"DUSTING THE CRAZY HOUSE," a short story

By Claudia Ricci

Note to readers: A couple of weeks ago, I met with my colleague and friend Nancy J. Dunlop, a poet and essayist, to write for a couple of hours at her house. We used a random prompt from a book that she had; the prompt included the words: "my head is absolutely fuzzy with the dust of ancient kings." When I started writing, I had no idea what I was thinking or where the story was going. But this is the short story that poured out. I'm not trying too hard to analyze it. 

She wrote the first email and it was only one sentence long and I swear I read it and I reread it and I read it a third time and that third time I swear I heard her saying it, I could practically feel her warm breath giving me goosebumps on my neck and I swear I heard her whispering it to me directly in my ear.

 “Oh Dara, my head is absolutely fuzzy with the dust of ancient kings.” Huh? I was puzzled. She’d promised to write and now she had, but Christ, it wasn’t as though I had a clue, this made no sense.

I sat there, massaging the bridge of my nose with thumb and forefinger, aware of the rain that was steadily plink plink plinking on the tin roof.

What was she saying? Was this code for the hospital was really dirty? Or was she simply saying that they had her so well sedated that she couldn’t think straight. I waited a decent amount of time, ten minutes, and then I waited one more, and then I wrote back.

“Mona, so glad to hear from you. Have been dying to know how the place feels. Also, how you are getting along. Let me know how it’s going if you can. Do you get much time for email? Do they censor you? On this end, I have been trying to put words to a song. Not going so well at all. Feels like I’m stacking bricks. It would be going better if I had a melody or a chorus or even a glimmer of inspiration.”

The next email from her two days later was quite lengthy but even more confusing. “They told me they would throw a rope if I tumbled overboard, and not to worry, because I was wearing a helmet, but I wasn’t having any of that white water shit. I pretended I would go, I even went so far as to sit in the raft. I let them tie the lifejacket around me very snug, but just as they pushed off, I stood up and took one giant leap out of the fucking boat. 

Naturally I fell on both knees and cut both my fucking shins on these sharp rocks in the stream. My boat leader let out a wild scream, MONAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, and when she finally reached me she had this scolding tone even as she came to my aid. Oh Dara, the kind of kings in charge here are clearly not those to whom I dare entrust my safety. Do I have to be here? For how long? Whose idea was this anyway?”

“By the way, after they bandaged my knees they had the audacity to say that if I wanted to, I was still free to "do" the river with a team that was assembling on the shore. I just laughed. I told them that I had decided to paint for the afternoon and I added, please, I want to have nothing more to do with water of the river variety, not ever again, and no boats anymore either.”

I decided to print out the email. Who knew what to believe? Before she left, Mona told me she was enrolled in a six week program at Biggs Meyers and they would be doing psychotherapy at least four or five hours a day.

So what the hell was this business about white water rafting? Was she really trying to get me to believe she was rafting the fucking Housatonic River?

I stepped outside and stared at the hummingbirds dive-bombing the feeders. I really needed to speak to her. I considered calling the desk number that she’d left me and pretend I was calling with some kind of minor family emergency.

*****

DICTIONARY DIRECTIONS

Instead, I went to the dictionary and opened it at random and set my finger on a word. I just hate it when the word makes me this anxious, as if somehow the fucking dictionary knows exactly which word I will pick. As if the fucking dictionary can feel or tell what idea I am most afraid to discover about myself.

So if you must know the word I chose was one I do not love at all:

Deteriorate. Hate it. Hate hate hate hate the idea behind and in front of it.

Deteriorate is from the Latin deteriorare, “to degenerate.” Lately, I have been unraveling. I know it and so do a few of my friends, which is why it was advised to do a stint here.

Perhaps I should not be admitting all of this so brazenly, right here right on this asinine piece of paper, as others may peek over my shoulder, and read what I am writing. Why do they allow the goddamn aides to peek over your shoulder and read what you are writing? What goes on at these places? Don’t people in these places deserve privacy?

Please, Mr. Aide, do not peek over my shoulder or I will report you and Dr K, the king of kings, will not appreciate this random invasion of a patient’s privacy. I’ve got my rights, I know that much, and I know that he will hold you responsible. And by the way, don’t you dare touch me or come near me.

Straight away, I threw aside the dictionary and went to the desk to ask Barbara for the key to the phone room. I wanted to dial Dara, I had a right to, she is after all my closest best friend, she is more of a sister than my own sister, you could say that she is closer to me than my other half. It has been seven days since I left and it’s about time that I would at least be allowed to spill my guts about this place, especially the crappy way they don’t clean. The dust is overhwelming, I swear it’s making my head fuzzy and kicking up my allergies.

But I don’t understand, I told Barbara at the desk. Her hair is truly more carrot colored than carrots, and I don’t even like carrots. There were all these springy curls popping out on all sides of her head as if she was electrified.

“But I was told I could have phone privileges after one week.  I know they told me that. I swear.” I could feel my hands shaking, and rings of sweat sprouting under and around each arm pit. “It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. There are rules and rules should be followed.” I leaned over the desk and stared right into Barbara’s sky blue eyes. “Especially in places like THIS!”

Barbara tuned me out. “Sorry Mona, you’ll have to speak to Dr K, all I know sweetie is what it says here in your chart, phone privs not to start until May 30th, which is more than a week from now.”

How humiliating.  I moped by the desk until another white-shirted aide asked me if I wasn’t ready for medication. I turned to face him. “I am already a zombie,” I said calmly. “I will forego the afternoon pill.”

I sat listening to the rain pummeling the windows with soft fingers. I thought about what I would write Dara tonight, during my half hour of email time. But that wasn’t until eight p.m. Five more hours of doing nothing.

