Living Consciously

Holiday Overachieving and Great Ideas

Posted on December 11, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

This time of year, it’s easy to feel like an underachiever. It’s not just all the ads and articles and advice about creating “perfect” Christmas gifts or Christmas wrap or Christmas cookies or Christmas dinners or Christmas decorating. It’s the people—admit it, we all know a few of them—who actually do all that stuff.

This year, as it happens, I’m doing more hands-on Christmas preparations myself than usual. Oh, we still haven’t done any decorating or put up a tree. No cookies have been or will be baked in our kitchen. Almost no shopping has been done, either.

But I am making gifts for several family members. As I often do, around the first of December I had a Great Idea for creating something handmade. Usually I consider factors like the days left till Christmas, the steps required to turn the idea into reality, and the probability that the Great Idea will result in a Not-So-Great Product, and I decide not to even try.

But this year I decided to actually carry out the Great Idea. Right now I’m in the middle of making a batch of Christmas gifts. I’m not doing it because I think I should. I’m not doing it because I think the recipients will be blown away by my creativity and overwhelmed with gratitude and keep these things forever. (Well, okay, I would like just a little bit of that. Not too much, though—it might make me think I need to do something similar next year)

I’m doing it because it’s fun. Mostly. There was that one little problem with figuring out how to make this part work, and that other little problem with getting another part to come out right. But I’m pleasantly surprised: Not only am I enjoying the process, but the reality of the almost-finished product is astonishingly close to the Great Idea as I imagined it.

And along the way, I had another Great Idea. This one deals with all the people I see as holiday overachievers. The ones who show up at a “please don’t bring anything” gathering with a little handmade gift for everyone or a batch of beautiful Christmas cookies. Or who wrap presents so beautifully that the wrapping itself is a work of art. Or who decorate every room in the house and has three color-coordinated trees in the front window.

Why should my response to any of that be a kneejerk flash of guilt, a feeling that I am a less-than-adequate human being who doesn’t quite measure up? Why should I care if someone else does a lot of elaborate holiday preparation that I don’t even care about or want to do? It has nothing to do with me, after all.

So here’s my Great Idea: Instead of feeling like an underachiever in those circumstances, I’m going to say something like, “Oh, you must have had fun creating this.”

If they did have fun, then more power to them. And the appreciation of people like me doesn’t much matter. It’s just a little bonus for them, the icing on the cookie, as it were.

If they didn’t have fun, that’s too bad, but it really doesn’t have anything to do with me, either. After all, no one forces any of us to do anything around the holidays. If stressed-out overachievers don’t like what they’re doing, they can come up with their own Great Idea and just say no.

And they shouldn’t feel guilty. Even if the rest of us miss out on some Christmas cookies.

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Better Living Through Technology

Posted on December 4, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

Science and technology have given us innovations like self-driving cars, the ability to peer into deep space, and 3D printers that can create everything from toys to body parts.

This is all very well and good. But why can’t some of those brilliant scientists and engineers devote a fragment of their attention to little day-to-day things? Here are a few inventions I would like to see that would make life just a tiny bit safer or more enjoyable.

A container for leftovers with a pop-up sensor to warn you when the contents have been in the fridge long enough to contain microbes that are unsafe for human consumption. The more sophisticated version might even be able to search scientific archives online and alert you that whatever is growing on that leftover lasagna might be a previously undiscovered life form.

A cup for hot chocolate with a device—maybe a little mesh insert somewhat like a tea strainer?—to keep marshmallows at the bottom of the cup. Then you could save that extra sweetness for last instead of slurping it first and leaving the rest of the cupful to taste disappointing by comparison. You’d avoid the telltale marshmallow mustache, too.

A miniature water heater for that sprayer at the dentist’s office that the hygienist uses to rinse out your mouth. Surely a couple of engineers with sensitive teeth could figure out a way to get rid of that awful jet of cold water. And while they’re at it, they could do something to warm up the air from that evil dryer nozzle.

