I wasn’t able to watch Lance Armstrong’s interview with Oprah Winfrey but I’ve read enough and watched those video clips. This analysis piece in today’s NY Times, Amid Tears, Armstrong Leaves Unanswered Questions, does a good job of summing up the problems with it:
He personally chose Winfrey for his big reveal, and it went predictably. Winfrey allowed him to share his thoughts and elicited emotions from him, but she consistently failed to ask critical follow-up questions that would have addressed the most vexing aspects of Armstrong’s deception.
She did not press him on who helped him dope or cover up his drug use for more than a decade. Nor did she ask him why he chose to take banned performance-enhancing substances even after cancer had threatened his life…
At times, Winfrey’s interview seemed more like a therapy session than an inquisition, with Armstrong admitting that he was narcissistic and had been in therapy — and that he should be in therapy regularly because his life was so complicated.
I wasn’t so bothered by her lack of critical follow-up questions on who helped him. She’s not an investigative journalist like Mike Wallace. But she wasn’t a very good talk-show interviewer either, and certainly not a good therapist.
It’s clear to me that Armstrong doesn’t have much self-understanding. He’ll need that if his verbal apologies are going to mean anything. You can’t just apologize and say admit to being a ruthless bully and jerk. You have to be willing to reveal the mistaken thinking that led to your behavior.
He also needs to make amends to those he harmed (see #8 of the AA’s Twelve Steps). I first heard the phrase “You can’t talk your way out of something you’ve behaved yourself into” from a recovering alcoholic who was speaking about Step 8. It’s pretty clear to me that so far, Armstrong is hoping that admission of guilt and a little show of emotion will be enough.
Back in November, I saw a Thanksgiving essay in the NY Times, The Prayer of an Unconventional Family by Anne Lamott and noticed in the footnote that she had a new book out titled Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers.
I bought the Kindle version of the book when I saw this short review of the book in the Strib by my former Utne Reader colleague, Lynette Lamb:
If you seek a pithy explication of prayer, as understood by one reliably funny Christian, this is your book. But if you’re hoping for fully realized stories about Lamott’s own wrestling with religion, like those found in her previous books on faith, you’ll be disappointed. This is more self-help manual than essay collection.
I was going to blog about it several times since then but every time Northfield bookseller Jerry Bilek at Monkey See Monkey Read got the book in stock, he’d sell out in a day or two. (On Friday, Jerry got a whole stack of books in.)
I was most interested in Lamott’s chapter, Help, because I’ve found that as an atheist, it’s the toughest of the three prayers. Being grateful (Thanks) and mindful (Wow) are for me, more easily practiced because they don’t activate my mind’s habitual desire to have a being/God involved.
But how do you pray/say/ask for Help without conjuring up an image of someone on the other end who might A) be listening; and B) have some inclination to act on the request? Lamott writes:
Help. Help us walk through this. Help us come through. It is the first great prayer. I don’t pray for God to do this or that, or for God’s sake to knock it off, or for specific outcomes. Well, okay, maybe a little.
I’ve blogged about prayer occasionally as I think it helps to distinguish between true and false prayers. Asking for specific worldly outcomes is a false prayer. Here’s a good example of one of Lamott’s Help prayers that combines true prayer with what she calls her ‘beggy prayers':
A lifelong friend, a staunch agnostic, has asked me to pray for her daughter, Angie, who has young children and a diagnosis of aggressive lung cancer, the kind that continues to grow tumors in the midst of chemotherapy. I close my eyes and say in silence, “I hold this family in Your light. I pray for them to get their miracle, and to have stamina, for them to be okay today, for their love and amazing senses of humor to help them come through, although if You have a minute, I’d like to know: What on earth could You be thinking?”
That prayer and my friendship are pretty much all I’ve got to offer. I wish I had a magic wand and could tap Angie on the head with it, and the cancer would be gone and her kids would get to grow up with a mother. Even better, I wish God had a magic wand. I’ve never seen evidence of it.
