Clothes Make A Difference

Clothes 

            Bob was the first boy friend who told me I was “pretty.”  Actually, he didn’t tell me.  I overheard him tell my college roommate.  Later, after we were married, he told me he really said “She could be really pretty.” 

            In any case, my self-confidence soared based on that comment and I lived up to it.  The first year we were married I lost twenty five pounds of fat, began sewing with more expensive cloth, and studying makeup and hairstyles and all that stuff that affects one’s self-confidence as a young woman.  I spent most of my time, away from my secretarial 9 to 5 job, in an exercise class or exercising at home, shopping for shoes, until I lost weight and it would make sense to buy body clothes, and generally concentrating on my appearance.  It is true for me, clothes do make a difference in how I feel.  How I look makes a difference in how I feel.  It’s pure fun to dress up—whether it’s for yard work, yoga, church, partying, meditating, or whatever else I’m about to do..

            My reward to myself for losing the twenty-five pounds was a white cotton sheath dress from I. Magnin, an upscale store in Pasadena.  I’ll always relish the memory of standing on the little platform while the seamstress placed pins to mark adjustments.  That $25 polished cotton twill dress fit me like a glove.  With it, I wore white gloves and a large red straw “picture” hat and the white high heel sandals I wore with my wedding dress a year before.  It was a great Saturday afternoon adventure to dress up and drive my Model A Ford to the Broadway or I. Magnin’s, pull up under the portico and have the doorman open my car door, take my white-gloved hand and assist me out.  Then I’d parade into the store, head high, with less than $25 in my purse, but who was to know?  I couldn’t afford to buy anything, but I could wander around in the store to my heart’s content.

            All of this clothes stuff has to do with my urge to be creative.  Role-playing and dressing for the part are creative activities I still enjoy. 

Travel - Why?

Travel – Why?

Through travel, I first became aware of the outside world.  It was through travel that I found my own introspective way into becoming part of it……Eudora Welty, in Sarah Ban Brethnach, Simple Abundance, a Daybook of Comfort and Joy, 9/30.

            Travel has always been at the top of my list of desires.  It began as a child watching my father leave home every Monday morning and return Friday evening.  His work with The Davey Tree Expert Company as a salesman and then later a supervisor and ultimately a vice president took him all over the Southeastern United States.. 

            While Daddy was traveling, I spent most evenings after supper sitting in a porch swing watching car lights coming over the hill wondering who and where.  It intrigued me to speculate on their circumstances and destinations.  Where did they come from?  Where were they going?  What would they find?  What would they do when they got there?

            Even though I was a happy child, I yearned to travel—and still do.  Away from home, I lose my identity. I am free to be whoever I wish to be.  There are no judges with preconceived notions.  Especially when I travel alone—as I do often. 

            Traveling alone liberates me to be a new me—and so I become.  I begin.  I grow.  All that was true about me before I left home is of no consequence.  I am free of those encumbrances, free to be, to go, to do without restraint.  Travel is my route to shedding the unwanted and overcoming self-created obstacles and responsibilities. 

            There is a new stage, a new opening night, new players.  Everything is a new choice.  In a not-so-small way, travel allows for, even encourages rebirth.  A chance to fulfill dreams and overcome fears.

            All this is not speculation.  It is fact.  It happened to me when I traveled alone to Ireland four years ago and lived in Kinsale for two months.  It happened again last year with a month in Santa Fe.  A month is just barely enough.  Six months would be far more productive.

            Travel partners can be a plus or a minus.  My brother Jim and friend Kathy were wonderful companions in Ireland and a definite plus, as was my friend Faye in Santa Fe.  The companion must be as much an independent thinker as I and willing and able to operate alone.  In both cases, we did that without a single hitch. 

            The challenge is to bring back an improved self and keep her alive.  Some of my efforts to do that are rewarded.  The blogs I wrote and printed when I returned, photos, e-mails with newfound friends now in touch on Facebook.  Recalling the thoughts and especially the feeling of liberation that surfaced while I was there.  Inevitably, I am changed.  My world has expanded.  My life enriched. 

           

Travel - Ireland

Travel – Ireland

            Ireland was my destination.  Ten years before, on a two-week Grand Circle bus tour of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland, I experienced a connection with the Divine when I stepped off the bus in Tramore, a tiny village in County Waterford on the southeast seacoast by the Irish Sea.  There was a vibration in my body rising from the soles of my feet saying Welcome home and I knew I would return one day.  I had the strangest feeling that Here is where I belong.  I’ve been here before.  But, of course, I hadn’t been there before in this life.  Maybe an earlier one.