I dropped into a rocking chair and there was a raggy grey afghan on one arm and I took off my socks and shoes and wrapped the afghan around my bare feet. “I am bored,” I said to no one in particular. 

There was a woman wearing red glasses, she was sitting across the room from me on a sofa with a magazine in her lap. Was she reading said magazine?

“Don’t complain to me, honey. Do somethin if you’re bored.” Had she really said those words or were they words in my own head?

In any case, I pretended I didn’t hear her. “I really am so terribly and awfully bored. I am so scared of being bored. Being bored means you might have no more life ahead of you. Being bored means you are one tiny step away from dying.” I felt the tears gathering behind both eyes. I started to speak louder hoping someone would come to my assistance. “Do you hear what I am saying? One of my worst, absolutely worst fears is to be bored. I am terrified of it. I love being busy. Can you see that in me?” 

Anyway, if anybody cares, I came to this place to cure my boredom and so what happens? I am even more bored here than I was back home.”

Nobody answered me. Nobody said nothing. Not the white-shirted aide who tried to feed me an afternoon pill. Not the carrot-haired aide behind the desk.

I sat there staring into the ploufe of the rain and decided to take a chance with another word. Decided to pick the word right above deteriorate:

Detergent: noun. A cleansing substance…having cleansing power.

I like that word. Clean. Cleansing. Taking power by eliminating dirt. By creating order. I decided to volunteer to dust. After all, I am bored. And this crazy place is in serious need of cleaning. I went up to the desk and asked Barbara if she had any dust rags and Endust because when I clean, I absolutely must have it.

END dust, that is.

The Journey We Take Alone -- Part 21

 By Alexander "Sandy" Prisant

The Health Care Follies: 2012

I want to talk to you about hospital insanity. It has nothing to do with the psych ward.

Recently I had to stay overnight at a local hospital. With all the things going on in my body, this is no longer a big deal. Scary stuff may be happening, but nowadays it feels more or less like going for a haircut. 

This latest visit was only 36 hours long, but it reacquainted me with The 10 Rules of Hospital Havoc. They go a long way toward explaining why, while we keep telling ourselves we have the world’s best healthcare, the one objective judge of these things--the World Health Organization--says we in fact rank 37th in quality amongst modern industrialized nations.  That is a seven with a three in front. Since there are only about 20 or 25 civilized western nations, this is a little scary. It certainly scares me.

Almost as soon as you get to the hospital you begin to see why, as the rules of hospital havoc are rolled out before you:

1.            You are not a patient, you are a profit center. In terms of operations, investors and profits, there is very little difference between Hospital Corporation of America and United States Steel. Or for that matter, Jack’s 21 Lane Boardwalk Bowl-o-rama.

2.            Computerization does not enhance patient care; it reduces it.   Nurses now stop by your bedside far less than 20 years ago. Know why? They are now trapped in a glorified hi-tech typing pool, transcribing doctors’ notes and orders—right down to what happened to that aspirin that fell on the floor.   Nurses fall into two categories---the ones who are computer literate and spend 80% of their time inputting everything. And the other 20% who snuck by the computer orientation course and now spend 100% of their time botching the transcriptions and frantically recopying everything by longhand on scrap pads they hide in their white frocks.  After all that and taking endless vital signs, time remaining to attend to actual patient needs is somewhere between nil and zero.

3.            HIPAA is a Communist plot.  The Federal Health Information Portability Act is like something out of Orwell’s 1984.  In theory it is meant to keep your most intimate medical details confidential. In practice it allows them to be broadcast to your dry cleaner, your local school crossing guard—almost anyone in fact, except you. (Note: Before Congressional gridlock, HIPAA seemed a sterling piece of bi-partisan legislation. So let’s be careful what we wish for now.)

4.            The four hour rule. There is no decision of any magnitude that can be taken in hospital in under four hours—including a glass of water. One exception is cardiac arrest. Hospitals are only helpful for people who have completely stopped breathing.

5.            The diet scam. If two days’ eating mattered that much, why did you need to come to the hospital in the first place? The staff turns diets into the Holy Grail —but it’s usually heresy.  When I checked in it was imperative that I receive a high protein diet to prepare for a treatment. Instead I was put on a low low protein diet. It took 7 staff over 8 hours, to correct this—delaying treatment by 10 hours.

6.            The “Who, Me?” rule.  Hospitals have hundreds of staff whom only know the first rule of the Hippocratic Oath is “Do no Harm” The second rule should be ”why bother showing up?”.  All staff can only do one thing well--not make a decision. Everyone has been bludgeoned into mind control that will not allow any common sense thought.  Pills are given at three set times of the day. None of these include meal time. If you absolutely must take a medication with your food the only possible answer is to sneak it in from home. No hospital pharmacy will give it. No nurse will help.

7.            The Charge Nurse Shuffle. Each floor has a charge nurse. Modern anthropologists have yet to determine what this person actually does. Her main role seems to be introducing herself in the 30 minutes before you depart. She will then effusively offer to do anything she can. During the final half-hour  I had three small requests. She could not help with two and wanted me to call some other staff for the third.

8.            The Paper Chase.  People used to leave hospital in the morning, now you’re lucky to beat the evening rush hour.  Apparently three doctors, the hall monitor and the cafeteria lady have to sign off before anyone can leave. A prison parole does not require this many signatures.  You are then handed an absolutely useless set of print outs that exclude everything the hospital has learned about your condition.  Mine stated across the top “High Risk Patient”.  It then promptly dropped that subject and went into boilerplate: a number to quit smoking (I don’t smoke), the local Cancer Society (I don’t have cancer) and adozen more help groups that had nothing to do with me.  A great flourish was made as my nurse and I signed off on these standard wholly irrelevant pages. I felt like I was being awarded something torn from the Yellow Pages.