Lamott correctly identifies the element of surrender as the key to asking for Help in this prayer:
Hi, God. I am just a mess. It is all hopeless. What else is new? I would be sick of me, if I were You, but miraculously You are not. I know I have no control over other people’s lives, and I hate this. Yet I believe that if I accept this and surrender, You will meet me wherever I am. Wow. Can this be true? If so, how is this afternoon— say, two-ish? Thank You in advance for Your company and blessings. You have never once let me down. Amen.
Most good, honest prayers remind me that I am not in charge, that I cannot fix anything, and that I open myself to being helped by something, some force, some friends, some something. These prayers say, “Dear Some Something, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t see where I’m going. I’m getting more lost, more afraid, more clenched. Help.” These prayers acknowledge that I am clueless; but something else isn’t. While I am not going to go limp, I am asking for the willingness to step into truth. It’s like the old riddle: What’s the difference between you and God? God never thinks he’s you.
I first came across this notion of surrender in everyday prayer in a book by Polly Berrien Berends: Coming to Life: Traveling the Spiritual Path in Everyday Life.
The primary thing that has to be given up is knowing what is good for us.
And here’s a related quote by Eckhart Tolle, author of The Power of Now and several follow-up books (some of which I like; others I hate):
There are situations where all answers and explanations fail. Life does not make sense anymore. Or someone in distress comes to you for help, and you don’t know what to say. When you fully accept that you don’t know, you give up struggling to find answers with the limited thinking mind, and that is when a greater intelligence can operate through you. And even thought can then benefit from that, since the greater intelligence can flow into it and inspire it. Sometimes surrender means giving up trying to understand and becoming comfortable with not knowing.
Once I park my ego, stop my noisy thinking, surrender, and then ask/pray correctly for help, it comes. Every time. Reliable as gravity. Even for me, an atheist. I just have to get better at not waiting so long till I’m suffering.
I’ve blogged about Olive Ann Burns’ novel, Cold Sassy Tree, and the passage that offers an interpretation of what Jesus meant when he said “Ask and ye shall receive.” (If the authors of the New Testament had quoted Jesus as saying “Ask correctly and ye shall receive,” a lot of trouble over the past couple of millenia could have been avoided.)
At the time, I only provided a screenshot and audio version of the passage but I’ve now got a transcript (courtesy of the OCR feature in Microsoft OneNote).
In the passage, Grandpa (Rucker) is talking to his newlywed, Miss Love. The narrator is the young grandson.
“Something Will Tweedy’s been questionin’. He don’t unnerstand why Jesus said, ‘Ast, and it shall be given.’ He says why would Jesus say sech a thang when it ain’t always so?”
“That’s easy to explain, Rucker. Tell Will that sometimes God has to say no for our own good, or to teach us something, or show His power. Sometimes it’s just not His will to give us a certain thing. Or He wants to test our faith and see if we trust Him no matter what.”
Grandpa laughed. “Love, you sound like ever preacher I ever heard. But Jesus didn’t say God might say no when we say gimme. He said God’s go’n say yes. Anythang we ast for, we go’n git it. Well, hungry folks pray for food, but they shore don’t all git fed. And sick folks beg Him for healin’, but lots of’m die, or maybe live on in bed. Jesus had to mean something diff’rent from what folks think He meant, else to my mind He was a dang fool to go round promisin’ what God wouldn’t do. But Jesus warn’t no fool, Love. So what did He mean?”
Distressed, she sat up and said to Grandpa, “Please, Rucker. Don’t talk sacrilege.”
“Hit ain’t sacrilege. Miss Effie Belle says when she cain’t think what to have for dinner, she asts God and right off He gives her a idea. To my thinkin’, thet’s sacrilege.”
Miss Love really laughed. “There’s not a woman in the world who hasn’t prayed what to cook for dinner, Rucker.”
“Well, God give y’all cookbooks for thet. Anyhow, when I got to ponderin’ on it last night, the word ast commenced to jump at me like sheep comin’ over a fence. Ast. Ast. Ast. But ast for what? For meat and bread? For healin’ miracles? Are we s’posed to ast ‘Lord, give me the answers on the arithmetic test,’ ‘Lord gît me hired over the next feller,’ ‘Lord, give me a son’? Gosh a’mighty, how I used to ast thet’n, Love!” He looked long and tender at her, and kissed her cheek.