Eyeliner and mascara applicators with extra-short handles for nearsighted people who have to get within a couple inches of the mirror to put their makeup on. As a bonus, these could be sold with little face masks to keep your breath from fogging the mirror and also avoid those pesky nose prints on the glass.

Hats for sun protection or warmth that stay on in the wind but don’t squash your hair until you resemble Donald Trump in an overcrowded elevator. Maybe something like a construction hard hat, which has an inner ring you can adjust to fit while the actual hat sits away from your head? Oh, wait—I’ve seen myself in a hard hat. Maybe this concept needs a little more work.

A fitness/diet tracker programmed not just to nag you about steps and calories but to tell you warmly, at random intervals, “You need a reward. Go sit down and have a brownie.”

Inventions like these would truly use science and technology for the betterment of humankind. Nobel committee, please take note.

Categories: Food and Drink, Living Consciously, Odds and Ends | 1 Comment

Detours Along The Road To Enlightenment

Posted on November 20, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

Writing recently about the meditative value of dishwashing made me think about my own rather haphazard attempts to sit and meditate. I never did practice it consistently enough to form a habit, but it did increase my self-awareness. I became clearly aware of all the reasons (“excuses” is such a judgmental word) why I wasn’t very good at it.

First of all, there’s the sitting. Oh, I can sit, all right. I’m a great sitter. Give me a good book—or even a mediocre book—or some Sunday crossword puzzles, a notebook and a pen, or a computer with internet access, and I can sit for hours. Sitting quietly with nothing to occupy my mind? Not so much.

Then there’s the music. I’m sure you’ve all had the experience of getting a song stuck in your head and not being able to get rid of it. Well, I’ve come to realize I always have some sort of music going on in the background. Normally, I can tune it out because I’m busy thinking, or talking to myself, or listening to the voices in my head. But let me settle into a chair to meditate, and up comes the volume. It’s not easy to find enlightenment when its soundtrack is a full brass band playing “The Beer Barrel Polka” or “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

Also, for those of us who share our lives with other people who are at various stages of enlightenment or lack thereof, there’s the problem of interruptions. I have plenty of private time now, but back when I was seriously trying to meditate, my kids were still small. I would meditate early in the morning before they got up. This might have worked better if my daughter, even at age four, had not been a morning person.

I remember one morning especially when she got up early. I heard her come into the living room, where I was sitting in the rocking chair with my eyes closed. She didn’t rush over to jump into my lap, or turn on the TV, or even say good morning. Instead, she tiptoed across the room, climbed into the other chair, and settled down to wait quietly until I was finished. The problem was, she was working so hard at being perfectly still and quiet that I could practically feel her vibrating.

The sweetness of her respectful silence is one of my favorite memories of her as a little girl. It was also the high point of all my experiences with meditation.

Since then, I’ve decided that moving meditation works better than sitting meditation for me. Walking, for example. It keeps my body occupied but requires no real attention from my mind, other than looking both ways before I cross a street. It would be embarrassing, after all, to be run over by a bus or a beer truck along the road to enlightenment.

And of course, there’s always dishwashing. One particular benefit of this type of meditation is that it solves the problem of interruptions. If I’m standing at the sink, up to my elbows in soapsuds, I can count on being left in peaceful solitude until the last kettle is sparkling clean.

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Mindfulness and Dirty Dishes

Posted on October 30, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

Once again, research has affirmed a something I figured out a long time ago. The latest? Washing dishes by hand is a form of meditation.

I’ve known this for years. I’ve always secretly rather liked washing dishes. Well, except for hot summer days when sweat drips off my forehead into the water and I’m tempted to do some research of my own into the anti-bacterial potential of dish soap in ice water. Mostly, though, dishwashing is one of those repetitive tasks that keeps your hands busy while it leaves your mind free to wander off wherever it wishes to go. I get almost as many great creative ideas at the kitchen sink as I do in the shower. Maybe it’s the water.

The research (does specify that, for the best anxiety-reducing benefits, dishes should be washed mindfully. “People in the study focused on the smell of the soap, the feel and shape of the dishes to help them enter a mindful state.”

