True Stress Management Techniques

When I first started writing about stress management, it was for a class onthe same subject, where I could decompress. Over the years I have been updating on the family and my fire and as of yesterday, I got back to what it was all about. My yoga teacher decided that I will start teacher training with her, period. So, in May I will begine the first 9 week course with her of practicing three times a week. I am really happy about this.

How can I do yoga three times a week while building a house and maintaining a busy household of 7 kids still at home? Since resuming yoga just once a week two weeks ago, I don't know why I didn't force myself to go right after the fire. Two classes have my body working on things and the time I spent away has my body hungry for more yoga and body work.



I am getting more body awareness. There comes moments of release with it to where I sink more in to it and get better. I was pigeon toed* as a little girl and they made me wear special shoes to bed. When I was in college taking dance classes, I told my teacher that I couldn't imagine my body past my knees as I went down in a mental exercise. I was the class klutz and a light went on in my teacher's eyes and she was so happy that I told her that-- I'd really been a hinderance to her class and drove her nuts! She sent me to a kinesiologist who asked if I wore braces on my legs as a child. I didn't, but the shoes were buckled together and I was not happy one bit with them. She said that that had a lot to do with how I related to my body. She massaged my who body and told me how connected everything was and that my legs were fine in the now that we were at, that I was strong and capable and that my body was an instrument to play with the music as I danced. After that, my dance picked up and I was invited to try out for the University of Utah's dance program in Provo two semesters later. I couldn't, but I was good!

Then there have been other things since, like the violent situation that happened to me, child birth, the fire, things that imprint on me that have been stored in my body. Yesterday I let a lot go. My instructor prays and had us have mantras that she may or may not realize came from the Old Church. We talk to our bodies as we do the yoga-- it is an odd thing, but I felt things leave me yesterday that I have carried for periods of time. My body and I are a "we"-- it serves me well and I take care of it. There is much work to be done in me yet, but yesterday was a huge purging. No one saw it, but it happened. As I worked, images came into my head. The fire stress has sat over my kidneys in my lower back and I realized this as I was doing some leg lifts on the floor-- why it sat there I don't know (because there was no room anyplace else?) and I told my body to release it, it was scary, but it took care of us and we were safe, it ws time to build more muscle. Toxins came out in my breath, I felt a snappy-sensation, and it was the same all over as I stretched and breathed and exhaled.

So now I am going back to the movement study which is critical to my very existence. I look foreward to passing what I will learn on to my own students.

*What was a problem 40 years ago is thankfully not a problem today. An orthopedist told me that they find that in most cases, the body compensates and this is unique to each person. In some cases there are problems. It's worth getting checked out.

The Heights by Peter Hedges (Spoiler Alert!)

I read Peter Hedges’ book, “The Heights.” I was disappointed at the end. The story was worth the read, though, because Hedges makes the characters important. Their dialogue is real—I get the impression that Tim and Kate are based on real people who allowed him to be a fly on their wall. What makes a character important and a book successful (so far, in my mind) is that each character is someone who we know and if not, they play into a stereotype. Tim is my husband, refusing to dress for a black tie occasion and stealing Kate’s thunder when all eyes are on her and he tires of the small talk and says something very obscure and brilliant. Kate is a stay at home mom who is exhausted with her kids and takes a job so that Tim can stay at home (she is not like me in this regard, but she works for an agency that gives grants and pays three times better than she would normally get, which I would love to do, so I can relate to her) Tim has a student who is in love with him—I can relate to that student in spite of his unflattering depiction of her. Then there is Anna Brody and her husband, Mr. Ashworth. Anna is a poor girl who married up, who just wants to be like everyone else and. . . who happens to want to bag average Tim because he is average, but she uses him to get her husband to drop his girlfriends and leaves poor Tim waiting for her at a hotel room. Jeff Slade is in love with Kate and he is a former debate friend from high school who is now all fluff but Kate goes for him after he loads her up with copious amounts of booze, and then she sneaks his speech that he gave to a group of “Wish Upon a Star” (similar group) recipients and when Kate takes his notes where he has his speech, she realizes that he planned to ‘get choked up, pause. Look at Kate. Cry. Smile. Sit down.’ (My book is not right here with me so that isn’t a direct quote.) The speech is important because it contrasts with Tim giving a speech at his father’s retirement party where he was forced to retire because of a sporting sex scandal at his college where he planned to say something truthful about his father, but confetti got stuck in his throat and everyone went wild for his speech. I did not like that it kind of had a moral to it for the masses. “You poor people! Your dull lives are so good! Dull sex every six months is OK! It really is!”