Even those short two days in Ireland contained a memorable event.  The morning after we arrived at the Majestic Hotel in Tramore, I took a walk past the carnival rides down to the sea and happened upon a manmade circle of small stones for a fire on the beach—an inspiring meditation spot.  The double rainbow I saw was my first.  Even now, writing about it, shivers run down my spine.  It was just after sunrise.  A light mist was falling.  Not enough for an umbrella, just enough to feel connected to the Source of the moisture.  On my early morning walks, often feelings arise of connection to the Universe from simple objects like a brightly colored leaf or an insect or tiny lizard catching my eye.  The circle of stones and double rainbow have never faded from my memory.

When I returned home I telephoned my elderly aunt and asked if she knew of a connection for our family to Ireland.  Why, of course, your father’s mother, Stella Maloy, was one of thirteen good Irish Catholic children.  You remember your grandmother, I know.  I remember her for sure, I had just forgotten about her being Irish. It was more than that, I felt an even deeper connection – a more direct one.  So Ireland was my natural choice for my first travel alone since my husband’s passing two years earlier.

            Why alone?  I didn’t want the distraction of another person.  I wanted to find out if I could do it alone.  To be honest, I wanted to show myself and the world that I was perfectly competent to travel alone.  In fact, I was scared senseless.  So, of course, I did it.  Being scared added to the excitement of the adventure.

It would have been more frightening, except my son Luke located my apartment in Kinsale through a Rotary contact before I left home. He sent an email to the Cork Bishoptown Rotary Club saying something like My 76 -year-old mother is coming to Ireland alone.  She needs an apartment for two months.  Can you help?  I’ll appreciate your watching out for her.   Alana James, a member of the club, responded the next day.  After a few emails, we agreed on a price and I was set with an apartment waiting for me. So, I knew I had a place to lay my head on a pillow when I got there – a big comfort.

            Kinsale, County Cork,  is known as the Gourmet Capital of Ireland with over forty restaurants in the tiny harbor town.  (It is world famous because the Lusitania sank off the coast here in 1915 when 1198 lives were lost.)  My favorite restaurant was the Fishy Fish restaurant by the harbor where I ate salmon six or eight times.  It makes my mouth water now just thinking of the delight.  

Shopping was always a fun adventure.  The holiday season ended and school began during my stay. Therefore, sales abounded.  Of course, I bought so much stuff – even books – I had to mail boxes of my purchases home to avoid exhorbitant airline charges for overweight baggage.  Speaking of overweight, I actually lost weight from all the continual walking up and down hills—and the delicious fresh local food—mostly veggies, fish, and fruits—but also some delicious lamb—and potatoes at every meal.

This return to Ireland came four years ago when I spent August and September based in Kinsale just a few kilometers west of Tramore.  I now know Ireland has many sacred circles of stones much larger and grander than the small one I saw on the beach at Tramore.  Each time I saw one I was struck with feelings of awe and intense spiritual sensations.  Circles are mesmerizing—unleashing my inner knowings—especially knowings of the interconnected world surrounding me and including me. 

Margie, Alana’s partner,  took me to the Dromberg circle—located in the middle of a field on a rise overlooking the sea.   All of the stones were upright except for one reclining on its side which must have served as an altar.  There was a small stream a short distance outside the circle.  Did they camp here thousands of years ago? 

From the web, I learned: Dromberg, near Skibbereen, the hub of West Cork, is undoubtedly the finest of the stone circles in County Cork.  Dating back to about 150 BC, this circle of 17 standing stones is 9 m (30 ft) in diameter.  At the winter solstice, the rays of the setting sun fall on the flat altar stone.  Nearby is a small stream with a Stone Age cooking pit.  A fire was made on the hearth and hot stones from the fire were dropped into the cooking pit to heat the water.  Once boiling, often venison, was added.

The view of the sea in the distance from the ancient circle of stones created a place where I felt the presence of spiritual beings.  So much so that I found myself whispering the few words I uttered.  The silence was infectious.  It was easy to visualize an ancient ritual occurring at the circle.

When I visited the Stonehenge site in England, there was none of that.  The hordes of people eliminated any chance of spiritual connection.  Only four people were at Dromberg—me, Margie, and a young couple.  All were respecting the silent stillness in awe and reverence for those who created and frequented the ancient place of worship.  This visit enhanced my desire to know more about Celtic spirituality—which I am still studying.

            Travel offers more opportunities for noticing since all surroundings are new.  At least initially, we are preoccupied with finding our way around the new environment.  But, we are free of obligations, if we plan it that way, and our mind is free from everyday duties leaving space for noticing and learning.  It is often surprising which sightings are  meaningful and thus memorable.  Such happenings touch me in a deep place more often now that I am an elder and have fewer required activities and am less distracted by those required activities I allow into my world.