9.            Indoor ambulance chasing is kosher.  Beware of strange doctors bearing “gifts”. A cardiologist I’d never met sidled;up to my bed and talked to me for 14 minutes. He then said: I’m going to help you.”  But it sounded more like “Trust me; I’m a lawyer.” An hour later, a zombie nurse trained only to follow any stray doctor order,had placed me on restrictions in preparation for my heart procedure? My what?!? My heart may just last long enough for transplant.  It is not a suitable organ for a round of pin the tail on the aorta.  By bypassing the medical team that has cautiously shepherded me through the past 10 years, this hotshot cardiologist saw a profit opportunity and tried to take it.  When I sounded the alarm he was already marshaling staff and had an operating room lined up.  By saying no to all of it, we may have saved me, Medicare money and Hippocrates from rolling over in his grave.

10.            Mistaken identity is reducing but not vanishing. Think of every staff member as a snake oil salesman.  They are giving you pills and attempting procedures on you, but usually don’t know why, because their only job is to follow orders.  So ask questions—lots of them—all day.  It’s mostly your brain and your common sense standing between you and some nice young doctor treating you for what that lady in the next bed is suffering from.

Alexander "Sandy" Prisant, who lives in Florida with his wife Susan, is writing a long series of articles on his chronic kidney ailment; currently he awaits a kidney and heart transplant. To find earlier posts, simply go to the Search function on MyStory and type in his name. 

Making One Whole Day a Mindful Experience

Note to readers: For their final writing projects this semester, students in the Happiness class were required to spend a day being mindful, keeping journal entries all day, and then later reflecting on the day and how it made them realize or appreciate what they have learned from the class. Several of the final papers were just wonderful; here is a second. 

By Marissa Grumm

            I chose to do my day of mindfulness on the weekend. I thought it would be easier to focus on mindfulness because I usually have a lot less going on during the weekends than I do on weekdays. I thought it would be easier to really focus on incorporating mindfulness into my day. When I first woke up I made sure I wrote in my journal my intention for the day. I wanted to take these 24 hours and try to experience them differently than I had in the past.

In “Waking up,” Thich Nhat Hanh talks about how easily our days “slip into forgetfulness.” He stresses the importance of treating every moment as the gift that it is and to make sure that you are present and thankful.  I wanted to stay true to the assignment and try to be as mindful as possible all throughout the day. We have had discussions in class about misconceptions about being mindful – sometimes people think being mindful means that we need to set time aside in our day for it. It came up a few times during our class presentations when we learned of individuals who spend a year doing a project to become happier. They set aside all of their obligations for a certain period of time to devote their attention to their pursuit of happiness. I myself have given the excuse in mindfulness teacher Lenore Flynn’s class that I couldn’t participate in the previous week’s assignment because I had too much going on and I didn’t have enough time. What I wanted to get out of this day of mindfulness was that I could go about my everyday life, do chores, eat, do homework, and still be mindful about it. Instead of putting time aside to be mindful I wanted to spread it throughout the whole day. If I could successfully go about all my tasks for the day with a sense of self and the present moment there isn’t a need to assign time to be mindful, I would be doing it the whole time. I feel like some people see being mindful as a task that they put on their to do list for the day. My goal was to be able to be mindful today and hopefully to try to apply it to everyday of my life after today.

            During the day I had some chores I had to get done. I had to go to a couple stores and pick things up for myself and other people. I had to do a lot of driving and that did not make me particularly happy. I don’t really like driving; I often rush when I do just to get to where I need to be. I don’t like the craziness of the other drivers and sometimes it even gives me a little anxiety. That day I tried to look at driving differently. I wanted to have more patience when I was driving and maybe try and actually enjoy it. In the reading by Thich Nhat Hanh, “Washing the Dishes” he spoke about how doing dishes is often times looked at as an unpleasant task. Many times people rush through it and he explains that when we hurry through a task “time will be unpleasant and not worth living.” He explains that when we stop and do things more mindfully, something as simple as washing dishes could be done with joy. I think the real message that Thich Nhat Hanh was trying to get across is that no chore is torture. It is possible to find joy in anything that we may not particularly like. It is important to strive to find joy in everything thing we do because that makes life worth living.

            I thought of this when I was driving. I asked myself  “how could I drive mindfully?” In Thich Nhat Hanh's book “Peace is Every Step” he talked briefly about mindful driving. He said that when we drive we tend to “think only about arriving.” We neglect to focus on what is going on in the moment when we are driving and get easily frustrated and angry when something happens that delays our arrival. He spoke about using red lights as “bell of mindfulness” and using them as a chance to connect with the moment and your breath. I made a point to use those “bells of mindfulness” but I also decided to take a pause every time I sat in my car. Before I turned the key in the ignition and put the car in drive I stopped and took three long deep breathes. That instantly calmed me and put me in a more mindful mind set for my drive to my next destination. This made me feel a lot calmer and gave me a chance to reconnect with me and how I was feeling. Ultimately I think this made my driving experience a lot more enjoyable because it slowed me down. I wasn’t rushing and I had a better time reacting to other drivers who may have turned in front of me or cut me off. Honestly driving in that mindset made it seem like my chores went by a lot after and before I knew it I was back in my apartment. I no longer saw driving as a chore but as Thich Nhat Hanh saw washing the dishes, as a joyful 

experience.   