I like how Tim becomes a stay at home dad who tries to blend in with the other parents and gives them all names like, “Mom with Moxie” and “Bearded Mom” and one dad who he simply calls “The Weasel.” (I do that in my head at my husband's church, but my husband gets mad about it when I tell him.) I wonder about the other moms in the story, how they would speak about Tim and their lives.

By reading stories like this, I find that I can relate to my own life better. I am isolated and don’t relate to other women or the pecking order, so reading about these characters that I can relate to helps me see myself better and understand the motivations of others. Like Kate, I have taken the kids outside to trudge through the snow only to realize that I forgot to zip up my jacket and get myself ready to be out in the cold. I can sadly see myself leaving a phone bill for my husband to “deal with this!” and to talk to him about our children taking their first poop in the toilet and not flushing until he gets home. Sadly, I can also relate to utter boredom that they both experience in their marriage.

Tim did what I have done—he blundered at a costume party. Only in Tim’s case, he forgot the costumes that Kate had made, and in my case, I forgot the costumes that I had made! Like me, Tim procrastinates. I know his professors who get impatient with him.

Is this story good? Yes. It was worth the $20.00 that I paid for the book. I underlined bunches of phrases that I have worked into my own work and FaceBook status reports. It’s great because for the most part, I personally can relate to most of the characters. Based on what I have read of Hedges, he knows people like the super rich who add flavor to the book, but he doesn’t develop them. Am I so far out of touch that I’d never be able to relate to them if he did? They don'tneed developed characters because the book was not really about them—they were supporting characters who threw in the temptations for Kate and Tim. They were predators and as it should be in a book like this, Tim and Kate were the prey. They fall, but they get back up.

Pascha, insurance issues

Last night I was happy that I eventually got to the Pascha service. It started at 11. My husband wanted to leave at 10 since Basil was to serve. I told him to go with the the kids who were up-- I was literally growling at everyone. I had wanted to sleep, but the kids and he were coming in to my room, playing 20 questions. I think I finally fell asleep after 9PM.




Around 5-6PM we were having fun dyeing eggs. The house was loud. I prefer classical music, but Dmitri wanted country and our sound was delightfully loud, with yelling, laughing, squealing (the kids fight and cause each other to make horrid sounds while they argue!) and music coming out of our house. It was great. I marinated some steaks for today’s feast and made fried chicken for the fast-break.



As soon as my mood perked up post nap-attempt, with Cloud making me lavender tea, she and I hopped around the living room playing Easter Bunny and we were silly. Yes, she saw her presents first and I think she got into her new make-up, but we had fun.



We got to church and I saw several women wearing long skirts (most do) and all I could think of was how I was wearing those damned things seven months ago. I have to admit, my heart caught in my throat a few times as young children were holding candles that flirted with igniting their mother’s skirts. (One lady’s hair did ignite very briefly as she bent over a toddler.) I can’t believe I dressed like that. Were my jeans and running shoes better than the long skirts and mostly heels and hair covers that make them look like noses with bodies attached? I can’t say that, but I was really glad that I quit dressing like that. Most looked like blobs and the Old World Look belongs with our grandmothers. Great-great-great grandmothers.



We missed the promenading around the church, but we got there in time to stand. Communion was about 150 people long. I really wished that a fire marshal had been there to say that it was unsafe. It really was unsafe. My inner insurance agent (who sounds a lot like my mother!) was yelling at me to get out, if there was a fire or an earthquake, the chances of getting out to safely with all my children. . . were not good. I kept thinking of my early morning yoga class where my teacher said that we did mantras not so we’d sweat in her studio, but so that when we were in the kitchen and the kids were yelling, or in crowded places where we felt threatened, that we’d remember to exhale.



At the fast break, one woman with a very precocious child kept apologizing for her daughter’s hilarious antics. I really started to get ticked because her 4 year old daughter is smarter than my seven year old and her apologies seemed to draw attention to how smart she is. Don’t get me wrong, I like them both, but I found her mother annoying and her daughter would have been funny if she had let her be. (Mom was knit-picking and I won’t be shocked if said daughter turns to crime in rebellion.)



We had a nice Pascha basket. Ours is never fancy or as pretty as other people’s baskets. There are just too many of us and no matter how big the basket is, we are always filled to overflowing (a blessing!) I made lots of fried chicken, cookies, and added yogurts, beer, Baily’s, cheeses, sausages, eggs and fruit that wasn’t part of breaking the fest, but still good. I ate sliced pears and cheese and fried chicken.