“And didn’t God send you Will Tweedy?”
Gosh, I hadn’t thought of that!
“Maybe He did,” said Grandpa. “Then agin maybe He sent me you so I could have another crack at it.” I could see Miss Love blush. and, out in the hall, I blushed. Grandpa didn’t. “But I don’t think He planned Will Tweedy for me. I don’t even think He sent me you. You and Will jest happened in the way of thangs. God ain’t said you won’t git nothin’ good less’n you pray for it. But I’m shore thankful for you, Love.” He touched a finger to her chin and her mouth, then rested his hand on her cheek.
His voice softened as he went on. “Another thang to think on: some folks ain’t said pea-turkey to God in years. They don’t ast Him for nothin’, don’t specially try to be good, and don’t love no body the way Jesus said to — cept their own self. But they go’n git jest bout as much or as little in the way a-earthly goods as the rest of us. They go’n have sorrows and joys, failures and good times. And when they come down sick they go’n gît well or the, one, jest same as the prayin’ folks. So don’t thet tell you something bout prayin? Ain’t the best prayin’ jest bein’ with God and talkin’ a while, like He’s a good friend, stead a-like he runs a store and you’ve come in a-hopin’ to git a bargain?”
Miss Love frowned. “Rucker, you can’t write Holy Scripture. It’s already been written.”
“Well, I shore can question what it means.” With a heavy groan, trying to shift a little to get comfortable, he put his arm across her stomach again. “And hit fIne’ly come to me in the night, what Jesus must a-meant by ast. You want to be like them folks with rock brains, or you want to hear it?”
She smiled. “I want to hear it.”
I put in my journal all the above. Also the answer that had come to Grandpa.
“When Jesus said ast and ye shall receive, I don’t think He meant us to pray ‘Lord, spare my child,’ or ‘Make it rain for the crops,’ or ‘Don’t let my bizness fail.’ I don’t even think Jesus meant us to ask for—”
“—for a house or a piano?” She put her hand on his open palm. He laughed, and lifted her hand and kissed it.
“Naw and not even for a husband or any other sech favor. The Lord’s Prayer does say, ‘Give us this day our daily bread,’ but thet’s the only dang Jesus ast for in the whole prayer thet you can tetch. They ain’t nothin’ in the Lord’s Prayer says ‘Make me well.’ I’m tempted to pray thet right now, hurtin’ like I am. But I don’t think Jesus meant us to think we can git healed jest by beggin’ for it.” Grandpa laughed kind of rueful. “God made us so we want to stay alive. He put healin’ power in our bodies. We don’t have to beg Him to save us. All we got to do is accept bein sick, do what Doc says, and trust thet God wants us to git well if’n we can.”
Miss Love broke in. “In the Bible, Jesus only healed the people who asked Him to — and believed He could. If Jesus could heal, can’t God? If we pray and have faith?”
“Well’m, faith ain’t no magic wand or money-back gar’ntee, either one. Hit’s jest a way a-livin’. Hit means you don’t worry th’ew the days. Hit means you go’n be holdin’ on to God in good times or bad times, and you accept whatever happens. Hit means you respect life like it is — like God made it — even when it ain’t what you’d order from the wholesale house. Faith don’t mean the Lord is go’n make lions lay down with lambs just cause you ast him to, or make fire not burn. Some folks, when they pray to git well and don’t even git better, they say God let’m down. But I say thet warn’t even what Jesus was a-talkin’ bout.
When Jesus said ast and you’ll git it, He was givin’ a gar’ntee a-spiritual healin’, not body healin’. He was sayin’ thet if’n you git beat down — die, or scairt folks won’t like you — why, all you got to do is put yore hand in God’s and He’ll lift you up. I know it for a fact, Love. I can pray, ‘Lord, hep me not be scairt,’ and I don’t know how, but it’s like a eraser wipes the fears away. And I found out a long time ago, when I look on what I got to stand as a dang hardship or a burden, it seems too heavy to carry. But when I look on the same dang thang as a challenge, why, standin’ it or acceptin’ it is like you done entered a contest. Hit even gits excitin’, waitin’ to see how everthang’s go’n turn out.”