I don’t spend much time smelling my soap, and feeling the dishes is mostly a matter of making sure I hang onto the slippery little critters so I don’t drop my favorite cup and smash it to smithereens in the bottom of the sink. You could probably describe my method as more mindless than mindful.

Still, there are some things about washing dishes that do put me into a state of mindfulness.

I mind when people don’t rinse their cereal bowls, and I have to attack stubborn fragments of bran flakes with an abrasive pot scrubber or scrape off bits of oatmeal with my fingernails. I’m pretty sure the adhesives used to install flooring were developed this way.

I mind when people, trying to be helpful, dump sharp knives into the sink to lurk dangerously among the harmless silverware. I just hate getting blood in my dishwater. (And why, by the way, do we still call it “silverware,” when 99.73% of the time the utensils we use are stainless steel, and most of us wouldn’t know how to use silver polish even if we had the slightest clue where to find it in the store?)

I mind when people stack plates without scraping them, so bits of uneaten food get squished in between and stick to the bottom of the upper plate. I resent having remnants of scrambled eggs or scraps of green beans float off into the dishwater and swim through my fingers like yucky little sponges or eely miniature sea monsters.

I mind when someone (naming no names, but I know who I am) lets the dishes pile up until there are too many to fit into the drainer and the dishwasher. Yes, I do use the dishwasher—it’s the perfect place to put clean dishes to drip dry. But there is a limit to how much creative stacking even an expert can do in order to avoid having to dry so much as a single plate.

Because, illogical as it may seem, while I’m fine with washing dishes, I detest drying them. I know; it makes no sense to me, either. Dish drying ought to be every bit as soothing and meditative as dish washing.

But if anyone comes up with research showing this to be the case, I don’t want to know about it.

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Everyday Earth Days

Posted on April 24, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

Did you do anything special in honor of Earth Day this week? I didn’t, really, unless you count having leftovers for lunch.

I never even thought of this habit as environmentally friendly, until after lunch when I heard a radio interview about wasting food. So now I can pat myself on the back for avoiding food waste, when all this time I thought I was merely avoiding cooking. I can even feel proud of my extra commitment to saving energy. Not only do I practice efficiency by cooking once and eating twice (or three times or sometimes even four), but sometimes I save even more energy by refrigerating, microwaving, and eating the leftovers in the same bowl.

Overall, I do live a fairly “green” lifestyle. Almost every week, for example, I dutifully haul my reusable bags off to the grocery store. And at least, oh, half the time, I even remember to take them into the store with me instead of realizing when I get to the checkout that the bags are still in the back seat of the car.

I don’t buy snacks in single-serving packages. You can’t imagine how eco-friendly and virtuous it feels to buy M&M’s by the large 12-ounce bag instead of in those plastic-wasting little bags.

I don’t pollute the environment with toxic cleaning products, because I hardly ever do any cleaning. And when I do, I generally use plain water, because either I can’t find any cleaning products, I’ve forgotten to buy cleaning products, or it’s been so long since I did any cleaning that the cleaning products in the cupboard have all evaporated.

I don’t waste resources on lawn care. First of all, I generally don’t apply fertilizers and weed-killers. Second, I do very little watering. This approach not only conserves water and keeps potentially harmful chemicals out of the environment, it also means the grass doesn’t grow very well. As a result, I save even more energy (my own and the planet’s) because I only need to mow the yard about once a month.

I don’t buy bottled water. With rare exceptions; I have to admit we did buy a case of 24 bottles back in February. We were traveling, forgot to fill our reusable water bottles, and stopped at a store to buy a gallon. We found that a) they didn’t have water by the gallon and b) buying the 24 bottles on sale was by far the cheapest option unless we wanted to consider getting lite beer. I’ve felt guilty ever since we walked out of the store with them. This week, thank goodness, we used the last bottle. It was a weight off my environmentally-conscious conscience.

And that reminds me of an environmental irony I noticed recently. That icon of green living, a little hybrid car, was parked in front of an office building. The back cargo area was filled with cases of bottled water.

I bet there was a single-serving bag of M&M’s in the glove compartment, too.