Calamity Jane and I wrapped presents and took presents for a few friends. Those were fun, but I hate giving presents because the receivers’ first responses tend to be, “But I didn’t get you anything!” and they are genuinely upset. These presents were pretty wind chimes that I’d found on sale and had bought several for gardeners who I know. Cloud was standing nearby and said to one person who said she didn’t get me anything, “My mom saw this and thought of you. Go home and open it, you will understand why. If you see something that makes you think of her, get it for her, but there are no strings attached to this!” I was happy for that. I hate that I can't get people something because it makes me happy thinking of them and leave it at that.



We got home to the dawg having eaten the Easter eggs that were not stuffed in shoes. He was gassy and seems ok, just gassy. (No eggs for Dawg!) I ranted about the rabbit and the kids laughed. My antics were convincing enough to have one of the boys quietly take me aside and ask if I had hid the eggs or not! The kids liked their baskets-- I didn't buy baskets this year because they get crushed in moves, so I made lunch sack baskets with candy and presents on the outside.



My husband made me a really nice basket with chocolate and tea-- that was really sweet of him.



We have a feast later today at the church. We just constructed a parish hall and it’s done enough that we can eat in it. Builders resume in the morning.



Overall, we are having fun, but I don’t feel a part of this. Is it because I feel so detached from things right now? Our insurance just cut us off and I am appealing though the state department of insurance but we lost our rental furniture. They are coming for the beds at the end of the month. I feel very unsettled again and it's worse than the fire in some regards. Money that we'd saved for baseball was used on an extra month's rent of the beds.

"Motherhood in Bondage" A compilation of letters from the original desperate housewives and others. . .

I am reading, "Motherhood in Bondage," a compilation of letters written to Margaret Sanger, the woman behind Planned Parenthood.
In my art studies, I have been intrigued by the work of the Second Industrial Revolution and the people who were activists during that time. I love Kathe Kollwitz, the wife who was an artist in Berlin, married to a doctor who treated patients in the slums. It is hard to imagine the depth of poverty in those days, coupled with the lives of the rich who often exploited them.



Today's women take for granted that we can discuss birth control in mixed company and make choices on when to have babies via many means. Margaret Sanger hated abortion, but she also hated to see women stuck in violent marriages where they couldn't leave lest they loose custody of the children they needed to protect, or just kept having them when they were being worn down, one after the other, or there they had to give the babies or children up to orphanges that were satilites of Hell. Margaret lived during the time when husbands could leave their wives with no one running after them with child support orders, and the mothers of their children had no means of support and children were sent at young ages to work to support their families. These letters portray women of the time. Doctors didn't know when women could get pregnant and the prevailing wisdom was that they got pregnant right before or right after their cycles, which got a lot of women pregnant when the doctors did advise them.



Contrary to modern opinions on her, Margaret was not for elimination via sterilization of people more likely to pass on poor genetics or of any race although it appears that she made alliances with people who did this so that she could promote her cause, but was for women making the right choices and being allowed to make the choice to not have children if they did not want to. She thought that we could eliminate poverty by making contraception available to all, rather than looking at a bigger picture of other factors, but in truth, limiting family size was something that each women could in theory do to help herself as much as possible.



She leaned conservative in her beliefs and I think she’d be appalled by how 13 year olds have access to birth control and how with the freedom we have enjoyed that as a society, we forgot about responsibility.


I have been facinated by Margaret's story because I have had a lot of educated women repeating stories about her, taking quotes out of context, and in general bashing her. Like anyone, Margaret Sanger was a complicated person and it is impossible to define her based on portions of what she has said or of her affiliations.


While she was an atheist, I believe that Margaret Sanger (who was open in her monogamous relationships) rejected God because she saw religion as a way of controlling women and removing their free will, justifying and tolerating their subjugation. Her being open was her making her own choices because she could. . . since she had her pills. I believe that in spite of her not so good qualities that God believed in Margaret Sanger. Maybe she isn’t one of His saints sitting close to Him in Heaven, but her heart was for educating women and helping them and for letting them rise to have other opportunities. A woman with her means and education could pretty much have done as she pleased.

How long has it been?

