/pedi while we deliver a six figure income to you). Nor do I think people who suffer catastrophic bad luck have brought it on themselves with wrong thoughts. What I do believe in and use is this acronym "TURA" (The Universe Rewards Action).
What I believe is that having goal clarity, a crystal clear focus, and a game plan-of-action aligned with achieving my goal is a recipe for huge gains and progess, if not outright success and complete achievement.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
What happens with the basic tenets of "The Secret" is that everyone puts it through their own "filter" and interprets the premise of The Secret in ways that make sense to them (here I wish to give a big nod to VN blogger DuffyM, who wrote about the phenomenon of "filtering" in one of her recent blogs).
What I have noticed is that people either love The Secret or hate it. I actually support the philosophy and use The Secret and its principles in my life and professional coaching work. Where things go off the rails, and cause people to dismiss or trash The Secret, is the complete failure of book/DVD to adequately stress the ACTION (i.e., hard work!) side of the formula.
The Secret has mistakenly been characterized as just "putting out there to the universe" whatever it is you want (a "vibration" so to speak), and then sitting back and waiting for it to be delivered to you on a silver platter. The DVD inadvertently reinforces this erroneous message, especially in the segment where a little boy is shown focusing on a brand new bicycle that he wants. He focuses on it, cuts out and regularly looks at a picture of his object of desire and, lo and behold, one day opens his front door and there sits the bike of his dreams! Bad message in my view.
In my opinion, the DVD should have shown him taking the action necessary to warrant "attracting" the bike into his life - he certainly could have the photo on the wall in his room and tell his parents/grandparents his goal is that bike, and then he could deliver papers, mow lawns, do chores, or even enter contests where a bike is the prize - anything that would show he was actively working towards the desired goal...then it would make sense to have someone in his life bestow the bike on him as a well-earned reward, or he may have earned enough to buy the bike himself. But this aspect of The Secret gets skipped over time and time again, leading people to dismiss it as a stupid philosophy for lazy, materialistic, and "magical thinking" people.
The Secret is really about goal setting - something most people are terrible at. Fact is, most people WISH positive (which makes for vague, far-off goals) and THINK negative (they are distinct and concrete about what they dislike). Most people are great at telling you in detail what they DON'T want, but totally lousy at describing in detail what it is they DO want. And because we tend to get what we focus on in life, if you tend to be really clear about what you don't want, the chances are you will get and/or notice more of it in your life.
The neuro/brain science behind this is something referred to as the "Reticular Activating System" or RAS. This is our method of filtering and only noticing that which is important to us. For example, have you ever noticed that when you've bought a car, say a blue Volvo sedan, that all of a sudden you see blue Volvo sedans likes yours everywhere? Yesterday there were none in sight, and now it seems there are lots of them around? That is your RAS at work. Or, you've decided to buy a new refrigerator and you open the paper and spot a great sale on refrigerators and think "How lucky, just when I need one there's a sale on!" Well, the chances are there were appliance sales advertised in the paper regularly in the lead up to your decision, but you simply never noticed them until it was important to you and, therefore, the ad made it past your filter. Once again, that is your RAS.
The Secret is just an approach for activating your RAS effectively. You have to be clear and specific about what it is you desire AND, most importantly, you have to TAKE SUSTAINED ACTION that is aligned with achieving that desire.
If you have this goal clarity and an action plan that you implement, The Secret calls this putting out a "vibration" that will "attract" your desire...this is just a fancy way of saying you are more likely to step up, take chances, put yourself out there, ask for what you want, and consistently put yourself in the place of most potential for the thing you want to manifest itself in your life - be a partner, a job, or a material possession.
I do not subscribe to the "genie in a bottle" aspects of The Secret (i.e., I don't think the universe hears me and responds with "Your wish is my command - relax, have a mani/pedi while we deliver a six figure income to you). Nor do I think people who suffer catastrophic bad luck have brought it on themselves with wrong thoughts. What I do believe in and use is this acronym "TURA" (The Universe Rewards Action).