Grandpa stopped to move a little and his face twisted with pain. But he went on. “Jesus meant for us to ast God to hep us stand the pain, not beg Him to take the pain away. We can ast for comfort and hope and patience and courage, and to be gracious when thangs ain’t goin’ our way, and we’ll git what we ast for. They ain’t no gar’ntee thet we ain’t go’n have no troubles and ain’t go’n die. But shore as frogs croak and cows bellow, God’ll forgive us if’n we ast Him to.”
Last night, Robbie and I enjoyed some wine with dinner at our outdoor fire pit in our Valley Pond Townhome Association backyard for the first time this spring. It was a perfect spring evening: warm, clear sky, no wind, no bugs, and a symphony of nature sounds coming from Hidden Valley Park.
Enjoying food and conversation in front of a campfire makes me feel rich, even though it can be done very cheaply.
What are some of your favorite spring-related simple pleasures? Get some ideas here: 75 Simple Pleasures to Brighten Your Day.
Last week’s commentary in the Strib, Hugs all around: A trend I can’t quite embrace (originally from the Washington Post, Bubba Watson and the hug epidemic) resonated with me.
When did hugs become compulsory? You meet someone for the first time, you shake her hand. You meet her a second time, and she expects a hug. Sometimes she expects the hug before the first meeting is over…
In standoffs, the person who wants a hug always wins. If you really want to avoid hugs, the only way is to carry around something large and unwieldy at all times… When did the good old-fashioned handshake become a sign of standoffishness, rather than a sign of "hello, I have just met you, and I am unarmed"?
I enthusiastically hug my wife and grown kids. I hug my relatives. I hug friends at those life events that are special: weddings, funerals, graduations, etc. For me, hugging has an intimacy to it that I want to retain. So when others treat it like a handshake, I cringe.
Thanks to the Obamas and Michelangelo, I’ve learned a defensive maneuver that often works when I sense that a promiscuous hug is imminent: the fist bump.
A buddy of mine alerted me to an article in the Oct 21 Wired, Self-Help for Nerds: Advice from Comedian Chris Hardwick, an excerpt from his book The Nerdist Way – How to Reach the Next Level (In Real Life).
This blurb caught my attention:
A simple mantra has guided me through the darkest bouts of autocerebral asphyxiation: You don’t have to believe everything you think. I know, right??
If you are having trouble uploading positive images to your ego satellites, here is a great tactic: Ignore your fucking brain altogether.
It doesn’t mean to lead you in bad directions! It’s just that, unless properly trained, it usually takes into account only your short-term happiness. “Get drunk in the morning!” “Eat 50 Chocodiles” “Instead of working, you could masturbate!”
These are all examples of things that will bring you only microbursts of temporary happiness but could have negative long-term effects. You can simply say to yourself, “I hear what you’re saying, brain, but I choose to ignore you.”
If your brain rages beyond that, you can diffuse it by acknowledging its request and explaining in detail why it could be devastating were you to honor it. Be smarter than your brain.
That’s not only hilarious, it’s psychologically and spiritually brilliant.
Are there therapists in Northfield who would agree? Are there members of Northfield’s clergy who would agree?
I’ve never been a Steve Jobs fanboy, even though my personal and professional life have benefited greatly from the technologies he popularized. He was a tyrant, he didn’t spend much time with his kids, and he wasn’t interested in philanthropy. His death this week is an interesting cultural phenomenon to me, but the outpouring of sentimentality is more than a little strange. See The Onion: Apple User Acting Like His Dad Just Died.
I’ve owned many Apple products since the early 1980s, including the Apple IIe and the original Macintosh. I currently have an iMac though I mainly use it as my Windows 7 desktop. My kids gave me an iPod years ago and Robbie and I both use it to manage our music collection. I didn’t like the proprietary nature of the iPhone’s operating system and app store so I’ve opted for Android-based smartphones ever since they were available. I didn’t like how the iPad required synchronization with a Mac platform ("Huh? I can’t dump my photos on it without using iPhoto? PHHHTTTTTT!") so I’ve waited for another tablet to catch my fancy. Last week, I placed my order for a Kindle Fire. So I’m an Apple agnostic.