Categories: Food and Drink, Living Consciously | Tags: , | 2 Comments

Over-driving Over I-90

Posted on March 27, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

Signs that you’ve made a lot of trips across western South Dakota on Interstate 90 in the past few months:

1. You notice when Reptile Gardens updates one of its billboards or Cosmos puts up a new one, and you consider either one an addition to the scenery.

2. You always use your “own” habitual bathroom stall when you stop at a rest area.

3. You have the preset buttons on your car radio set to three different South Dakota public radio stations and know exactly where one will fade out and you need to switch to another. You also schedule your travel time around your preferred programming.

4. You recognize individual horses in pastures along I-90, and you’re starting to imagine you can recognize individual cows.

5. You’ve considered getting preferred customer cards for the truck stops at Murdo and Vivian.

6. If you play the billboard alphabet game, you know exactly where to start it in order to take advantage of the J’s and Q’s on certain specific signs.

7. You remember when that deer carcass near Belvidere, now a bit of dried skin over a few bones, was fresh road kill.

8. You don’t bother to bring an audio book to listen to while you drive, because you don’t consider 275 miles a long trip.

9. You can estimate your gas mileage quite accurately based on the direction and velocity of the wind, including an automatic adjustment for driving east (downhill) versus west (uphill). You’ve learned to assume that the wind will blow from the southeast when you’re driving east and from the northwest when you’re driving west. If the wind isn’t blowing at all, you consider it an unexpected gift. If you happen to get a tailwind, you consider it a minor miracle.

10. Despite all the tricks and gimmicks to make the miles go faster, you still don’t take the view for granted. You notice and appreciate, not just the glorious splendor of sunsets that spread across half the sky, but also the subtle beauty of light and shadow across low hills. For someone who grew up there, a trip across the prairie and a chance to see miles of it reaching to the far horizon isn’t a long and boring drive. It’s refreshment for the soul.

Categories: Living Consciously, Travel | Tags: , , | 4 Comments

Mr. Fox Joins the Circus

Posted on March 15, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

Long before Queen Elsa’s song in Disney’s “Frozen” added the phrase “let it go” to every four-year-old’s vocabulary, the concept of giving up control over what isn’t yours to manage has been important for living with balance and serenity. Twelve-Step programs call this “detaching with love.” It can also be described as plain old “minding your own business.” (The hard part, of course, is figuring out what is your business and what isn’t.)

A while ago I came across a saying that’s become one of my favorite ways of reminding myself to let go of things that aren’t my responsibility: “Not my circus; not my monkeys.” The image it conjures up makes me smile and helps me avoid stressing over things I can’t or shouldn’t do anything about.

Except, of course, that sometimes it is my circus and sometimes those are undeniably my monkeys.

Like the three-ring family extravaganza that took up most of last week. Ring One contained the usual local suspects: my daughter and son-in-law with their two-year-old, plus my stepson and his wife with their three kids, who are three, two, and seven months. Ring Two was my stepdaughter, visiting for the week with her three children, aged six, four, and ten months. That, ordinarily, would be quite enough circus for anyone.

To illustrate: one evening we celebrated the seventh birthday of the oldest grandkid in this particular bunch. It was fun, it was noisy, it was delightful, and it was surprisingly free from conflict. Until 7:23 p.m., when ice cream intersected with bedtime. Suddenly four children were in tears, one child was throwing a hissy fit and demanding to leave, and the adults unanimously agreed that the party was over.

But wait—there’s more! Last week we added one more act in Ring Three. The feature attraction, right there in the center of the Big Top (well, actually, in the maternity wing of the hospital), was the birth of my daughter’s second child.

My own participation in this particular circus was a balancing act—dividing time, attention, and energy among taking care of my daughter’s two-year-old, spending time with the visiting grandkids, having meaningful conversations with my stepdaughter in 27-second increments, helping provide a couple of family dinners, and being with my daughter and her husband for part of the 30-something hours they spent at the hospital waiting for their new son to show up.

More by luck than planning, his arrival was timed so I was able to be there when he made his grand entrance. Cue the trumpet fanfare and the spotlight for Fox Reed!

