Haiku Rally #7 Walking on Leaves

Today's haiku is a reflection of the transition of autumn -- join in with your own haiku. They are easy to create -- 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables on anything that you are noticing today.

Walking on Leaves


Crisp air, fallen leaves
Crunching underneath my feet
A magic carpet

Haiku Rally #5 Driving Home

I had the pleasure of traveling to Northampton MA for a presentation to the Massachusetts Nurses Association last evening. After many miles on the interstate, I chose to venture onto back roads for a change -- quite a metaphor for a haiku.

Driving Home


Off the interstate
Took the scenic highway home
Time to see and breathe

WBUR Commentary: "The Children Who Didn't Survive"

I am both humbled and honored to be a new contributor to WBUR, Boston's NPR news station's Cognoscenti. Today my first piece, The Children Who Didn't Survive, was published. I would welcome your comments and feedback both on my blog and on the Cognoscenti site.




Each year, early in October, a letter arrives with the return address of Massachusetts General Hospital, 55 Fruit St, Boston, Mass. I know immediately what the envelope contains and I pause and reflect for a few moments before I open it. Inside is an invitation to return to the place where my son, Nick, was treated for a deadly form of cancer when he was 14. We, as a family, also spent many days, weeks, months in this place: crying and laughing; watching fireworks magically unfurl in the dark sky over the Esplanade from windows on the 18th floor of the Ellison Building; waiting in the subterranean operating room holding areas in the warrens beneath the hospital; exploring the empty hallways late at night like the actors in “A Night at the Museum”; holding impromptu guitar jams in Nick’s hospital room; and ringing in the new year with noisemakers, shrimp cocktail and sparkling cider with hospital staff who drew the short straw and had to work on New Year’s Eve.
 
Nick died 12 years ago, so why do I still return to this place each year? It is because Nick, like the other children who were cared for in this huge, often anonymous institution are not forgotten — they are remembered and honored year after year with the annual Pediatric Memorial Service. In this medical mecca, children are not supposed to die. We are fortunate to have some of the best and brightest medical institutions in the world at our doorstep. Reports of miraculous new cures abound in the media, but there are some children who are not the success stories that are highlighted in hospitals’ marketing materials. They are the children who didn’t survive.

Those of us who receive an invitation to return to MGH each year for the Pediatric Memorial Service are a disparate group. Some of our children died when they were adolescents, some when they were in early childhood. Some died from a chronic illness, some from an acute infection or disease, and others suddenly by an accident. We come from different walks of life and professions. We speak different languages. Yet, on this day, year after year, alongside the staff who cared for our children, the barriers are lifted and we are all together as human beings, remembering the stories, sharing a hug, speaking our children’s names, and trying to find meaning in loss. Collectively, we understand the unique grief of losing a child.

The author pictured with her son Nick in 1997. (Courtesy)
The author pictured with her son Nick in 1997. (Courtesy)

Early in my professional career as a nurse, I heard a young physician say, “I don’t do death.” I’m not sure what this statement really meant — perhaps that somehow his superior knowledge could forestall death permanently? — but beyond its arrogance, it spoke of fear and hopelessness. As a society we are very isolated from pediatric death. We are fortunate that in the span of a few short decades we have seen a dramatic decrease in childhood deaths due to vaccines, antibiotics, and advances in medical treatments. But this decrease has created a void in our health care professionals’ ability to know how to deliver care when finding a cure is no longer an option. Our medical and nurse training programs don’t “do death” well either, especially around societal taboos.
A physician at this year’s memorial service gave me hope for the future when she commented that her role as a doctor is to walk the journey with her patients and families and this includes the full spectrum of life and death. We look to our healers to cure us with the modern arsenal of medicine at their disposal, but when a happy ending is no longer possible, shouldn’t it also be their role to help guide us through the fear of the unknown and unthinkable, especially in pediatrics?
Perhaps learning to step into the full spectrum of life and death is the meaning that the children who didn’t survive bring to the practice of medicine. Our kids have become the teachers, no matter how short their lives may have been. Their legacy is to continue to teach the healers how to walk alongside those who are confronting the unimaginable and unbearable with grace, humility and humanity.

So, I guess I keep coming back to walk through the doors of Massachusetts General Hospital year after year to remember, share a story, and to say thank you for honoring these great teachers who keep medicine honest, healing and humble — the kids who didn’t survive.