What I believe is that having goal clarity, a crystal clear focus, and a game plan-of-action aligned with achieving my goal is a recipe for huge gains and progess, if not outright success and complete achievement.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Embracing My Inner Heretic
I've been mulling over some interesting stuff I've read in the newspaper lately and here on Vibrant Nation (where I also blog)...and it got me to thinking. I realized long ago that, in many respects, I am part of the "normal mainstream" as generally defined by North American society. But in a couple of ways, I really go against the grain.
I've totally refused to embrace, or have shucked off, a couple of key roles in life that most women assume and take forgranted. I was a dutiful and responsible, but not a doting/loving, daughter (some of the reasons are illuminated in previous blog posts, for anyone interested. Suffice it to say I had my reasons). And I rejected childbearing and child rearing as experiences I did not want to have. I just knew it would not be for me.
I found a July 9, 2010 Globe and Mail column by Judith Timson entitled "So you expected kids to make you happy? Get real" really interesting - you can read it at this link:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/family-and-relationships/so-you-expected-kids-to-make-you-happy-get-real/article1633481/
I especially found the comments on the newspaper website in response to Timson's column absolutely fascinating. One person posted a comment that people who do not want children are simply "messed up in the head" to go against millions of years of evolution that primes us for reproduction of the species. Uh, last time I checked, most humans walk upright now and have more developed brains that they can use to make choices.
In reading Spirit Seeker's post entitled "Kegels and incontinence" and the attached article she linked, I learned the clinical term for my situation - "nulliparous" meaning women who have never had a baby. I like the neutrality of the term versus the more usual description of "childless" or worse, "barren", with its assumptions of an inability to conceive. And don't even think about using the phrase "child free" with its implied condemnation of the choice of those who do have children.
I remember the exact moment I knew with certainty I'd never get pregnant or be a mother. It was grade 8 at Winston Churchill Elementary School in Kingston, Ontario. In "health class" we were shown a very graphic film of a woman giving birth. I mean camera-right-between-the-knees-and-baby-crowning graphic. In the darkened classroom I turned to my best friend, Alison, and whispered "I am never doing that!" She laughed at me and responded "How can you say that? Of course you'll have children, everyone does. Never say never - you can't know what the future holds." But on some deep down level, I really did know I wasn't going to change my mind.
In my early 20's I got my palm read at a Psychic Fair and the palm reader got a weird, worried look on his face. He pulled out a magnifying glass and examined my hands even more closely. Assuming I was going to be upset, he very gently broke the news to me that he did not see any indication that I would ever bear children. I lit up, burst out laughing and said "Don't worry, that's great news!" I could tell he thought it was nuts that a young woman would not be upset to hear there were no biological children in her future.
Please don't misunderstand - I am not anti-children. I just think it's right for other people to have them, not me. People in my life who I love and care about have children, or are having children, and I am happy for and supportive of them.
What I am happy for and supportive of is the choice they have made that is about them and what is right for them. The "nulliparous" choice I made was about me and what was right for me. And to all those people over the years who oh-so-sanctimoniously predicted I'd regret my decision, I never have, not for one nano-second, and know I never will.
Life and the universe had a bit of fun with me after I got my tubes tied at age 30 (took a lot to convince the doc to do it - again, he assumed I would later change my mind and regret the surgery).
My first husband didn't want kids either, but nor did he want a vasectomy, so I had the tubal ligation. A year later, he dumped me for a secretary at work and I was suddenly single. I later met my future second husband (the keeper), but had a few initial qualms about the fact he had two kids. I only moved ahead with the relationship because they lived with their mom and were pre-teen age. I would not have been able to deal with babies or toddlers - no matter how great the guy.
It would be nice if people with children could understand and not take offence that I am as delighted with my choice not to have kids, as they are with their choice.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I've totally refused to embrace, or have shucked off, a couple of key roles in life that most women assume and take forgranted. I was a dutiful and responsible, but not a doting/loving, daughter (some of the reasons are illuminated in previous blog posts, for anyone interested. Suffice it to say I had my reasons). And I rejected childbearing and child rearing as experiences I did not want to have. I just knew it would not be for me.
