I had resisted it for several months. I knew no good would come of it. I would not be able to say no once it started. And yet, I did it anyway. I ordered an ice cream maker.
Not just any ice cream maker, mind you. The deluxe two-quart, automatic, no-ice, no-salt Cuisinart model.
And I couldn't leave it at that. At the online urging of over 500 reviewers, I also got the authentic Ben & Jerry's ice cream recipe book. The book that gives you only three options: a lot of butterfat, more butterfat, and the most butterfat recipes.
To me, summertime is homemade ice cream. I remember sweltering July evenings at my Uncle Bill and Aunt Vivian's house, taking turns hand-cranking the ice cream paddle, as Uncle Bill added ice and salt around the freezing container, and the cream and milk concoction inside magically turned--much too slowly for me--into a mouthful of summer.
Watermelon also spelled summer. Unlike homemade ice cream which was made in precious batches that seemed to be the size of thimbles, and was doled out in delicious but fleeting scoops, watermelon was the one dessert that we kids could have in abundance. The sheer size of the slices was enticing. The contrast between the air temperature of a Virginia summer night and a slice of iced melon was enough to lower your body heat index several points. Add family--particularly my cousin Mike from two houses away--and you not only had a cold treat; you had a competition: spitting seeds. The furthest. With the most accuracy. The highest. The most machine-gun-like.
The one thing both of these delicacies had in common, aside from being sticky and delicious--they were fun, made special by the fact they were seasonal. Because they weren't available every day, they became, by definition, fleeting joys.
So now, well into summer, I fervently gathered the ingredients mandated by Ben & Jerry, chilled them to the requisite temperature, waited a full 24 hours for the freezing insert to freeze solid, and then carefully--and with some tempered glee--whipped the eggs and sugar into a frenzy and combined them with enough fat calories to equal a bag of potato chips, two or three sugared lattes and at least one chocolate cake with cream cheese icing.
And then the magic began. With a click of the "on" switch, the motor began to whir, the freezer compartment began to turn, the paddle swam through the sea of cream and milk. Twenty-five minutes later: ice cream.
It was delicious. It was sinfully caloric. Frighteningly fatty. And altogether summer.
I am resigned to the fact that there will be several more batches this summer, and that, despite future efforts to reduce the butterfat content, they will still be fatty--and delicious. And summer.
This must be why divine providence makes homemade ice cream seasonal. It's certainly what makes it special.
Oh--and I don't want to forget to mention why we're talking about ice cream and watermelon here. Despite the fact that one is sinfully caloric and the other is juicy and messy--they, in my humble opinion, are stress reducers. For me, anyway, it's almost impossible to stress out over a scoop or two of French Vanilla or Orange Dream. Ditto for a cold slice of sweet watermelon.
They transport me back to a simpler time: a time of no schedules, no serious job commitments. A time when the biggest worry might be will it rain on the Fourth of July? Or, will our mothers let us walk--without adults--to the "Little Store" to get Double Colas?
Don't get me wrong. I like a certain amount of order in life. And I love my work. But summer brings back reminders of simple joys--and balance, between what needs to get done, and what is simply fun to get done.
I vote for a balance of both, and wish the same for you as summer stretches into August.
Until next time, thanks for listening.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
To Kill A Mockingbird Or, Sitting With Tragedy That's Not Fiction.
I have recently taken the time to reread Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird. I suppose it's been more than 40 years since I first read it. My grandmother, who died in 1972, was still alive; I remember talking with her about how unfair the events were, how hateful and judgemental many of the characters were. How sad the story was. How sad that, despite being fiction, it could have easily been fact.
If you haven't read the book, I won't spoil it for you. Suffice it to say, it's a novel about racial injustice, set in 1930's in the fictional deep-South town of Maycomb, Alabama. It's also a novel about social progress--painfully slow--but progress, nonetheless. It's also a story of learned kindness. It's a story so powerful and universal that the author, Haprer Lee, won the Pulitzer Prize for it, her first novel.
In the course of almost a decade of sitting with clients, I can remember many sessions as if they had concluded only this morning. As I've said in previous posts, I am honored that my clients entrust me with the truths about their lives: their insecurities, triumphs, disappointments--and sometimes the horrific events that would leave any human injured, cynical, emotionally scarred.
It's not an easy thing for clients to disclose the injustices of their experiences. Some are so embarrassed, so afraid of judgement, so emotionally bound to their injuries that it can take months of work to bring the pain to the surface so it can be dealt with.