            I made a point to eat one meal mindfully during the day. I chose breakfast because all I had was a bowl of cereal and milk and I thought it would be easier to eat something that had less components to it. I have always had a hard time eating mindfully and this time was no exception. Even though it was a simple dish I found that the longer I took to eat my cereal the more soggy my Cheerios got. It was a little frustrating and I did catch myself thinking at times that I should just pick another meal. But I decided I wanted to stick to it. Eating this meal also got me thinking how grateful I am to have it. There are so many people in this world that would give anything for the bowl of cereal and milk I was eating. Later in the day when I went into the supermarket I thought of this again. So many people in this country are so lucky to be able to walk into a grocery store and have all these different kinds of food to their disposal. There are places in the world where people only have a cup, if that of bland white rice to eat a day and here we are walking into stores that have hundreds of different kinds of rice among tons of other ingredients to cook it with. I thought of how easily taken for granted these luxuries are. It made be feel so grateful for the food I have. I always feel a little bit of guilt when a restaurant gets my order wrong and immediately throws the whole dish out and makes a new one. Our society has grown to view having food as a right and not a privilege and it has caused us to act extremely wasteful towards it. 

            At one point of my day I went to the store to buy my mother a Mother’s Day present. I wanted to get her a bead for the Pandora bracelet she got for Christmas. Usually when I buy gifts for people I just buy something I think they might like and just get it to get it. Although there is some meaning behind it I don’t spend too much time really thinking about it. However this time was different. I made a point to bring mindfulness into the selection process of this present. As I was looking at them I knew which ones I thought were pretty and which ones I would want someone to buy me, but I tired to take a different point of view when picking one this time. I thought about my mom and which on she would be excited to receive. Then I thought of why I was buying her this gift. This brought so much more meaning to the whole process. It become so much easier to pick one out when I thought of how much my mom deserves something beautiful. I am so grateful for to have such a wonderful mother and I knew when she opened this present she would absolutely love it. I was no longer just buying her a present to simply get her something for Mothers day I was buyer her something with a purpose and that made it ten times more special.

            My day of mindfulness highlighted a lot of things that I am really grateful for. When I was buying my mother her present I realized how grateful I am for my family. I am so lucky to have the relationship I have with my parents and sisters. I know a lot of people that have broken relationships with their parents and siblings and it just makes me realize how lucky I am. For some a simple conversation on the phone with their family is torture and often times ends in tears and I am so thankful that I can call anyone in my family and any point in the day and our conversations will always end with an I love you.

            Another thing I am extremely thankful for is all of the food I have access too. I couldn’t help but think all throughout the day how lucky I am to have all these choices of things to eat. I know that most people in the world do not have this luxury and I am going to try and make a bigger effort to not take for granted this privilege. I feel like I do this most when I don’t finish everything on my plate and then just throw it out. Instead of doing this I could save it for another day or give it to someone else.

            I am also incredibly grateful for my body. I was fortunate enough to not be born with any handicaps. I have the ability to walk, run, speak, hear, touch and breathe. It is so easy for me to take these little everyday things I do for granted because I engage in them without really noticing. But when I took those few minutes to pause throughout the day I realized how lucky I am to be able to do everything that I can. And instead of driving to every single store through out the day, if there was one that was in walking distance I walked, because I could.

            Overall I think my day being as mindful as possible was a success. There were times when I may have forgotten to focus on the moment but I did not judge myself for it. When I became aware of it, I accepted it and took that moment to become mindful. It is not an easy thing to go about your day 100% mindfully. Especially in the society we live in today, it is easy to get caught up in what just happened or what has yet to happen and not focus on what is going in this present moment. Mindfulness is something I will need to work on everyday and I accept the fact, without judgment that I may never be perfect with it.

Marissa Grumm is entering her final semester at the University at Albany. She will be graduating with a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Psychology with honors and a minor in Business Administration in hopes of pursuing a career in Marketing and Public Relations. To read another student's final mindfulness project, see the post by Meghan Madden that ran in MyStoryLives on May 30th.

The Old Barn at Dilettante Farm: Part Two, "A New Life"

By Robert Willner

                                                The chicken coop, completely self enclosed,

                                                became Barbara’s art studio.

                                                My desk was in the corner of the

great room, facing the pond.

I looked through the Barn’s eyes at the blue

            heron who visited and fished each day and

the bass and carp who tried to avoid his visits.

But it was at night that the Barn,

with its paintings and Navajo rugs

hanging from its walls like necklaces,

became the Grande Dame,

hosting theater events, New Years Eve parties

            and my brother’s wedding.

A StageWorks seated dinner gala for eighty-five

with a short play -- the Barn beamed.

Black tie New Years Eve parties for twenty to

 twenty-five friends-- first bring a dish then catered.

Decorations by Barbara and our dear friend Connie.

“Our Town” -- the table a tableau of Chatham,

white cotton for snow, blue tinsel for ponds,

little houses and the steeple.

The theme bring a story to the table, from your life,

true or false, imagined or unimaginable.

We drank of the wines and poured the stories.

Another Eve, cutouts of the “Clintons” going to 

 Washington on a wagon, and also on the table

coming out of a cake, surrounded by

fake hotdogs and candy.

The Barn was enjoying its new family and uses.

Wedding day for my brother and Judy,

 a glorious, spring-summer afternoon.

Not wanting to miss the event,

flowers were opening all around and

peering over their leaves.

Vows were exchanged and then

we went to the Barn.

Its doors were open like welcoming arms.

The great room, where hay wagons once entered,

now had tables and chairs for sixty-five,

an area for dancing and a band in the loft.

The Barn loved the attention and seemed  to            

 straighten some of the curves of  its sides.

Food was served, wine poured and a mike passed.

Guests rose from chairs to tell their stories.

Laughter and applause resonated in the room,

bouncing off walls – did some originate there?

Then the dancing started.

The music leaps from the loft up to

roof and down to the floor and back.

The Old Barn shakes, its patina

a multicolored dress on this magical night.