(Courtesy)

Haiku Rally #3 Morning Coffee

During the month of November I invite you to join me in composing a daily haiku -- a great way to drop into mindfulness during your day. It doesn't take long and you don't need to think of yourself as a poet or author...simply describe what you see around you--in this moment. The difficult part is parsing this down to 17 syllables.


Morning Coffee

Dark, ebony beans
 Aroma mixed into steam
Anticipation

Haiku Rally Day 2

Mindfulness is about being present with awareness as our life unfolds, very similar to crafting a haiku. Join me in my month long Haiku Rally by posting your haiku in the comment section below and sharing the Haiku Rally with your friends.

Morning Air

Frost on the pumpkin
Leaves crunching under each step
Breathing in this day

Haiku Rally

I am fascinated by the complexity yet the simpleness of haiku. I remember writing haiku in elementary school...carefully choosing words that would fit in the 5-7-5 syllabic pattern. I have recently rediscovered haiku as a way to pare down disparate thoughts and emotions into a mindful moment in time. Capturing a moment in 17 syllables. Here is my haiku for today:

Time Change

Extra hour today
Or so it seems this morning
Precious and fleeting 
Want to join me in capturing moments through haiku? I would love for you to share yours in the comment section of this blog...a grassroots virtual "haiku rally"!

Feeling a Little Stressed?


Feeling a little stressed? We are constantly dealing with a myriad of stressors, both external and internal, in our lives. Throw on top of these "normal" stressors the added stress of caregiving and we are often pushed over the edge from coping to crisis. Do you want to learn some simple to implement tools of relaxation and mindfulness into your life to create moments of calm in your busyness? 

I will be presenting one of my most popular workshops: Creating Calm Within Crisis on Tuesday, November 12 at Chestnut Park in Brighton, MA -- this workshop is free and open to professional and family caregivers.  Join me for refreshments and networking beginning at 5:00 PM.

 Please register with Dorothy Garfield at 617-536-1700. Hope to see you on November 12.

Creating Meaning After Loss -- Resilience

There is a curious phenomenon that happens when people survive a great loss, after the numbness of grief begins to subside there seems to be a primal need to begin to make sense of the loss, in a way Viktor Frankel wrote about this over 60 years ago in his book, Man's Search for Meaning and NPR explored this need in their story about finding meaning the death of a child. I encourage you to think back about your own losses, have you found a way to create meaning in your life informed by your darkest times? This is the essence of resilience...shifting from mourning to meaning making.

Starting the Day

How does technology mesh with mindfulness, or should I say is it possible to find some connection between the two? Yes, I do believe it is possible, but it must be deliberate use of technology. One of my favorite ways to connect technology with mindfulness is a daily practice I started several years ago. My very first email I open each day is one from Panhala (meaning "source of fresh water" in Hindi). Each day I spend a few moments of awareness with a new poem that speaks to mindfulness, compassion, life. Panhala is a free yahoo group, open to anyone who would like these moments of contemplation delivered to their inbox every day. Today's poem was especially appropriate:

life is a garden,
not a road

we enter and exit 
through the same gate

wandering,
where we go matters less 
than what we notice

~Bokonon~


Watching the Leaves Turn



"Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn." ~Elizabeth Lawrence

Do you find yourself sharpening your pencils and being compelled to buy school supplies each September, even if you and/or your children left the classroom many years ago?

For me the shift from summer to autumn has always been one of eager anticipation for a new year, filled with new challenges, ideas and opportunities.  However, often the desire to "do" overshadows the essential need of the human body and mind to simply "be" in this exquisite time of year. I am intrigued by the quote above from Elizabeth Lawrence; is it possible to take time to sit still and just watch the leaves turn?  This autumn I am making a commitment to slow down, sit still and simply "be" as I watch the leaves explode in their magnificent finale for 2013. Will you join me?  

 

Tomato Pie: Love at First Bite

More mindful culinary musing....Until two years ago, I had never heard of a tomato pie much less tasted one. Then my sister, Hilary Gould, shared a recipe with me for Tomato Pie, a southern delicacy. Since I had an abundance of heirloom tomatoes from our local CSA farm, I gave the recipe a try. It was LOVE at first sight and first bite. Tomato Pie has become a late summer favorite in my house and hope it will in yours....Enjoy!