This is part of the work of therapy. To help my clients process past psychic traumas in order to move through--possibly beyond them. The trauma never is erased. Just made less powerful, less present--hopefully, less painful.
In the book, in a pivotal passage about kindness and moral goodness, Miss Maudie one of Maycomb's more enlightened denizens imparts a seminal lesson of kindness to her young neighbor, Scout, also the book's nine-year-old narrator: Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in the corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.
And so it is with most children. And most good-hearted adults. I believe, in my heart, and from my experience, we're mostly good. Mostly kind. Mostly sensitive to others. Most of the time.
Yes, human beings can be unpleasant, even mean. And when humans inflict cruelty on others, the trauma can be devastating. And lasting.
And yet, healing can, and does, take place. In the arms of a loved one. Over countless coffees with a best friend. In sanctuary of a church or synagogue. Or in a therapy office.
As therapists, we hear the worst of what people can do to people. By definition, and of necessity, it comes with the territory. How do we hear it, sit with it, work with it, day in and day out?
For me, I take comfort in my steadfast belief in mockingbirds and the simple joy they bring. And, in the slow, but often sure progress that comes with healing.
And in those moments, I remind myself how privileged I am to sit in the therapist's chair. To all my clients who honor me with their stories, thank you.
Until next time.
If you haven't read the book, I won't spoil it for you. Suffice it to say, it's a novel about racial injustice, set in 1930's in the fictional deep-South town of Maycomb, Alabama. It's also a novel about social progress--painfully slow--but progress, nonetheless. It's also a story of learned kindness. It's a story so powerful and universal that the author, Haprer Lee, won the Pulitzer Prize for it, her first novel.
In the course of almost a decade of sitting with clients, I can remember many sessions as if they had concluded only this morning. As I've said in previous posts, I am honored that my clients entrust me with the truths about their lives: their insecurities, triumphs, disappointments--and sometimes the horrific events that would leave any human injured, cynical, emotionally scarred.
It's not an easy thing for clients to disclose the injustices of their experiences. Some are so embarrassed, so afraid of judgement, so emotionally bound to their injuries that it can take months of work to bring the pain to the surface so it can be dealt with.
This is part of the work of therapy. To help my clients process past psychic traumas in order to move through--possibly beyond them. The trauma never is erased. Just made less powerful, less present--hopefully, less painful.
In the book, in a pivotal passage about kindness and moral goodness, Miss Maudie one of Maycomb's more enlightened denizens imparts a seminal lesson of kindness to her young neighbor, Scout, also the book's nine-year-old narrator: Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in the corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.
And so it is with most children. And most good-hearted adults. I believe, in my heart, and from my experience, we're mostly good. Mostly kind. Mostly sensitive to others. Most of the time.
Yes, human beings can be unpleasant, even mean. And when humans inflict cruelty on others, the trauma can be devastating. And lasting.
And yet, healing can, and does, take place. In the arms of a loved one. Over countless coffees with a best friend. In sanctuary of a church or synagogue. Or in a therapy office.
As therapists, we hear the worst of what people can do to people. By definition, and of necessity, it comes with the territory. How do we hear it, sit with it, work with it, day in and day out?
For me, I take comfort in my steadfast belief in mockingbirds and the simple joy they bring. And, in the slow, but often sure progress that comes with healing.
And in those moments, I remind myself how privileged I am to sit in the therapist's chair. To all my clients who honor me with their stories, thank you.
Until next time.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Slowing Down, or "How Would You Know If Your Body Was Saying No?"
Summertime. A time when alot of us take a vacation. Time away from work, from our regular routines. Time to relax, recharge, reset.
Often, a vacation is exactly what we need to temporarily move out of work mode in order to give our bodies--and minds--a respite from daily stressors.
But, what if a vacation isn't enough? How would you know if you needed to do more than slow down for a week or two? And, what if you really needed to make a lasting change in the velocity of your life? How would you know? Where would you start?
Most twenty- and even thirty-somethings rarely think about slowing down. If anything, life is about wringing the most out of each moment, experience, opprotunity or relationship. "More" and "faster" are simply better. And, twenty-and thirty-year-olds, more often than not, have the physical stamina to keep up with their inner expectations.
As we age (can you tell I was recently called a "Senior?") our bodies often send us different--even disconcerting--messages regarding our ability to withstand stressors. Daily, repetitive mental stressors can take their toll in a variety of ways that often show up in a yearly physical (most healthcare plans, even the bare-bones plans, provide for a yearly "wellness" exams. If you're not sure, ask!) The effects of stress and what I call "time-starvation" (not enought time to do everything) can show up in the form of elevated blood pressure, weight gain, aches and pains, insomnia, and a variety of other somatic (bodily) symptoms that might not point to anything by themselves, but add up to a wake-up call in the aggregate.