I found a July 9, 2010 Globe and Mail column by Judith Timson entitled "So you expected kids to make you happy? Get real" really interesting - you can read it at this link:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/family-and-relationships/so-you-expected-kids-to-make-you-happy-get-real/article1633481/
I especially found the comments on the newspaper website in response to Timson's column absolutely fascinating. One person posted a comment that people who do not want children are simply "messed up in the head" to go against millions of years of evolution that primes us for reproduction of the species. Uh, last time I checked, most humans walk upright now and have more developed brains that they can use to make choices.
In reading Spirit Seeker's post entitled "Kegels and incontinence" and the attached article she linked, I learned the clinical term for my situation - "nulliparous" meaning women who have never had a baby. I like the neutrality of the term versus the more usual description of "childless" or worse, "barren", with its assumptions of an inability to conceive. And don't even think about using the phrase "child free" with its implied condemnation of the choice of those who do have children.
I remember the exact moment I knew with certainty I'd never get pregnant or be a mother. It was grade 8 at Winston Churchill Elementary School in Kingston, Ontario. In "health class" we were shown a very graphic film of a woman giving birth. I mean camera-right-between-the-knees-and-baby-crowning graphic. In the darkened classroom I turned to my best friend, Alison, and whispered "I am never doing that!" She laughed at me and responded "How can you say that? Of course you'll have children, everyone does. Never say never - you can't know what the future holds." But on some deep down level, I really did know I wasn't going to change my mind.
In my early 20's I got my palm read at a Psychic Fair and the palm reader got a weird, worried look on his face. He pulled out a magnifying glass and examined my hands even more closely. Assuming I was going to be upset, he very gently broke the news to me that he did not see any indication that I would ever bear children. I lit up, burst out laughing and said "Don't worry, that's great news!" I could tell he thought it was nuts that a young woman would not be upset to hear there were no biological children in her future.
Please don't misunderstand - I am not anti-children. I just think it's right for other people to have them, not me. People in my life who I love and care about have children, or are having children, and I am happy for and supportive of them.
What I am happy for and supportive of is the choice they have made that is about them and what is right for them. The "nulliparous" choice I made was about me and what was right for me. And to all those people over the years who oh-so-sanctimoniously predicted I'd regret my decision, I never have, not for one nano-second, and know I never will.
Life and the universe had a bit of fun with me after I got my tubes tied at age 30 (took a lot to convince the doc to do it - again, he assumed I would later change my mind and regret the surgery).
My first husband didn't want kids either, but nor did he want a vasectomy, so I had the tubal ligation. A year later, he dumped me for a secretary at work and I was suddenly single. I later met my future second husband (the keeper), but had a few initial qualms about the fact he had two kids. I only moved ahead with the relationship because they lived with their mom and were pre-teen age. I would not have been able to deal with babies or toddlers - no matter how great the guy.
It would be nice if people with children could understand and not take offence that I am as delighted with my choice not to have kids, as they are with their choice.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
When You Need to Restart Your Life
Because of some of the life experiences I've blogged about, I've been asked for some advice on starting life over after a divorce, and for starting (or restarting) a career in midlife.
First - on the divorce aspect. I was dumped out of the blue. My then-husband admitted I was a great wife, and good to him, and that he couldn't ask for more in a life partner, yet he still was attracted to someone else enough to have entered a relationship with her and that he was leaving me. It was over, just like that. He felt guilty as hell, told me I was "a saint" over how I was handling it all (I didn't scream or rail at him), and he wanted to somehow make up for his terrible treatment of me through the division of assets.
He initially was insisting on giving me the better/newer car, the house, all contents/possessions, paying 1/2 the mortgage for a period of time, plus paying two years of alimony ($1,000.00 per month). But I didn't want or need to take him to the cleaners. I just wanted a clean 50/50 split. He came around to this when a) he could not find a lawyer to represent him based on what he was proposing - i.e., giving me everything; and b) as time passed he started to feel less guilty about his cheating, and began to be less inclined to be so generous. This shift only took 3-4 months to transpire.
