The Laugh's On Me

So much for my plan of avoiding any kind of consumption. Today I realized Sawyer only has three pair of shorts, and one pair is at my mom's. So I broke my own rule, but not completely: I went shopping at the OARC thrift store. (Note to self: Always hit OARC first .They're prices are amazing. I bought a pair of shorts for Sawyer and a coloring book for a total of 35 cents. Huzzah! Similar shorts were 3.50 at Goodwill.)

Later the entire family and I went to Goodwill for some more shopping. I found a pair of shorts for Sawyer, which was the whole point. But I have trouble resisting deals and definitely experienced that clinging feeling. I wanted the salad plates, the tote bag, and the movie (in a medium we don't even own anymore). Even a thrift store brings out my desire to acquire. However, that feeling I get from acquiring only lasts for a short while, promptly leading to more acquiring. It's like an addiction and one that is encouraged every time I turn on the TV, walk into a store, drive past a billboard or listen to the radio.

My one success: I REALLY wanted a latte and not a home-brewed latte. I even got into my car to drive to Starbucks . . . and then got out of the car and walked hangdoggedly back into the house and brewed a mediocre iced latte.

Total non sequitur: I started getting chest pains on the way to Goodwill. I am pretty sure it's heartburn because what I read says that if when you lay down it gets worse, it's probably GI related. It was pretty painful and scary, and no, I did not go to the hospital like I know I should have. But I'm sitting here now and not feeling any pain, so all is well.

Back from Flu Hell

Because our sangha recently discussed suffering, we had the homework assignment of paying attention to suffering. Instead of thinking I am suffering, we could think There is suffering or This is suffering. I spent the week contemplating this thought and was surprised how often I saw suffering. Now, for the non-Buddhists out there, you should know that suffering is a general term that applies to true suffering, dis-ease, discontentment, desire, and so-on. It's a pretty broad spectrum, and the idea is that suffering is caused by attachment. When what we are attached to isn't present, we suffer. So of course the trick is to ditch the attachment and thereby ditch the suffering.

I "suffer" a lot, but I don't suffer much at all. So I spent a week thinking about how I am attached to a lot of different things.

Then my son got the stomach flu. Then I got the stomach flu. Then the husband got the flu, although not the stomach flu. It was a beast, let me tell you. And my perspective on suffering has changed. There's nothing like a good 48 hours of pure misery to remind yourself that life is pretty darn good the other 363 days of the year. It was a great lesson in appreciating the simple things in life as well as in letting go of attachment.

* * *

Thanksgiving is coming, and the local Unity Church is hosting a inter-faith Thanksgiving thanks-giving. I'm looking forward to it. My girlfriends and I are going. We rarely get to do anything like this together, since we are all of different faiths - Catholic, Buddhist, Methodist, Episcopalian. I'm looking forward to a little girl's night out and a little thoughtful thanksgiving at the same time.

Being In the Body

At the right speech retreat, we talked a lot about the importance of "being in the body." By this, I believe, we mean to be aware of our physical presence - how we're feeling. It came up because when we're dealing with a conflict, it's good to be aware of how we're physically responding to the person so that we can be mindful of our actions. For example, if I find that my muscles tighten when I'm talking to someone, I can think about how I am feeling tense and try not to let my tension drive my part in the conversation.

Overall, however, being in the body contributes more broadly to living mindfully, and I've been working on being aware of my physical responses to my world.

Tonight, my son came down with a high fever . . . and quickly at that. I felt panicky. I know I can't get hysterical when my kids are sick, partly because I know I'm most likely overreacting and partly because I know it can only make the situation worse. So I tried to think about my physical reaction to the situation. My chest muscles were tight, I had butterflies in my stomach, and (something I have recently noticed happening) my arms were tingling. (The arm tingling I have noticed a lot lately. I've never really been aware of it before; I'm guessing this is the result of me now becoming more mindful, not because the tingling is new.)

I reminded myself of the concept of clinging, that I was clinging to my son's health. Part of me thought I need to let go. Sickness is part of life. Stop clinging to his health. And the other part of me thought Screw that! My son is sick! My son is sick! When you're imagining the worst case scenario - (Dare I say it?) that your child may die - being mindful seems a little . . . pointless. Nevertheless, I tried to stay mindful, tried to stay calm at least on the exterior.

My son's fever dropped to 100.3 after Tylenol and a cold bath. Now he's in bed, and I have all night to worry. It will be a good exercise in being mindful, present, and in the body. And a good exercise in realizing that the world doesn't end just because my lil' guy has a fever.

On another note: Thanks to Tori for acknowledging that she has read my blog. (Hello, Tori!)