Gracefully the Barn absorbs all.

                                    Old Friend

                        Sure

                         it’s a beautiful night.

                        Sure

stars are trying to enter through  windows.

            Sure

moonlight is shimmering on the pond.

            Sure

lots of wine was had and glasses touched.

            Assuredly, even without,

I love these people and our host the Old Barn.

Writer Robert G. Willner lives in Chatham, New York. He has been an attorney and president of a Columbia County drama company called StageWorks. He is the author of "If not now -- when? A MEMOIR IN POEM," published in 2008. Part one of "Old Barn" ran in MyStory on Sunday, June 3, 2012.

                                                                                    

                                                                                   

                                                                        

The Old Barn at Dilettante Farm -- Part One: "Born Again"

     By Robert G. Willner    

                                                 

                 

“Want my advice?”

I stared at him.

           “Tear it down.”

Another builder heard from.

They did not understand.

We kept our old alive.

From the dirt floors with

cow stalls to the upper

levels where hay was stacked,

the Barn had served.

Now with cows and hay gone,

                        it sagged sadly;

a home for fox, bats and birds.

The wind whipped through the spaces

where siding provided past protection.

Over the years rain, snow, ice and

fierce storms had rotted out beams and posts.

The old tin roof kept it breathing.

Chipped slats under the roof had turned

multicolored from years of weather and neglect.

Barn posts stood on earth,

no footings, no foundation.

A few lucky ones sat on rock.

Where the Barn was built into the hillside,

earth was winning the battle, pushing the Barn,

                                                crumbling a side shored up with stone.

The Barn curved like an old lady,

stooped but surviving.

I could walk around inside by keeping to the edges,

displaying the dexterity of a cat.

Along came Al Dell, a builder.

“You know it could fall down any minute.”

“If it does, walk away and I’ll pay you for what you did.”

Of medium height and powerfully built,

Al was cheerful and serious.

He was like the Old Barn,

but much younger.

He was truthful and honest.

Could he succeed on what

others would not attempt?

“We won’t be able to get it straight.”

“I don’t want it straight, just structurally sound.”

“I gotta pick out the best corner and

 take that to the top to stabilize it.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

The deal was made, time and materials.

His crew would be his sons, nephews and friends.

Al rented a backhoe and he and his son,

dug a trench around the barn.

Later the cement foundation was set.

Over two years the Barn slowly took shape.

No plans, no architectural renderings.

A decision was made to insulate the Barn,

all done from the outside of the posts and beams;

siding for inside walls, insulation and then outside siding.

Inside every post and beam showed its ancient splendor.

A friend donated one post which

ascended from bottom to tin roof.

Another friend gave two posts which

ran from main room to roof.

Marvelous posts, over two hundred years old,

lying in old barns, now beaming posts,

resurrected, intoxicated by their happiness,

they had been restored to use –  to life.

                                                Two large double windows were installed,

separated  by post and beam,

overlooking the pond,

they were the Barn’s eyes and

my eyes would see through them.

Plywood was to replace the old tin roof.

“Well, what color do you want it painted?”

Al was exasperated by Barbara’s rejection of

all colors offered.

“I like the color of the old tin roof.”

“Why don’t you leave it?”

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

And so the old roof was hammered down,

patched where needed, R-board placed on top,

a new tin roof over all.

Lighting sconces highlighted the worn slats

painted to a beautiful patina by many

years of heat and frost, rain and ice.

Below, where cows once stood, the new cement

floor was faux painted a bright brick.

It housed a bath and kitchen whose

refrigerator would hold cows’ milk, now in bottles.

An antique wood stove supplied heat.

It was finished and the Barn rejoiced.

My family, Al and his young crew,

relatives, friends and neighbors came to

the party to honor the restoration and

rebirth of the Barn.

Breath was captured in my chest.     

The old, beaten dairy Barn had become

my majestic castle.

Writer Robert G. Willner lives in Chatham, New York. He has been an attorney and president of a Columbia County drama company called StageWorks. He is the author of "If not now -- when? A MEMOIR IN POEM," published in 2008. Stay tuned for Part Two to see how the Old Barn was transformed into a magnificent new structure.

A Circle of Forgiveness

By Lenore Flynn

Three years ago on the day after Memorial Day, I lost my job. I wrote about it in this blog on June 9, 2009 and entitled the blog “Free Fall”. I just finished reading it once again. For the past 2 years on Memorial Day I experience flashbacks to that day, a rainy stormy day like the one we are having today. As my husband and I sat out  Monday night this year, I felt fearful at thinking how lucky I am again this year. Three years later I have a job I like very much, doing work that matters, I live on less money but I have a small business teaching mindfulness to people who may or may not be in a situation similar to the one I found myself in then. I have landed safely from my free fall. 

One of the most difficult things that happened when I lost my job was that the person who offered it to me was also the person who took it away. He was part of a family business that needed the special skills I had to offer and he convinced me to come to work with them. It was a challenging task they had hired me for but I was successful in bringing them where they wanted to go. The family entered into a acquisition deal about a year in but I was assured my job was secure. I had to work closely with the man who hired me and we became good friends.


So when he came to tell me I was laid off I felt twice the pain, I had not only lost my job but I had been betrayed by a friend. Last Friday we spoke to each other. Through the Internet we had contacted each other and let each other know we were willing to talk. When he came to tell me I no longer had a job I felt such anger. It took a long time for me to stop feeling anger toward him. When we spoke Friday, we were once again friends. So much had happened and he, too, was no longer working for the company. I could only imagine what it had meant to him to have the plans and hopes he had for a future for himself and his family not materialize. It was good to tell him I had forgiven him long ago when he said how sorry he was the way things went. As we ended our conversation, there was relief on both ends of the line. 