We essentially wound up with an equitable split, but he absolutely refused to sign any version of a separation agreement that did not contain a 2 year, $1,000 per month alimony payment clause. Fine, I had that included in the separation agreement but did not intend to ever invoke it. But then, I found out the weasel had immediately turned around and sold our house for quite a profit (after having paid me out for "half" the estimated value, but that half value was calculated on a much lower price than what he actually sold it for) so he got more money out of the house than I did. What a flip-flop from initially "wanting to do right" by me financially!
When the moron refused to share that additional house profit with me, I simply invoked the alimony clause in our separation agreement. He made it almost impossible and very unpleasant to collect the money each month, but I doggedly pursued it for a few months and only ceased when I had secured my fair share of the additional house profit he got.
Long story made short - the lesson I learned is you should move quickly, decisively and with good legal advice to quickly negotiate a separation agreement if your marriage is over. Even the most contrite ex-husband loses his feeling of guilt and remorse with the passage of time and, if he is with a new woman, you can bet she will be working on him to minimize whatever he has to spend on you. His rationalizing and self justification will kick in big time.
You need to strike while the iron is hot, especially in the case of a husband's infidelity or his unilateral, arbitrary ending of the marriage - you will never be in a stronger negotiating position than in the immediate aftermath of his announcement of his screwing up and screwing around.
It doesn't have to be warfare, you can do the collaborative divorce route - there are many options. But don't let it drag on and out. The goal posts will start to change too often and too much and you will be driven crazy. You run the risk of being divorced TO him, rather than divorced FROM him.
Okay, onto starting or restarting a career in midlife, and/or after a divorce. If you are feeling disconnected from yourself - i.e., you are no longer sure of who you are, what you want, don't really know what your passion is, or what your contributions to the world should be...here are the books and resources that helped me successfully chart my path forward (and that I have used with my coaching clients).
The following 4 books are full of best exercises, tools and tips I have found in 10+ years of intensive searching/researching:
Something More: Excavating Your Authentic Self by Sarah Ban Breathnach
The Pathfinder: How to Choose or Change Your Career for a Lifetime of Satisfaction and Success by Nicholas Lore
Take Time for Your Life: A Personal Coach's 7-Step Program for Creating the Life You Want by Cheryl Richardson
Stand Up for Your Life: A Practical Step-by-Step Plan to Build Inner Confidence and Personal Power by Cheryl Richardson
If you don't know what your natural strengths, orientations and skills are, order this extensive career self assessment tool from Amazon.com:
Career Anchors by Edgar Schein.
The results of this low cost assessment will help you determine what kind of work and work environment would be best for you, and if you are best suited to leadership or teamwork, or for being a entrepreneur and starting your own business.
The results of this low cost assessment will help you determine what kind of work and work environment would be best for you, and if you are best suited to leadership or teamwork, or for being a entrepreneur and starting your own business.
Once you know what you may want to target in your career, you will have a lot of research ahead of you - use the internet, and business planning resources; and the books and guides on writing resumes, cover letters and successfully doing job interviews are unlimited and too many to list or even recommend here.
All you need to do is spend an hour or so browsing the "Business/Career" shelves at your local bookstore in the resume/interview section and you will find and choose a couple of guides that will be right for you. This is my no-fail approach to finding help - the bookstore. Just go, start pulling some titles off the shelf and look at the table of contents. Trust that the right information will find you, but put yourself in the place of most potential for that happening.
That's it on the subject for now.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
First - on the divorce aspect. I was dumped out of the blue. My then-husband admitted I was a great wife, and good to him, and that he couldn't ask for more in a life partner, yet he still was attracted to someone else enough to have entered a relationship with her and that he was leaving me. It was over, just like that. He felt guilty as hell, told me I was "a saint" over how I was handling it all (I didn't scream or rail at him), and he wanted to somehow make up for his terrible treatment of me through the division of assets.
He initially was insisting on giving me the better/newer car, the house, all contents/possessions, paying 1/2 the mortgage for a period of time, plus paying two years of alimony ($1,000.00 per month). But I didn't want or need to take him to the cleaners. I just wanted a clean 50/50 split. He came around to this when a) he could not find a lawyer to represent him based on what he was proposing - i.e., giving me everything; and b) as time passed he started to feel less guilty about his cheating, and began to be less inclined to be so generous. This shift only took 3-4 months to transpire.