I have passed the six month anniversary of the fire and I feel good. On that date, we got with the builder and it was confirmed that in out new house, I get to have my own area for doing art and writing. I want a small table in there with chairs so that I can also have a place to set a nice tea setting. My art room will be next to the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom and I may seldom leave that corner of the house! There will be few memories of the fire in this new house, other than that it happened. We are getting a new loan to expand it and while it won't be a showcase home, it will be bigger and more of what a family of my family's size needs. I really wish I still had my old house, small as it was, because I had my grandmother's dolls and some family heirlooms. There were nothing, but they were fragile roots to my past. Every time I cry, Cloud reminds me that the roots are severed for forever, but the artists live on through my hands every time I work with my papers and clays. I don't cry like I used to, but my eyes get teary.

A week ago, I got home from visiting my mom in Arizona. I spent a couple of days at a monastery in silence. The only problem was that the other visitors were all 55 and over, it being a snowbird community. I felt like I was 19 and they all seemed much, much older. We ate meals in silence and they all went back to their motor homes and I was a lone guest in a 12 room guest house. During the day, they all were mostly doing other things. The monks wouldn't talk to me and the woman at the reception area seemed only interested in discussing the schedule of the place. When I browsed the gift shop, I realized that she wasn't that bright and that I probably didn't want to get trapped in a conversation with her.

The three weeks with my mom were really, really nice. She is 70 years old. How long will she and my step dad be healthy? We drove all over southern Arizona, seeing Tucson, Bisbee, many wineries, and a place called San Xavier Mission. San Xavier was my religious place. Maybe it was the architecture. The mission was Moorish in design and while not as huge as the European cathedrals, when I touched it's walls, I felt energy and knew that the original builders knew that people would be in awe of it and worshipping there 300 years later. My mom knew that it was special to me and she bought me some books on it. I also bought some Rosaries and horse blankets (blankets made in China!) This is a photo of one of the statues of Mater Delorosa. From her, my drawing took off again. Look at her face. Why does a stature make a person want to cry? Mary of Sorrows was crying for her son. You can see the muscle structure. I knew it in my art classes, I saw it, but when I saw this statue, I felt it.

In the cemetary chapel, there was an older woman crying. She whispered soemthing to me and I knew she was Italian with the cadence of her words. I grabbed the Rosary that I would give to Cloud and prayed with her. Who was she praying for? A lost husband? A child? Her own mother? I did my Eastern Orthodox bowing and she was not able to. She would cross herself when I came up. After a short time, she hugged me.

A few hours later, my mom dragged me into a casino. I was completely overwhelmed by the sites and sounds and wanted to get the hell out. But my mom kept winning. She won a lot of money. I went to the bathroom and there was a woman in a wheel chair crying as her check was gone, spent at the casino. I am one to stop and help people, but I looked at her in silence and left the bathroom. Normally, I'd give someone like that money, but I had a feeling that she was going to spend it. The front desk had numbers to Gambler's Anonymous and I knew she wasn't going to be stuck at the casino for forever.

(One of my friends who loves these places says that I haven't had the right host-- my mom is a fun lady, but he says that I need to be prepared for it ahead of time, glitzed up and in pretty shoes and a stunning dress with what I plan to spend. At the time he says I have to go, there will be no pathetic creatures who've spent a months' entitlements on the slots. He says I will love playing tables. I may one day do this.)

While I was gone, my husband had one of my college daughters take care of the kids for the first week. My new suburban died on her as it has been dying on me. He, knowing that he was going to have to drive it, got it fixed after months of me being told it was something that it wasn't and having it pronounced fixed many times when it wasn't. While I don't like it dying on anyone, I was just happy that it was fixed!

He didn't clean while I was gone. No point in bringing things up to air here, but I was a bit upset when I got home and he said it was the fault of the kids. Women, be warned. If you go on a trip, hire a cleaning lady before you return.

The above picture was taken at an old fashioned picture place. I tried to dress up like a can can girl, but I looked unconvincing. The photographer told me to put this gown on and threw me the pretend rifle. It just seemed right!

My step dad and mom took me to a canyon called the Chiracahua Canyon. I didn't get any good pictures with my cell phone. I wish it had a neck strap. This is a place where Chief Cochise was buried and a lot of wars were fought. The land is beautiful and worth fighting over.

We seldom had a day of rest and my mom paid for everything given that finances always seem to be tight for me. A week later (yesterday) she called me up to let me knwo that the ranch has been sold and that she is moving to northern Arizona-- she had felt like she needed to get me down to see the place and to experience it before she moved!

I have to get out again next year on my own money. It is good to see my mom, but she thinks we need to meet for a writer's confernece. She has been sad that I hardly write any more and says that it worries her!