Ten years ago, I heard a marketing guru state that she was a "Mac person." She was illustrating the extent to which people can become emotionally attached to products—and that this was a desirable thing for a company.
Ever since, I’ve tried to become more aware of and discourage my tendency to do likewise in my life as a consumer. I have enough trouble with my ego and mistaken ideas about who I really am. Over-identification with a product is a trap I’m better off avoiding.
(FYI, I loved those I’m a PC/I’m a Mac commercials. For more, see the April 2011 HuffPo article, Mac People vs. PC People: What Your Gadget Says About You.)
So yeah, R.I.P. Steve. Now let’s move on.
This text of Bernard Baruch’s 1953 radio address has been circulating via email among some people I know, generating some interesting discussion. It appeared in last week’s Wall St. Journal and as an essay on This I Believe in Aug. 2009 (audio and text) where the sidebar says:
Financier and elder statesman Bernard Baruch found his beliefs shaken by the atrocities of World War II and the advent of the hydrogen bomb. But by believing in courage, intelligence and reason, Baruch is able to feel hope for the future…
Bernard Baruch rose to prominence as a financier and member of the New York Stock Exchange. He advised Presidents Woodrow Wilson during World War I, Franklin Roosevelt during the New Deal and World War II, and Harry Truman in the post-war era.
Why I Still Believe in the Future, by Bernard Baruch.
Continue reading Do you still believe in the future?
I’m told that gratitude is best thought of as a skill or discipline to practice. So for Thanksgiving Day 2010 (and continuing over the next week or two), here’s a chance to practice publicly. Answer the question:
What are you thankful for that’s Northfield-related?
- Instead of submitting a laundry list in one comment, submit a sentence or two that describes just one thing. And then, if you have another item to submit, add it later. Another? Add it later. I bet I can think of a couple dozen things that I’d like to add eventually.
- You can expand on what others post but don’t take issue with what others post. It should be an all-positive, conflict-free, comment thread.
- All other Locally Grown discussion guidelines apply.
My daughter noticed that photos of a young newlywed couple going about their daily lives have been spreading around the intertubes lately. Both have significant physical disabilities. “This suddenly makes anything I ever complain or have issues with, seem insignificant and trivial.” You’re so right, Gilly.
Here’s a blog post that contains all the photos, titled Source of inspiration.
I took this photo yesterday morning of a lone goose slowly paddling up river past the Harvest sculpture. And it reminded me of one of my favorite poems.
The Wild Geese
Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer’s end. In time’s maze
over the fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed’s marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear,
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye
clear. What we need is here.
Wendell Berry (Collected Poems 1957-1982)
What’s a favorite poem of yours?
Yesterday’s Strib has a letter to the editor by Northfielder and frequent LoGroNo commenter, John George, on “how earthquakes can be God’s judgment for sin.” (See full text below.) I’m hoping John will chime in here with a longer explanation.
As an atheist, it makes no sense to me, of course, and I last blogged about God’s role in natural disasters back in 2007.
But for those of you who do believe in God and who might quickly dismiss John’s assertions, consider how often you pray or participate in prayers that ask God to intercede in some way in your physical world or the physical world of others.
Continue reading Be careful if you reject the idea of an earthquake as God’s judgment for sin
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today!
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today!
– Martin Luther King, August 28, 1963
I was reminded of these words by a photo Patrick took this morning at daycare. We’ve certainly come a long way since 1963.
On the other hand, our daughter’s opportunities in life will likely be very different than they would have been with her birthmother, a situation of which Dr. King would never have approved.
My dreams for the future:
- Adoption will be a choice, not a necessity
- Children will not be limited to the achievements of their parents
- People of Middle Eastern descent will feel free to discuss their heritage
- People of all religions and no religion will live together in peace
- No one will want for basic human rights like food, water, housing, and healthcare
- There will truly be only one purple America
In the meantime, I am very happy that I live in a town in which I am judged by the content of my character.