Fox is grandchild number 16, and I am thrilled that in part he’s named after me. He is a beautiful baby with the proper number of fingers and toes, he has brown eyes like his mother and grandmother, and he seems to be settling into his life quite nicely. So far his big brother seems to think he’s pretty special, although it’s possible that big brother assumes Fox is just another visiting cousin who hasn’t gone home with the rest of them yet.

As he grows up, I’m sure Fox will learn to appreciate the fabulous troupe he’s been born into. As one of the founders of this particular circus, I feel a certain amount of responsibility for him and all the rest of those incredible, amazing monkeys. I also am pleased and relieved to understand clearly that I’m not the ringmaster here. The next generation of performers have taken over, and they are doing a wonderful job. Their skills at balancing, juggling, and keeping the show on the road are superb.

Oh, I have a place, too. Sometimes I can hold a safety net. Sometimes I help out behind the scenes. Sometimes I get to just sit in the front row and cheer.

And always, I can say with pride and delight if anyone asks or even if they don’t: “Yep, that’s my circus. Those are my monkeys, all right!”

Plus one brand-new fox.

Categories: Family, Living Consciously | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment

Lies, Damned Lies, and Sticks

Posted on February 20, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

What sets humans apart from other animals? That’s a question people have debated for centuries. And maybe the answer is as simple as, “We’re the only ones who ponder questions like these.”

Yuval Noah Harari, in his book Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, says what makes humans unique is our ability to create and believe fiction. Apparently (I haven’t read the book yet, so I might be inventing fiction here), he doesn’t mean just storytelling like novels, TV shows or lies like, “No, I didn’t eat the last three brownies.”

He’s talking about fiction in a larger sense. In the February 2015 Smithsonian magazine, Harari gives an example of one universal fiction: money. Even though money doesn’t have any inherent value, we have created and we believe in a whole system of exchange based on it.

When it comes down to creating fiction at an individual level, however, I’m not sure humans are as unique as we might like to think. As evidence, here’s a true story about a man and a dog. I promise, I am not making this up. I wasn’t there when it happened, but it was told to me by one of the participants, who—despite his behavior on this occasion—is generally ethical and trustworthy.

One summer day the man and the dog were at a lake, playing a game. The man would throw a stick out into the water, the dog would swim out and retrieve it, the dog would bring it back to the man, and the man would throw it again.

The man got tired of the game before the dog did. When the dog brought the stick back for the eleventeenth time, the man pretended to throw but didn’t let go of the stick. He created a fiction.

The dog, still full of energy and eager to play, didn’t notice the fake. He dashed out into the water to retrieve the stick, which, of course, he couldn’t find. He swam back and forth several times, searching. Eventually he swam back to shore, empty-mouthed.

But instead of coming directly back to the man, he searched along the bank until he found another stick. He picked it up, started toward the man, then stopped. He trotted back to the edge of the lake and dropped the stick into the water. Once it was wet, he grabbed it again and brought it back to the man. The fiction he created was actually more elaborate than the fiction the man created.

Without words, both the man and the dog lied to each other. You can decide for yourself which one was the better storyteller.

The larger question of the ethics of inter-species lying is perhaps a topic for another day. But, keeping in mind that the man told the first lie, I just might mention another observation on the uniqueness of humankind.

According to Mark Twain, “Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to.”

Categories: Living Consciously, Odds and Ends, Wild Things | Tags: , | 3 Comments

Words to Live By

Posted on February 13, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

“Favorite Quotation.” This was one of the blanks to fill in on a bio form I had to submit recently for a presentation I’m giving in a few weeks. I assumed they wanted something uplifting and meaningful, a shining little nugget of pithy advice or witty inspiration that is a touchstone in my life.

And I couldn’t think of a thing. It probably didn’t help that the program chairman needed my response by 5:00 p.m., that I’ve read and edited so many self-help books that their wise adages tend to blur together, and that my favorite poet is Ogden Nash. He certainly is quotable—here’s one of his poems:

Reflexions on Ice-Breaking
Candy
is dandy
But liquor
is quicker

However, the inspirational value of lines like this might not be fully appreciated by someone whose goal is to help a presenter seem capable and authoritative.