We essentially wound up with an equitable split, but he absolutely refused to sign any version of a separation agreement that did not contain a 2 year, $1,000 per month alimony payment clause. Fine, I had that included in the separation agreement but did not intend to ever invoke it. But then, I found out the weasel had immediately turned around and sold our house for quite a profit (after having paid me out for "half" the estimated value, but that half value was calculated on a much lower price than what he actually sold it for) so he got more money out of the house than I did. What a flip-flop from initially "wanting to do right" by me financially!
When the moron refused to share that additional house profit with me, I simply invoked the alimony clause in our separation agreement. He made it almost impossible and very unpleasant to collect the money each month, but I doggedly pursued it for a few months and only ceased when I had secured my fair share of the additional house profit he got.
Long story made short - the lesson I learned is you should move quickly, decisively and with good legal advice to quickly negotiate a separation agreement if your marriage is over. Even the most contrite ex-husband loses his feeling of guilt and remorse with the passage of time and, if he is with a new woman, you can bet she will be working on him to minimize whatever he has to spend on you. His rationalizing and self justification will kick in big time.
You need to strike while the iron is hot, especially in the case of a husband's infidelity or his unilateral, arbitrary ending of the marriage - you will never be in a stronger negotiating position than in the immediate aftermath of his announcement of his screwing up and screwing around.
It doesn't have to be warfare, you can do the collaborative divorce route - there are many options. But don't let it drag on and out. The goal posts will start to change too often and too much and you will be driven crazy. You run the risk of being divorced TO him, rather than divorced FROM him.
Okay, onto starting or restarting a career in midlife, and/or after a divorce. If you are feeling disconnected from yourself - i.e., you are no longer sure of who you are, what you want, don't really know what your passion is, or what your contributions to the world should be...here are the books and resources that helped me successfully chart my path forward (and that I have used with my coaching clients).
The following 4 books are full of best exercises, tools and tips I have found in 10+ years of intensive searching/researching:
Something More: Excavating Your Authentic Self by Sarah Ban Breathnach
The Pathfinder: How to Choose or Change Your Career for a Lifetime of Satisfaction and Success by Nicholas Lore
Take Time for Your Life: A Personal Coach's 7-Step Program for Creating the Life You Want by Cheryl Richardson
Stand Up for Your Life: A Practical Step-by-Step Plan to Build Inner Confidence and Personal Power by Cheryl Richardson
If you don't know what your natural strengths, orientations and skills are, order this extensive career self assessment tool from Amazon.com:
Career Anchors by Edgar Schein.
The results of this low cost assessment will help you determine what kind of work and work environment would be best for you, and if you are best suited to leadership or teamwork, or for being a entrepreneur and starting your own business.
The results of this low cost assessment will help you determine what kind of work and work environment would be best for you, and if you are best suited to leadership or teamwork, or for being a entrepreneur and starting your own business.
Once you know what you may want to target in your career, you will have a lot of research ahead of you - use the internet, and business planning resources; and the books and guides on writing resumes, cover letters and successfully doing job interviews are unlimited and too many to list or even recommend here.
All you need to do is spend an hour or so browsing the "Business/Career" shelves at your local bookstore in the resume/interview section and you will find and choose a couple of guides that will be right for you. This is my no-fail approach to finding help - the bookstore. Just go, start pulling some titles off the shelf and look at the table of contents. Trust that the right information will find you, but put yourself in the place of most potential for that happening.
That's it on the subject for now.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
The Island as a Microcosm
You'd think escaping to a little out-of-the-way island would mean finding a refuge from the larger world and all of its problems - that what could be created would be a live-and-let-live paradise. But I think wherever there are humans, disagreements and problems are bound to crop up, or be created.
The tiny island (3 miles long and a 1/4 mile wide) where we have a cottage and spend a lot of our time, is highly divided along many lines.