Things had come full circle. In retrospect, losing that job three years ago led me to a place where I feel more whole and happier than I have in a long time. I learned so much about anger and forgiveness. Anger is a deep emotion; the deeper the wound the deeper the anger. Forgiveness is a process; it took a great deal of mindfulness practice and loving kindness for me to forgive myself for something I often could not name and to forgive my friend. Losing my job generated feelings of worthlessness, sadness and loss. Losing my friend, the same. 

My meditation practice was the anchor; seeing the healing day by day kept me going. Self compassion and kindness for what I was going through was soothing every day. Each time I would slip back into deep feelings of anger I could reach for that thread, sometimes fragile, but always there. When I spoke with him last week I could feel the good both of us experienced. We both had done some work and learned a lot. He is a good man and I always thought that; he just was led astray. He knows that now. He told me he came to learn that both he and I were fodder for the wood chipper when greed takes hold. 

Not every broken relationship can be mended nor will be. But anger can always be transformed. An open heart feels so much better than a hot, closed one. We can choose; we can give ourselves that gift. I am grateful now to him for what he forced me to learn about my own worth, the gifts I have to share and the importance of healing. Up until recently I wanted to still be mad at him but found myself less able to generate that emotion. The phrases of the loving kindness kept pushing out the anger:

May you be filled with loving kindness,

May you be well,

May you be peaceful and at ease

May you be happy.

The meditation begins with you extending these same phrases toward yourself first. Try it; it can heal you.

Writer Lenore Flynn teaches meditation and mindfulness in Albany; this is the second year she has taught mindfulness to UAlbany students as part of the Happiness class; for information on Lenore's classes, go to www.solidgroundny.org. This piece appeared first on the Times Union's Holistic Health blog, a blog worth bookmarking!! 

Final Writing Project: A Day of Mindfulness

Note to readers: For their final writing projects this semester, students in the Happiness class were required to spend a day being mindful, keeping journal entries all day, and then later reflecting on the day and how it made them realize or appreciate what they have learned from the class. Several of the final papers were just wonderful; I am publishing Meghan Madden's today. 

By Meghan Madden          

             I woke up this morning with a boyfriend. He makes smiling this morning easier than it has been in awhile. I feel warm and cozy as I wake up in my bed. I am not groggy or irritated as usual, but refreshed and happy. It is a Sunday, a good day to live mindfully: A day that I usually just want to lay in bed and recover from my weekend but am too swamped with work. I will not mind going to my fraternity meeting today or spending hours in the library. I am going to try and enjoy these twenty-four hours in the company of my friends, brothers, and boyfriend. 

            Showers are usually not my ideal start to a day. However, today is the day I will enjoy my shower; to be thankful for my warm water, dry towels, and soft robe. I turn the water on hot and let it rush down my neck, back, and legs. I let the steam swallow me up as I breathe in deeply. I enjoy the massage from my fingers as I work the shampoo and conditioner in my hair. The beating of the water on my head and back, the scent of my pomegranate body wash, and the calming whirring sound from the fan relaxes me. I am able to focus on my breathing and the rushing sound of the water as I do part of my daily routine.

            I usually listen to my headphones when I take the bus up to campus, but today I decided to ride the bus in silence. Staring out the window, I watched the trees and the cars and the people rush by me. Watching all of the busy activity from inside the bus brings me relief that I can be still for these twenty minutes. I am starting to think about how swamped I am with work lately and how much I still need to get done; but I push it out of my head. I just want to focus on my bus ride. I know that right now, there is no work I can be doing. These twenty minutes are my moments of sanity before a hectic day. I look up and watch the clouds go by and I am grateful for this moment of calmness. I am grateful that I am able to find moments of peace where I least expect them and when I most need them.

            I bought my coffee and a muffin from Outtakes in the Campus Center and went to the library. I am happy for my usual spot, the comfortable, cushiony chairs in the basement. Not only is it quiet and secluded, but I am not burdened by a hard desk and equally uncomfortable chair. I can sit in the soothing chairs, eat my food, and study peacefully. I am trying to eat my food mindfully. I am not very good at the mindful eating, but it is an experience worth attempting.

            The coffee is hot on my throat. Not scolding, burning hot, but a nice, welcoming warmth. It tastes bitter, the way that I like it. Pure black, no swirls of milk or specs of sugar; just a hot, dark cup. I think of the grinds that were used for this coffee; the beans, the water, the chocolate raspberry flavoring. As I sip it, it warms my body and I feel it sliding down my throat, past my chest, and into my stomach. I imagine it running through my arms, legs, fingers and toes as it gives me my energy.

            My muffin is surprisingly still warm from the heated glass case it was sitting in before I bought it. I look at the purple dots of scattered blueberries in my muffin and think of a large blueberry field that they were picked from. Throughout the scattered blueberries lay the crystallized sugar that gives it the delicious sweet taste. I anticipate the satisfying crunch I know will be present when I bite into the top. I break off a piece, and bits of crumbs flake off into the open wrapper. I put the small piece in my mouth and I can taste the bread, the blueberry, and the sugar all at once. I try to separate the three flavors in my mouth with my tongue. I try and chew it slowly, letting it settle on my tongue and feeling it fall apart in my mouth. Swallowing it, I feel it go down my throat and fill the hunger in my stomach.

            I am taking a break from my studying in order to journal. It is hard to be mindful while I am trying to study over 1,000 years of European Civilization. I am grateful for the ability to read; to immerse myself in a story and enhance my creativity. I am grateful for paper, pencil, and my ability to write. Just the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper is the reassurance that I am learning something new. I know that learning is a blessing and not everyone is lucky enough to have the opportunities for education that I have. I am finding it hard, though, to be grateful for all of this homework when I can see outside into this beautiful day.