Hilary's Heirloom Tomato Pie


 1 unbaked pie crust
3/4 cup plus manchego cheese (shredded)
2T EVOL(extra virgin olive oil)
1 onion, thinly sliced
2 1/4 pounds mixed heirloom tomatoes
Kosher salt
3/4 c mozzarella cheese (shredded)
1/4 c mayonnaise
3T breadcrumbs
3T chopped chives
3T chopped parsley
1t chopped fresh thyme
Ground pepper

***********************************************************

  • Preheat oven to 375 degrees 
  • Heat 1T  EVOL over medium heat, add onion and cook, stirring until golden -- cool
  • Thinly slice tomatoes, toss with 1t kosher salt, place in colander and let drain for approx 30 min
  • Combine 3/4 c manchego, mozzarella, mayo, breadcrumbs, 2T chives and 2T parsley, thyme, 1/4 t kosher salt, 1/4 t pepper and the sautéed onion in a bowl.
  • Spread mixture in unbaked pie crust 
  • Arrange the tomatoes on top
  • Drizzle with the remaining 1T EVOL and season with pepper. 
  • Bake until the tomatoes are browned (about 50 min).
  • Top with the remaining 1T each of chives and parsley

Culinary Mindfulness




It's that time of year again...when our local CSA (community supported agriculture), First Root Farm  opens for the season. For the past several years, beginning the first week of June and ending around Thanksgiving, we have enjoyed a new way of eating....only local, seasonal vegetables. This is more of a challenge than first imagined, but always a wonderful exercise in mindfulness and curiosity. One cannot get too comfortable with tried and true recipes. Let's be honest, how many times have you needed to figure out what to do with kohlrabi at 6 pm?  Looking forward to lots of mindful cooking, thanks to our farmers, Laura and Nina.

From Sedona to Boston...Powerful and Resilient


Awe-Inspiring, Powerful and Resilient...these were the words that came to me as I drank in the breathtaking beauty of Sedona, Arizona on April 12.   Less than 72 hours later, on April 15, I was back in Boston and blindsided by the emotional rollercoaster that ensued following the Boston Marathon bombings.







As the new normal has begun to settle into Boston, as it did in the weeks and months following 9/11 in New York City, those same words that resonated with me as I scanned the magnificent vistas in Sedona, surface as I continue to witness the amazing ability of the human spirit to bounce back from adversity; tenacious and strong...Awe-inspiring, Powerful and Resilient. 


Musings on Life, Death and Springtime


This is the season when the ground swells with new life, trees burst forth with magnificent blossoms and the earth seems to come alive once more.  I am struck by this dichotomy more acutely than usual this year: As I breathe in the sweet fragrances of April, I am also preparing for a journey to Arizona to help my mother prepare for the burial of my stepfather.  The yin and yang of life -- birth and death, always teetering in some sort of cosmic balance.  

I often wonder; would the spring be less exciting and glorious if we never had winter?  Do we somehow need the reminder of life's fragility and impermanence to treasure the innate beauty of the present moment?  

And so, as the musing continues, I am filled with gratitude for the wake-up call I receive each spring when I am renewed with awe and wonder.

Do We Need to Lose Things Before We Can Find Kindess?

I was pleased to learn that the award winning poet, Naomi Shihab Nye is the 2013 Robert Creeley Foundation Winner and will be presenting a reading of her poems in the Boston area (Acton-Boxborough High School, Acton MA) on Wednesday, March 6 at 7:30 PM.

One of her poems, Kindness, is a particular favorite of mine.  I was first introduced to this poem when I was training to teach mindfulness at the Center of Mindfulness in Medicine, Health Care, and Society. What struck me when I first read the poem and as I re-read the poem again and again is the notion that experiencing loss opens one to the ability to give and receive kindness more wholly.

What do you think? I would love to hear your thoughts and comments...do we need to lose things before we can find kindness?


Kindness
(Naomi Shihab Nye)
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Keep Calm and Carry On


Keep Calm and Carry On...have you been noticing that ubiquitous phrase and simple poster as much as I have lately? It seems to be everywhere! It has morphed into all forms of iterations as evidenced on Pinterest boards and Esty.com.  I was curious about where this saying came from and was surprised to learn that it first appeared in war torn England during the devastation of World War II as one of three propaganda posters that were distributed and hung in prominent public places. In fact it was meant to build resiliency among the people who had lost so much and were starting to rebuild their lives from the rubble. 

Throughout our lives, we will rebuild and reconstruct our lives through transitions, changes, joys and sorrows. Perhaps this simple phrase on the red and white poster can instill within us the same sense of resiliency as it did more than half a century ago. May we all...Keep Calm and Carry On



Great video of the history of the WWII poster: Keep Calm and Carry On