Thank you, Northfield.
Depression is a devastating illness with many root causes, some of them genetic. This summer I participated in a wonderful healing program called, "Resilience Training" which was developed by Dr. Henry Emmons at the at the Penny George Institute of Health and Healing at Abbott Northwestern Hospital.
Here is my story which I presented on Dec. 14, 2009 at the St. Olaf College Boe Chapel. The video of my presentation is available from the college.
Continue reading From Darkness to Light, from Depression to Joy by Andrea Een
Last week, I got a tweet from Brian Clark alerting me to a blog post titled The Definitive Guide to Sticking to Your New Year’s Resolutions by Leo Babauta, author of The Power of Less and the Zen Habits blog (follow him on Twitter). As you’ll see if you read that post, Leo’s got a new blog called 6changes dedicated to his 6 Changes Method.
The appeal of his approach was immediate to me, especially tackling one habit at a time, taking baby steps, and using ‘triggers.’ And since two of the 6 steps involve public accountability, blogging my progress makes sense. Want to join me?
Continue reading The hell with New Year’s resolutions. Instead: 6 habits. Join me
St. Olaf professor Gordon Marino has a post that was published on the NY Times Happy Days blog on Wednesday that’s currently the #1 emailed articled on the entire NYT site. It’s called Kierkegaard on the Couch (Marino is also curator of the Hong/Kierkegaard Library at St. Olaf.)
These days, confide to someone that you are in despair and he or she will likely suggest that you seek out professional help for your depression. While despair used to be classified as one of the seven deadly sins, it has now been medicalized and folded into the concept of clinical depression.
Continue reading Gordon Marino and Søren Kierkegaard on the art of introspection
Clay Oglesbee, District Superintendent of the MN Methodist southeast MN region and former lead pastor at the Northfield United Methodist Church, has a new blog called Just One More Thing.
He describes the blog as “… a tool for expressing opinions, sharing thoughts and reflecting on matters of the spirit.” I consider it an atheist-friendly blog, though he likely has to deny that.
Clay’s now living in exile in Cannon Falls but occasionally sneaks into Northfield on Saturday mornings for inspiration and mood-altering chemicals at the GBM. See our other Clay-related blog posts for more.
Tom Friedman’s column yesterday, 59 Is the New 30, reinforced my oft-stated goal to live till the end of the summer of 2069 so I can celebrate the 100th anniversary of man landing on the moon (July 20, 1969) and Woodstock (August 15-18, 1969). I’d be 119 years old – not out of the realm of possibility since centenarians are increasingly common. (Fun fact: in 2005, the “Social Security Administration extended the life expectancy tables up to age 119.”)
It doesn’t really matter if I get run over by a truck tomorrow or felled by some illness at an age when most everyone else my age is dying (80s? 90s?). And I wouldn’t want to be 119 unless I was reasonably mentally sharp.
What matters is that I’m acting now as if my life is only half over. I have six decades of experiences, learning, and accomplishments ahead of me.
No, I don’t have a bucket list. Do you? I’ve not been inclined to make one since they seem to encourage people to be more self-centered and acquisition-oriented, ie, acquiring experiences as if they were things.
The world is all atwitter (heh) over the Obama’s date nights. (NY Times: If They Can Find Time for Date Night …; LA Times: First Couple’s date night a fascination and inspiration. Jon Stewart, however, was not impressed: “How do you compete with that? Take it down a notch, dude. By the end of your term, you’re having NASA write her name on the moon in laser.”)
It turns out, it is possible to compete with that. NY Times: Reinventing Date Night for Long-Married Couples: Brain and behavior researchers say many couples are going about date night all wrong:
Simply spending quality time together is probably not enough to prevent a relationship from getting stale… The goal is to find ways to keep injecting novelty into the relationship. The activity can be as simple as trying a new restaurant or something a little more unusual or thrilling — like taking an art class or going to an amusement park. The theory is based on brain science…
It is possible to go overboard on the novelty, however. “C’mon, honey. It’s cold, it’s windy, it’s pouring rain. Let’s go camping!” Yep, that’s my sweetie, looking like a hazmat worker but still as cute as ever, trying to keep warm and dry at Frontenac State Park on Saturday night. Let’s just say it was a memorable experience.