There are "South Islanders" and "North Islanders". Most of the South Islanders consider themselves the original islanders, with the North Islanders being seen more as newcomers. South Islanders generally consider themselves to have better weather than the North Island (and even some North Islanders would agree; the south ecosystem is different - it's drier).
There are "Marina Members" (who pay for the privilege to tie their boats up at some docks they banded together to purchase and run as a small private marina) and "Gum Booters" (those who get out of their small boats and pull their crafts up onto rocky beaches). Gum Booters generally consider themselves to be the more authentic islanders, and look askance at what gets categorized as the richer (i.e., bigger boats), elitist city-types who enjoy the convenience of the marina and docks they jointly own. Marina Members generally think Gum Booters suffer from "dock envy", especially during bad weather and low tides that make coming and going from the island's beaches difficult, or downright unpleasant.
Even Marina Members are divided - between those with big boats (25 ft and over) and those with boats smaller than 25 ft). More big boats means less marina dock space. It is turning out to be difficult to manage the issue, with some people's big boats being "grandfathered" and an expectation that any new boat purchases must be less than 25 ft.
There are "El Verano Commuters" and "Green Wharf Commuters" - which are references to the two distinct geographic points on a nearby larger island (accessible by commercial ferry) from which many people on our little island come and go. The El Verano users are mostly Gum Booters who jealously guard and police their limited parking at El Verano. They show little interest in preserving the Green Wharf, which is constantly under threat of dismantlement by the federal government which owns it. For the most part, Green Wharf users are Marina Members and North Islanders, which contributes to the El Verano/Green Wharf divide. Green Wharf parking is also limited and the cause of much dissension among users. I have never understood why El Verano users don't see it's in their best interests to support the continuation of the Green Wharf; if the feds ever succeed in removing the Green Wharf, all those users and their cars are headed over to an already crowded El Verano. It wouldn't be pretty.
There are the supporters of the island's craft fair society which holds a popular, long-running annual fundraising event - much of the proceeds previously went to increasing firefighting capacity on the island.
Then there are the supporters of the sort-of-but-not-really "volunteer" wildfire firefighting society on the island and all the fundraising they now try to do to buy and maintain firetrucks and firefighting equipment.
The annual summer craft fair weekend is now crowded and competed with by the fire festival fundraiser which, for 2 years running, has been scheduled for the same weekend. There are pros and cons to all of this, but when you get right down to it, there is only one set of community pockets to be picked. It's the same pool of residents and cottage owners that the two groups are looking to for both volunteers and financial support for both these worthy causes.
Gossip is now swirling around about the worthiness of the wildfire firefighting capacity and associated fundraising. In some views, that society is increasingly being seen as a non-transparent, closed group only concerned with accumulating as many "big boys toys" as possible.
Then there are people who want a community hall and central gathering place location (with an actual firehall/garage for the trucks and equipment), and people who would fight that to the end of time.
The island is a no-hunting zone. There are deer lovers and deer haters. The deer lovers feed the deer in the winter, which contributes to a population explosion that the island's natural habitat cannot support. Deer haters dislike how the hungry deer ravage their gardens.
All of these things, and more, contribute to a island social climate that discriminates as to who can be friends with whom, depending on who and what you do or don't support. So much for a laidback, easy going, relaxed atmosphere. At times, this place can actually quite emotionally charged, especially as we head into the craft fair/fire festival weekend that is rapidly approaching. We're thinking very carefully about how we'll participate. It's not exactly the carefree island lifestyle we originally envisioned.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
So, How Good Am I REALLY?
For the past 9 years, I have been successfully helping literally hundreds of people to refocus their lives and careers for greater enjoyment, accomplishment, success and fulfillment. After all, I am an Executive Coach, I am here to help you to create and sustain positive change! Let me help you, and your workplace, to work BETTER!
Now the pressure is on for me to, once again, reinvent and transform my own life. I already did this back in 2001/02 when I left a 20 year government management career at age 42 to retrain and start my own consulting business as a leadership coach. And I did it - I succeeded way beyond my own dreams and expectations. I quickly grew my business and coaching reputation to the extent that I was earning two and a half times my previous annual income and working just 9 months a year. I worked very hard during those 9 months each year; it wasn't easy by any means. But it was generally very enjoyable, I felt like I was making a difference, my clients appreciated my services, and it was definitely lucrative.