            I can sit outside and smoke a cigarette. I know if I think too mindfully about my cigarette I will not want it; so I decide instead to dwell on the people. I like watching people go by and guessing where they are going or who they are going to see. It makes me appreciate the diversity not only in the world but right here on my own campus. Everyone has their own lives, their own problems, their own ideas of what makes them happy. It makes me think about what makes me happy. Not why it makes me happy, just happy that I have the ability to be happy: The simple taste of coffee and muffin that lingers in my mouth. The warm sun I can feel on my arm right now as I sit on the cool cement of this campus that usually depresses me. I am beginning to realize that even in the saddest of places I can find some speck of happiness if I am willing to look for it.

            It has come to the least favorite part of my day, even though I am with some of my favorite people. I love my fraternity, I love doing community service and helping out people that are in need. Alpha Phi Omega has helped me to become a more well-rounded person and I am grateful for that. My meetings every Sunday, however, sometimes make me lose faith in our three cardinal principles: leadership, friendship, and service. I see people wanting to be leaders so badly they would take advantage of community service and squash their friendships. In the spirit of being mindful, in a setting that makes me doubt my compassion, I feel that I should channel Sharon Salzberg and extend some lovingkindness of my own.

            I am a leader and a friend. I enjoy doing service with my friends. I do not do it for a selfish self-satisfaction but because the happiness of others truly makes me happy. I deserve to be free of suffering and to find my own happiness. I am a loving person that is loved back and wants to continue the cycle. I think of one of my brothers. A friend. I want the best for her. I want her free of suffering and immersed in happiness. I love her, care for her, and I know she feels the same for me. I consider another of my brothers. I do not know her well, but I see her being a leader and caring for the fraternity. I want her free from suffering and for her to find happiness. I hope that she enjoys being a brother as much, if not more than I do and hope that she will be successful in whatever she chooses to do in her future. There is a third brother who tends to interrupt people and sometimes has inappropriate ways of confronting other brothers in the fraternity. I would never wish suffering on anyone, so I hope that she is free from suffering. I hope she finds happiness, but I hope she seeks it in ways that do not bring others down. I hope her strong personality brings her success and she is able to form strong bonds with people that understand her.

            Back at home there is so much housework, not to be confused with homework, which needs to be done. I have a hamster to feed and to clean her cage, dishes that have piled up for a week because no one has a spare minute to wash them, and laundry- loads and loads of laundry and no quarters.  I choose one chore, only one, because sometimes there is only so much you can do in a day. My room has been messy for weeks, maybe even a month, but I guess it is finally time to tackle that hurricane. I attempt to do this mindfully, but I know situations in the day will eventually cloud my thoughts and take over my mind. Using my breathing, I will try to push those thoughts out and return to focusing on my cleaning. Hopefully, writing intermittently will keep me focused on my mindful room cleaning.

            I start with my vanity. I throw away old contact cases, put my make-up back in its drawer, and organize my lotions, perfumes, and deodorants so they are easily available. I am so used to living in clutter that it makes me second guess my organizing. Am I happier in disarray or organization? I guess I will find out what I am more comfortable in if my vanity returns to chaos or stays put in its place.

            I move to my floor; that is where my clothes are usually kept. I feel them before I put them in the designated dirty or clean pile. I enjoy the usual rough texture of my jeans, the softness of the inside of my hoodies, the silky mesh feeling of my gym shorts. The different feelings they have and the different feelings they give me when they are on make me appreciate all of the different sensations I am able to feel. It also makes me feel a bit guilty that I am able to have all of these clothes when some people have so little. I try to push the guilt out of my mind and focus on my cleaning.

            As I hang up one of my rompers, I realize that it was one that my best friend Sarah gave me that no longer fit her any more. I think of her, how much I miss her, and how much she does for me. I start doing this with every article of clothing I pick up. The sweatshirt my mom brought home for me one day after work, the Jimi Hendrix shirt my sister sent me for my birthday last year, my first set of APO letters my brother bought me for Christmas. Even the clothes that were not gifts, the clothes I bought myself in the store, I think of the work that was put into them: The women that sewed the fabric, the truck-driver that delivered it to the store, the buyer that bought that shirt for the store that I would eventually wander in and purchase. I realize how many people have contributed to such a large aspect of my identity; an identity that I have come to love. I am grateful for all of these people and the unnoticeably large impact they have had on my life.

            The day is finally over and it is a little bittersweet. The 24 hours that I had in the morning have dwindled down to minutes. I run my tongue over my freshly brushed teeth. I enjoy the feeling of their smoothness and knowing they are clean after a day full of activity. I do a short, mini body scan on my living room carpet before I go to bed. I let go of everything I have to do tomorrow and the little mistakes I made during the day. I sense my toes, my knees, my hips, my stomach, and upwards until I reach my head. It relaxes me and clears my head so I can sleep easier.

            I lay in my bed with my new boyfriend. All of the happiness I felt when I woke up is still there. The kiss goodnight on the cheek makes me feel secure, and knowing that I am loved calms me. I realized today that I can control my feelings if I focus on the good that is right now: All of the love surrounding me, everything that I am blessed with, all of the good things I want to do in my future. I know that when I wake up tomorrow, I will be blessed with another 24 hours. I am grateful for my day and my opportunity to experience life with an open mind and without judgment.

REFLECTION

            I am surprised at how rewarding this experience was for me. At the start of this class, I thought I would simply be learning a way to happiness. I thought we would be learning generic clichés like “money doesn’t make you happy” or “you can’t love others until you love yourself.” While these proverbs have all held some meaning, this class has proved to teach me more about what happiness is. I learned that I can “train my mind” and open my heart in order to find happiness in everything around me.