[Note from Tracy: The following was posted as a comment which was held for moderation. I thought that the story merited a post of its own. Thank you, Mr. Blodgett, for writing.]
“The shocking incident happened just at six o’clock. The boys were enjoying a boat ride above the dam and came down stream at full speed . . . Whether the steering gear was at fault or the engine was not working properly seems to be a conjecture, but the swiftly raging waters drew the boat and its living load toward the brink of the dam. The launch swung around as it neared the dam and went over stern first. (continued) Continue reading Guest post: Dave Blodgett, Class of ’43
I’m reading a book called Rapt: Attention and the Focused Life by Winifred Gallagher (available in downtown Northfield at Monkey See Monkey Read). She has a section on “savoring,” described as “the mindful, intentional focus on positive feelings. Quoting a researcher: “If you can’t say, ‘Yes, I was aware of and attended to that pleasure,’ it’s not savoring.”
Whether you’re focused on your ice cream cone or your Nobel Prize, the experience’s beginning and ending offer the best savoring opportunities. Initially, sheer novelty grabs your attention, as do later cues that something is almost finished. Those first and last few bites of cake, rays of light, or days of vacation prompt you to appreciate what you have and then, are about to lose.
I tried to put this in practice on Sunday, the most gorgeous day of spring thus far: 70 degrees, clear skies, no wind, no bugs.
- Left: I took a slow walk around Valley Pond at 5:30 am. The ducks were paddling in the cool morning fog.
- Left center: trimming some tree branches gave us a better view of the pond
- Right center: on the desk at sunset with a bottle of wine, grilled hamburgers, steamed asparagus, luscious tomatoes, raspberries with ice cream.
- Right: a backyard fire
Again, savoring is not just enjoying these experiences, Gallagher says. Savoring required that I stop myself at some point during each of the experiences and make note of the pleasure, either mentally to myself or with Robbie. I can report that it really made a difference.
Some other savoring-related quotes from the book: (continued)
Continue reading The art of savoring simple pleasures on a perfect spring day
I got spammed by Clay Oglesbee today, an email of his e-newsletter which can’t be linked to because he quit blogging, just like he quit Northfield. (I’ll get over it eventually, but not yet.) The title of his newsletter was Emptiness…and Easter and it reminded me 1) why I love to walk by myself in the Carleton Arb; and 2) of some of my favorite solitude-related quotes.
As a spiritually-oriented atheist, I’m a big believer (heh) in grabbing a Shot of Solitude (SOS) regularly. (continued)
Continue reading It’s Easter week; grab a Shot of Solitude
The Northfield Blogosphere Roundup is a good way to see the latest information on many of the area’s blogs. The updates included here show blog posts added approximately within the previous 24 hours. See Northfield.org’s blogosphere aggregator page for an automated, comprehensive listing.
Courtesy of www.ruralec.com
At a meeting at Plaza Morena Restaurant in Owatonna on February 17 2009, a diverse group of restaurant and food business owners from Red Wing, Waseca, Albert Lee, Owatonna and Faribault meet to discuss an organizing process to secure higher level of cooperation and organization in the food business owners sector of the Southern Minnesota region (more).
Continue reading Blogosphere roundup for Thursday, Feb. 26, 2009
Mike Martin; photo by Holly Cairns
Something important happened after Michael Martin’s death the other day in Northfield.
I have known Mike, off and on since he was a student at St. Olaf in 1969 and 1970. Over the past 15 years or so, I would see Mike on a downtown street, the library or grocery store. As David Wee recalled during the Memorial Service in the Community Center on Sunday, that on meeting Mike, he would almost always begin with, “You know, I’ve been thinking…”
Continue reading Guest blogger Bruce Roberts: Mike Martin’s gift to Northfield