Then the Wall Street meltdown and the economic implosion of September/October 2008 hit and affected my clients to the extent that their drastic budget cutbacks meant they could no longer hire me. My major clients (provincial government & the health care sector) actually BANNED contracting with external consultants prevented the hiring of training and leadership development coaches such as myself. My carefully built and nurtured consulting/coaching business disappeared almost overnight. By spring 2009 my income had plunged by 95%. Gulp. And there is no sign of any recovery in sight. And I can't sit around and wait for the pendulum to swing back anyhow. I have to do something and soon. But what? If I am anywhere near as good a coach as I think I am, I should be able to reinvent myself with flare and panache!!
I have been blogging (here on this site, and I am re-published on a website called "Vibrant Nation" for women aged 50 and over) and have gotten a lot of credible feedback (some from published authors) that I should write and publish a book. I'd love to do that, but it's so much easier said than done. I am not even sure what kind of a book I'd want to write - and to what end? Most books sell about 300 copies apparently. Writing a book might be a source of personal accomplishment and satisfaction, but it cannot be counted on to pay the bills! I am both savvy enough, and crass enough, that I want my efforts to result in financial remuneration.
I am currently thinking about a self-help sort of guide for midlife women - to help them figure out "where to from here" in their own lives, recognizing all the issues that go along with being 50+, dealing with aging, health, menopause, relationships, elder care, empty nests, careers, becoming a grandparent, hopes/dreams etc. etc. Maybe if I document some of my journey and how I am navigating it that could be a blueprint for other women to figure out and chart their own course. A book like that would make sense because it could become the basis for going out on a speaking circuit. This has potential. I am going to work on this some more. Stay tuned.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Now the pressure is on for me to, once again, reinvent and transform my own life. I already did this back in 2001/02 when I left a 20 year government management career at age 42 to retrain and start my own consulting business as a leadership coach. And I did it - I succeeded way beyond my own dreams and expectations. I quickly grew my business and coaching reputation to the extent that I was earning two and a half times my previous annual income and working just 9 months a year. I worked very hard during those 9 months each year; it wasn't easy by any means. But it was generally very enjoyable, I felt like I was making a difference, my clients appreciated my services, and it was definitely lucrative.
Then the Wall Street meltdown and the economic implosion of September/October 2008 hit and affected my clients to the extent that their drastic budget cutbacks meant they could no longer hire me. My major clients (provincial government & the health care sector) actually BANNED contracting with external consultants prevented the hiring of training and leadership development coaches such as myself. My carefully built and nurtured consulting/coaching business disappeared almost overnight. By spring 2009 my income had plunged by 95%. Gulp. And there is no sign of any recovery in sight. And I can't sit around and wait for the pendulum to swing back anyhow. I have to do something and soon. But what? If I am anywhere near as good a coach as I think I am, I should be able to reinvent myself with flare and panache!!
I have been blogging (here on this site, and I am re-published on a website called "Vibrant Nation" for women aged 50 and over) and have gotten a lot of credible feedback (some from published authors) that I should write and publish a book. I'd love to do that, but it's so much easier said than done. I am not even sure what kind of a book I'd want to write - and to what end? Most books sell about 300 copies apparently. Writing a book might be a source of personal accomplishment and satisfaction, but it cannot be counted on to pay the bills! I am both savvy enough, and crass enough, that I want my efforts to result in financial remuneration.
I am currently thinking about a self-help sort of guide for midlife women - to help them figure out "where to from here" in their own lives, recognizing all the issues that go along with being 50+, dealing with aging, health, menopause, relationships, elder care, empty nests, careers, becoming a grandparent, hopes/dreams etc. etc. Maybe if I document some of my journey and how I am navigating it that could be a blueprint for other women to figure out and chart their own course. A book like that would make sense because it could become the basis for going out on a speaking circuit. This has potential. I am going to work on this some more. Stay tuned.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
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