So your doctor says, "you need to slow down, cut back, de-stress." A reasonable question is, "How?"
Just as weight loss requires a lifestyle change (or at least a change in one's relationship with food), so "stress loss" requires a change in your relationship with yourself--your professional expectations, physical expectations, relationship expectations, and possibly even an adjustment of your self image.
Sound like alot? The longer-term alternatives could be chronic stress, obesity, headaches, bowel disorders, high blood pressure, depression--even death. Stress, untreated, can literally be a killer.
Obviously, therapy can be a healthy start to treating stress and making life changes to reduce it. If you're thinking of taking steps to de-stress your life a bit, here are some questions to consider:
*how many hours a week do I devote to work?
*how many hours of vigorous (make you sweat) exercise do I get on a regular weekly basis?
*how stressful are my primary relationships (partner, children, colleagues)?
*have others commented about my stress/anger/health?
*how many hours do I devote to activities that renew me (hobbies, passions)?
*when was the last time I had any solitary--me--time?
If you can't remember when you even addressed the above questions, it might be useful to sit down--and write down the answers. At least begin the conversation with yourself. If you're wondering if you're stressed out, ask someone close to you for an honest opinion.
The road to stress-reduction starts with the understanding that maybe--just maybe--you're cramming too much into your life--and enjoying it less.
And, if your life feels mostly like the opposite of a vacation, it might be time to slow down and see how you might begin to put things back into balance. The good news is, you took on your life obligations--you're the one who can prioritize and, if needed, reduce them.
Until next time, thanks for listening. Enjoy your vactation.
Often, a vacation is exactly what we need to temporarily move out of work mode in order to give our bodies--and minds--a respite from daily stressors.
But, what if a vacation isn't enough? How would you know if you needed to do more than slow down for a week or two? And, what if you really needed to make a lasting change in the velocity of your life? How would you know? Where would you start?
Most twenty- and even thirty-somethings rarely think about slowing down. If anything, life is about wringing the most out of each moment, experience, opprotunity or relationship. "More" and "faster" are simply better. And, twenty-and thirty-year-olds, more often than not, have the physical stamina to keep up with their inner expectations.
As we age (can you tell I was recently called a "Senior?") our bodies often send us different--even disconcerting--messages regarding our ability to withstand stressors. Daily, repetitive mental stressors can take their toll in a variety of ways that often show up in a yearly physical (most healthcare plans, even the bare-bones plans, provide for a yearly "wellness" exams. If you're not sure, ask!) The effects of stress and what I call "time-starvation" (not enought time to do everything) can show up in the form of elevated blood pressure, weight gain, aches and pains, insomnia, and a variety of other somatic (bodily) symptoms that might not point to anything by themselves, but add up to a wake-up call in the aggregate.
So your doctor says, "you need to slow down, cut back, de-stress." A reasonable question is, "How?"
Just as weight loss requires a lifestyle change (or at least a change in one's relationship with food), so "stress loss" requires a change in your relationship with yourself--your professional expectations, physical expectations, relationship expectations, and possibly even an adjustment of your self image.
Sound like alot? The longer-term alternatives could be chronic stress, obesity, headaches, bowel disorders, high blood pressure, depression--even death. Stress, untreated, can literally be a killer.
Obviously, therapy can be a healthy start to treating stress and making life changes to reduce it. If you're thinking of taking steps to de-stress your life a bit, here are some questions to consider:
*how many hours a week do I devote to work?
*how many hours of vigorous (make you sweat) exercise do I get on a regular weekly basis?
*how stressful are my primary relationships (partner, children, colleagues)?
*have others commented about my stress/anger/health?
*how many hours do I devote to activities that renew me (hobbies, passions)?
*when was the last time I had any solitary--me--time?
If you can't remember when you even addressed the above questions, it might be useful to sit down--and write down the answers. At least begin the conversation with yourself. If you're wondering if you're stressed out, ask someone close to you for an honest opinion.
The road to stress-reduction starts with the understanding that maybe--just maybe--you're cramming too much into your life--and enjoying it less.
And, if your life feels mostly like the opposite of a vacation, it might be time to slow down and see how you might begin to put things back into balance. The good news is, you took on your life obligations--you're the one who can prioritize and, if needed, reduce them.
Until next time, thanks for listening. Enjoy your vactation.
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