Connecting with the Community           

            The two months flew by.  Six months would have been better.  Still, I became somewhat a part of the community.  Joining a local yoga class was a big joy.  Rose, the instructor,  treated me like a very welcome visitor three times a week.  My apartment owners, Margie and Alana, treated me like a guest instead of a renter.  Dinner at their home across the harbor in Castle Park introduced me to the notion of serving the meat entrée (roast chicken) atop a bed of greens.  Margie took me to Castle Ballinacarriga adorned with a Sheelagh-na-gig on the wall (one of few remaining in place in Ireland) on the same trip when we visited Dromberg Stones.

Alana and her Bishoptown Rotary Club welcomed me to two of their gatherings.  One was a delightful dinner at an Italian restaurant up on the hill near the Kinsale Yoga Studio where I attended yoga classes.

David, the cleric at St. Multose came to my apartment (across the street from his church) for coffee and talk about the history of St. Multose and Celtic wisdom.  (St. Multose has held services continuously for 800 to 1200 years, depending on who you ask.) I bought scones from the bakery two doors down and tried to make coffee in the French press maker – with David’s help stirring which I forgot to do.  (I never saw a French press coffee maker until this visit.)  I  joined Alana’s water aerobics class and met her for early services at St. Multose on Sunday mornings.  .

            One of the delights of my apartment was the view from my kitchen window.  St. Multose Church was directly across the street.  It was a busy street since a large town parking lot was next door to my apartment and the Tap Room Tavern next to the church.  Incidentally, the Garda Station was on the other side and a small Fishy Fish Shop and Chipper below. 

People watching was a favorite pastime.  Schools opened a few weeks before I left and I especially enjoyed watching the children going to and from school up and down the hill in their uniforms.  Boys in gray flannel slacks, girls in very short grey flannel skirts with black tights, and both with blue oxford-cloth button-down shirts and gray v-neck sweaters.  How very business-like they looked.

(More on Ireland next posting.  Comments are eagerly expected.)

Center Stage

Center Stage

            Of my six needed activities I discovered, the last to be acknowledged, accepted,  and put on my chart was “Center Stage.”  Admitting that being center stage was (and is) fundamental to my happiness seemed bad somehow—like I was saying I need to be “better than” everyone else.  I felt better than everyone else when I was center stage—when everyone was looking at me and listening to me. 

            And I still do.  My adrenaline flows.  My heart rate increases.  I smile.  I feel connected to my audience, every single person, whether one or one hundred.  (As a forestry professor, I sometimes presented research to more than two hundred audience members.) When I perform, I am performing for the benefit of each person.  I am always nervous before, but in my element once I begin the process.

            Several months went by as I went back over my journal pages and kept running across this characteristic.  I was about three years away from retiring after twenty years as a forestry professor and attempting to figure out what would make me happy the next thirty years.  Finally I realized I could not ignore the truth of this need.  In seeking insight into what made me happy in the past, center stage kept appearing. 

            My first memory of being truly happy occurred when I was about five years old.  Our family members were gathered together in Ohio at Christmas time with my father’s family.  We finished dinner at a small hotel in Seville, Ohio, and after the waitress removed most of the dishes, Uncle Ray picked me up and stood me on the corner of the table saying “Jackie’s going to give us some after-dinner entertainment.”  I sang God Bless America and the uncles and aunts around the table all put coins in a coffee cup as it was passed around the table.  I was paid!  I was thrilled with the applause and the money. I felt loved.

            Remember Kate Smith’s rendition?  This would have been about 1938.  We were not yet actively fighting in the War, (Note:  check this out) but patriotism was pervasive throughout the country.  We often sang God Bless America and My Country ‘tis of Thee in churches and schools all over the country.

            As I searched my journals and my memory, other events arose.  I was once a head of lettuce in a Christmas parade.  For a fat girl, the costume was a natural!  Mother made it, of course.  My whole body was covered with green crepe paper lettuce leaves.  I even had lettuce leaves on my head.  I was the only vegetable in the parade and I was happy!

            There were spelling bees in elementary school.  I won more often than not and became the last child standing.  Again, a thrilling experience I never tired of.  It was disappointing to me when I moved up into the grades where spelling bees no longer occurred, probably the fourth or fifth grade.  I particularly remember the spelling bees in third grade because our teacher, Miss Loree, would sit us on her lap and brush our hair if we were especially good.  Can you imagine that happening today?  I don’t remember if she brushed the hair of the boys, but I am pretty sure she did. 

            There were monthly performances of the Stars of Tomorrow.  I must have begun dancing lessons about age ten when I was really too fat to balance on my toes in ballet shoes, but I tried.  Soft shoe and tap dancing worked much better than ballet.        When the Stars of Tomorrow dancing lessons organization came to town, Mother jumped at the chance for me to dance and sing blues on stages in small communities as far away as fifty miles—Batesburg-Leesville, Newberry, Ninety Six, Greenwood, Saluda, Edgefield, McCormick and others.  The crowning touch—the Township Auditorium in Columbia, the state capitol city, was an hour and a half away from home.  Paul McMahon, a locally famous singer, was invited to attract a crowd larger than just parents, grandparents, and siblings—our usual audience.  When I ended the show with my final song, Basin Street Blues, Paul put his arm around me and invited even more applause as he bowed with me acknowledging the audience.  This was a momentous occasion for a seventeen-year-old high school student dreaming of Hollywood.