            I chose this Sunday to be mindful because I knew I was already happy. I’ve always been the person that doesn’t need someone to make her happy. I lived by the words of singer Rilo Kiley, “You are flawed if you’re not free.” I am not flawed because I have someone, I am happy that I have someone that accepts me and takes me for every little quirk. With my new, changed mindset, I knew I wanted to live my day openly without judging my experiences and learning even more new ways to be happy.

            My shower, which if you ask my friends, is not my preferred choice of activity, surprisingly relaxed me. I took the time to massage my head with the shampoo, and allow the pounding hot water to massage my back and neck. I finally noticed the exotic scent of my body wash and the subtle empowerment that came from a fresh, clean me. I am hoping that my mindful shower experience will allow me to feel that pampering myself is not selfish.

            My bus ride felt a little awkward. I am a nervous person, and my music is a perfect defense mechanism against the crowds of people. It was hard for me to sit there and reflect on my ride without being “mindful” that people were looking at me or questioning me. I am glad I did it though. It is important for me to step out of my comfort zone and try to be more present in the world. It is easy to retreat into my headphones and my own little world. If I continue in my life of nervous seclusion, though, I may miss out on something that could make me happy.

            In every journal entry, I tried to mention at least one thing I was grateful for. This was easier than people would think. As I reflected on different parts of my day, I found more and more simple things I was grateful for. I even stopped my journaling for part of the day and started listing everything; the list turned out to be more than I could include in my paper. Actually, this paper is one thing I am thankful for because it helped me discover a lot about myself.

            My mindful observations became more in depth as I went through the day. I think this is because I became more comfortable with writing out my thoughts than I’m used to. As an English major and a lover of writing, I have always written and it has been therapeutic for me. Sharing my writing is another story. The thoughts in my head are always so jumbled that I am afraid people won’t understand me or think I am some sort of deviant. Throughout writing my journals I continuously told myself, “If I want to live without judgment, I should not judge my own thoughts.” As I continued to write I became less apprehensive about someone reading my observations and more focused on what I was seeing and feeling.

            I was really happy to finally do the mindful eating. I had never tried it before, not because I didn’t want to but because I never thought I had time. Words of wisdom from Lenore, however, have stuck with me and I do not think I will ever forget them. “The work will still be there an hour later.” My work is, unfortunately, going to wait for me to come back to it. So I chose a small meal that I wouldn’t worry about rushing. It was terribly difficult, though, if I am being honest. It takes patience and will power not to scarf down food. Doing my best though, I did feel myself gaining an appreciation for my warm coffee and simple blueberry muffin. I really think I should practice this exercise and continue writing about it because it forces me to slow down and relax.

            I know that many mindfulness teachers would rather deter students from using any substance that could alter their brain chemistry, even the simple caffeine in my coffee. But I have to admit that my cigarette break did relax me. It embarrasses me to admit that I am an occasional, and I stress occasional, smoker, especially to respected authority figures. Reading over that journal entry, I know that it is a bad and harmful habit that is hard to kick. But along with not judging my own writing, I learned I cannot judge my own behaviors; I must accept them for part of who I am. Actually, it soothed me to write my actions down. I know the calming powers of smoking, but I also see how writing can do the same without the harmful drawbacks, besides maybe a cramped hand. Watching the people during my cigarette though made me think that everyone has their own vices and that is what keeps us all connected, instead of perfect.

            The lovingkindness meditation I practiced during my fraternity meeting was probably the best experience of this project. I have been withdrawn from my brotherhood because I thought I was seeing everyone lose sight of our goal as a community service based BROTHERHOOD. Inflicting love on my brothers that I felt disconnected with, instead of the usual annoyance or almost hatred, I realized that I had not been being a good brother. Who am I to judge another brother or even another person? I should perform the best service and be the best leader and friend that I can be; and hopefully the law of attraction will manifest. While I found it hard to impose loving words on someone I still do not have much respect for, I was much more calm during the meeting and rational with my feelings. I tried to do this with as many brothers as I could, but with over 100 of us and a one hour meeting, it became a little distracting and too long of a list.

            My boyfriend found my whole mindfully cleaning my room and brushing my teeth and my meditation ritual unusual. He giggled at me as I rushed back to my notebook to write down an article of clothing and watched me strangely as I sat silently on my carpet while he waited to go to bed. At first this made me feel uncomfortable. After all, he is a new boyfriend and the last thing I want is for him to find me weird. When I explained it to him though, it made me feel less weird about it and more proud of myself. I lived a whole day with very little judgment, very little absent minded thought, and a lot of compassion for myself, my belongings, and others.

            He was mystified by my whole experience. As a business major and someone that knows exactly what he wants out of college, I think he saw this class as superfluous and an easy elective. Writing my journal articles and thinking about how I was going to end this paper helped me figure out how to explain it to him.

            It is not just about eating slow, listening to breathing, telling people you love them, or even just being happy. It is about a journey THROUGH yourself. It is about learning your capacity to love and avoiding the urge to judge. I told him that I learned there is no one way to be happy or see the world. There are millions of thoughts and views and perceptions that alter the course of every day. Living mindfully is just one way to stop and appreciate everything life has to offer, and everything you have to offer life.

            I have to disagree with the theory of a set point for happiness. I do not think we are doomed to one level of happiness and that is where we will live our life.  You can observe yourself through others, your property, and your thoughts and determine your own happiness. My day of mindfulness taught me it is a matter of opening up, accepting yourself, expressing yourself, and living without inhibitions that can help YOU decide YOUR happiness. This one day of living mindfully is just 24 hours of a whole lifetime to discover a truly happy identity.

Writer Meghan Madden is a student at the University at Albany.