I finally found some adequate saying or other, sent it in, and promptly forgot about it. The next day, of course, I remembered several delightful, clever, and apt quotations that I could have used instead.

While I was on the subject, though, I started pondering some of the sayings that do influence my life. If I had been more concerned about truth-telling than pseudo-inspiration in my response, I might have cited one of the phrases (source: various semi-anonymous members of my family) that I actually use regularly. Like one of these:

“Cowgirl up.” Its better-known counterpart, “cowboy up,” means shut up, get on with it, do what needs to be done and don’t complain. “Cowgirl up” means pretty much the same thing, except you toss in a little humor while you’re at it. And wear your best red boots, except in situations where Carhartts are more appropriate.

“I just want this to be oooover!” This loud and deeply sincere bit of dramatic criticism from the back of an elementary school gym was one of the highlights of my son-in-law’s time as part of a touring children’s theatre program. My partner and I have appropriated it and find it useful in all sorts of situations. It can be muttered out of the side of one’s mouth during long-winded speeches or tedious meetings. It can be thought to oneself during dental appointments or invasive medical procedures. Said aloud with a dramatic sigh or eye-roll, it suits a variety of occasions from uphill hikes to long car trips to waiting on hold for customer service. Sometimes, the person who wasn’t quick enough to say it first gets to come back with the response my son-in-law gave from the stage: “You and me both, kid!”

Okay, I might as well admit it. When it comes to inspirational words, I’ll take a perspective-restoring chuckle over an uplifting adage any day. It’s sometimes more clever, often more useful, and always easier to remember.

Categories: Just For Fun, Living Consciously | Tags: , , | 5 Comments

Calendars, Done Well

Posted on January 2, 2015 by Kathleen Fox

One of the pleasures of a new year is starting a fresh calendar. It’s easy to think of calendars as restrictive, as ways we schedule and limit ourselves and put our lives into boxes. I prefer to think of them as holders of opportunities, filled with promise and possibility. All those days are just waiting to be filled, not merely with appointments and anniversaries, but with people and experiences.

Calendars can serve as daily journals, not just reminders of what we need to do but as records of what we’ve done. The calendar in our kitchen when I was growing up, for example, had notes like “.65 in. rain” and tracked the births of calves with the numbers of their mothers’ ear tags.

Calendars can be educational—and I don’t mean “Miss July,” either. The first book my son ever read, at age two or three, was a calendar. He went through it page by page, reading all the numbers out loud to his father, who patiently listened through all 12 months.

A calendar, done well, is a perfect combination of utility and beauty. I’m particular about the meaning of “done well.” Wall calendars, for example, need not only great pictures, but also daily squares with both readable numbers and room to write stuff. And I prefer a certain brand and style of spiral-bound planner for my desk, where Monday is always on the left-hand page so I never confuse it with Tuesday and risk missing something exciting like a dental appointment.

I know a paper planner isn’t necessarily the most efficient way to keep my daily to-do list and record my billable hours. If I did it electronically, the computer could alert me to appointments with alarms and pop-up notices and would probably even do the math for me. But I don’t want to give up the emotional and tactile satisfaction of taking my pen and crossing something off my list when I’ve finished it. Sometimes I even write items on the to-do list after I’ve done them, just for the pleasure of crossing them off.

This is a great year for wall calendars; we have three that are definitely done well. They offer an assortment of wonderful photos, all of which allow us to see our local area in new ways. The dilemma now is deciding which one to hang where.

One will go in my office to help me remember an ever-increasing database of birthdays. I finally got smart enough to write in birth years as well as names, since I’m reasonably good at tracking the dates but fuzzy about ages.

One will hang in the kitchen to keep track of scheduled events like concerts and plays. (January 16, for example: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Abridged. Another chance to see my son-in-law on stage in a dress.)

And the third, with duplicate entries for at least the most significant dates, will go downstairs in my partner’s office. After all, for a happy relationship it’s a good idea to be sure you’re both on the same page. Or at least in the same month.

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