            At about the age of ten, I began collecting photos of movie stars. Some photos came from magazines, some from my mailing a letter requesting a photo.  John Payne, Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart, Gene Tierney, Margaret O’Brien and others sent autographed eight by ten photos.  Many of my pictures were tops of nickel ice cream cups.  You never knew whose photo would appear until you removed the lid and there on the inside was the smiling face of some famous movie star—Alan Ladd, Veronica Lake, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and many more.  You lifted the cardboard top by the little tab and peeled the waxed paper away from inside the lid to reveal the photo. 

            The stage performances continued in high school plays as a drama club member and later as an adult in the Clemson Little Theater.  Tate and Luke, our two boys, were about eight and ten years old—old enough to stay at home without a sitter for a couple of hours.   It was a marvelous excuse for being center stage, at least part of the time, and also getting out of the house together for six weeks of rehearsals without the children along.  I still remember my delighted reaction to the audience laughter as I said my best line: “I hope the Lord will forgive me for that one time I sinned.”  (It had just been revealed that I was pregnant by the preacher, to whom I was not married. And, it was clearly not the only time I sinned.)

            In 1974, Burt Lancaster came to Clemson to make The Midnight Man.  I thought “Finally my big chance has come!”   And so it did.   I went over to the Holiday Inn and signed up and two days later got the call.  Both Bob and I were hired as extras.  The crew got a real kick out of watching Bob, a full professor of mathematics, acting as a baggage man at the bus station.   I was hired as a stand-in for Susan Clark.  Mostly, I’m sure, because I am approximately her height and have similar facial structure.  For about seven weeks I worked six days a week for seven or more hours watching the filming of a real movie from up close.  What a thrill when I actually was called up to stand in Susan’s place while lights and camera were adjusted.  And, I made $2.00 an hour for often just standing around watching the proceedings.  More importantly, occasionally almost everybody was looking at me!  

            Finally, in 1978 I began graduate school in forestry.  Once again, everyone looked at me.  I was one of only three females in the classes.  And, I was more than twenty years older than any of the other students.

            Then, I became the first female on the forestry faculty and a few years later the first female in the department to earn a Ph.D.  Needless to say, again I was on the stage as an oddity.  Sort of like one of those freaks that in the thirties and forties used to be with the traveling circuses and the county fairs.  I did enjoy all my work in the field doing research, traveling over the state giving talks to forest landowners on how to manage their land, and particularly teaching Public Relations for Natural Resource Managers classes at the university.  My most enjoyable years were spent as the facilitator for continuing education programs sponsored by the U.S. Forest Service for their silviculturists.  I worked with foresters and professors from all over the country developing and facilitating the programs held at Clemson University facilities both on campus in the Piedmont of South Carolina and at the coastal facility on the Baruch Plantation, near Georgetown.  As the facilitator, I was the point person—center stage.

            About five years before I finished my stint as a forestry professor I attended modeling school for nine months once a week in the evenings and did some runway and print work. Was that ever fun!  I sometimes drove as much as a hundred miles for a one-hour photo shoot and enjoyed every moment of the entire trip. 

            To top it all off, in 2001, at age 68, two years after I retired, I was crowned Ms. South Carolina Senior!  There I was, sitting at home innocently scanning the Greenville News when I ran across a pageant for senior women at the Senior Action Center.  When I participated in my very first ever pageant I lost, but was still allowed to enter the state one (for a fee, of course) since so few women were entering the contests.  When I won, the best of all happenings—the state newspapers picked up on it and I even received an invitation to the State House to be recognized.  (One of the South Carolina House representatives was a former Ms. Senior pageant participant.)  From then on, invitations to speak began coming in and I began enjoying  center stage as a Happiness Specialist.  

            What is a “Happiness Specialist”?  I came up with the name as I was studying what makes me happy and beginning to give talks about finding happiness.  I had been a “Hardwood Specialist” in my forestry career.  So, in the middle of the night, it came to me that my next career would be as a Happiness Specialist.  And, I still am.

            All of these memories play a role in my ability to live happily now.  I am who I am because of where I have been.   And being center stage is a large part of where I have been and where I am going.  Center stage is related to all six of my values:  control, creativity, challenge, connection, commitment and contribution.

            So how do I satisfy my need for center stage now?  I teach yoga and do interspiritual mentoring.  For now, in the last quarter of my life, my wisdom years, teaching yoga and interspiritual mentoring are pathways for living these six values.