I don't HEART Albuterol

Take an overactive 5 year-old who resists sleep. Make her sick and therefore a little . . . (how to say this with wise speech?) temperamental. Then give her a drug that makes her more hyper (and even more resistant to sleep) as well as agitated. Add to it a sick toddler and a sick mommy. What do you get? Exhaustion.

Wise Speech

I went to my first Buddhist retreat this weekend. It was a day-long retreat on the beautiful grounds of the Washoe Pines ranch in Washoe Valley, NV. Donald Rothberg taught about Right Speech. The content wasn't really new to me, but Donald did a wonderful job of structuring activities for reflection and practice. (If you ever get the chance to go to a retreat taught by Donald, I suggest you take it. He is interesting and inspiring, and he uses proven teaching strategies.)

We were reminded of the 4 qualities of wise speech:

1. Truthful
2. Helpful
3. Kind
4. Well intended (including right timing and appropriateness)

For those who are not familiar with this teaching: The idea is that everything you say (or write) should meet all four criteria. If something is kind and helpful, but not an honest observation, it should not be communicated. If something is honest, but won't help the person, it should not be said. If it's truthful, helpful and kind, but it's not the appropriate time, one should wait. If it's truthful, helpful and timely, but your tone is harsh (and therefore not kind), it's not wise speech.

I could work on all four of these, but I mostly struggle with the timing issue and the helpful issue. With inner reflection, I can know that something is true and kind, but the helpful and the timing can sometimes be a little bit of a crap shoot. I've learned this with students. There have been times when I have been pretty insistent that a student understand my expectations, only to later find out the student had just recently lost a parent. I think I need to explore this issue further.

The sangha continued the discussion Monday night. We agreed to assign ourselves a homework assignment. I decided to try the spend-a-week-not-talking-about-someone-not-in-the-room homework assignment. This applies to even saying good things. It's a practice in being aware of how much we talk about others. This has been very difficult for me. I knew I would have to give myself some exceptions as department head, as much of my job is representing admin to the department and vice versa, but it has been almost overwhelming how many times I have been challenged with this. For example, I was on the hiring committee for the new principal. Someone asked me if I thought our choice would make a good principal. If I hadn't said anything, it would have "said" a lot that I didn't want said. I am happy with our new principal, and I felt it important as department head that I share that with this person.

Another challenge is trying to break the gossiping/whining/complaining pattern that I have with some people. I don't want to embarrass them by making a statement about not wanting to engage in a conversation they started, since I helped establish that pattern of communication. With my closest friends it's easy because I can tell them what I'm doing, but with the lunch room crew, with my peers at work, it's more of a challenge. I have kept quiet and even left the room. And I have jumped in a couple of times. I'm wondering if there is a way to say, "I am working on not talking about people who are not present," or if redirecting conversation is the better approach.

Well, it's time to put the kidlings to bed. I guess this blog is becoming more about Buddhism than anything else.

DD is sick with an asthma attack. DS has a runny nose and a cough. Cannot cling to their health.

Clinging to My Children's Health

I wrote recently about the daily contemplations and my need to accept that my children will get ill. Today, my DS came down with a fever right before bedtime. I put him down to bed and am wringing my hands.

After the death of a young girl in our town from the flu, I am very nervous about my son's fever.
It's simple: I get ridiculously nervous at times like these.

What if his fever spikes in the middle of the night, and I don't know it? What if he has the flu? What if he starts having breathing problems in the middle of the night and I am unaware? What if . . . ? The end of that sentence goes all the way to the unimaginable for a parent.

I wish I could let go.

"Of the Nature to Get Sick"

Me and my sick DS taken by my DD.

Today, my friends' daughter, almost a year old, burned her hands badly on the fireplace at the day care where we take our children. One hand is so badly burned she will have to have skin grafts later in life, they were told by the specialist.

Today, my husband's friend lost her granddaughter to the flu. She was in the sixth grade.

Recently, my daughter was ill with the flu. We worried about her, especially since her asthma makes getting any respiratory illness complicated and at times down right frightening.

All this made me think of my first day as a member of my sangha. The group was discussing their homework from the week before. They were to read the Buddha's daily contemplations on life every day. I haven't been able to find them today, but they go something like this:
I am of the nature to get sick. I will get sick.
I am of the nature to get old. I will get old.
I am of the nature to die. I will die.

I spent the next couple days thinking about these daily contemplations, and it occured to me that what I need to be contemplating is that my children are of the nature to get sick, of the nature to get old, of the nature to die.

They will get sick.

I know this sounds morbid, but the truth is that I cannot control my children's health. And that is the point of this meditation, to accept the vicissitudes of life, to accept that things are beyond our control, to accept the finality of our mortality.

Today made me very aware of this contemplation. And oddly enough, these contemplations, though they seem morbid, actually make me feel better, more at ease.