Archive for the ‘Book reviews’ Category
Cindy on February 16th, 2012
The body cannot be cured without full regard for the soul.” – Socrates
Charmed by the very idea of aromatherapy, I’ve always stored a few essential oils in my medicine cabinet. I sprinkle a few drops of lavender oil in my laundry, for instance, and rub eucalyptus oil on the walls of my shower when I’m congested. And when I have a rare moment to spoil myself, I book an aromatherapy massage at a nearby Aveda salon.
Until recently, though, I wasn’t all that serious about studying the art and science of essential oils. Now, I’m becoming a convert.
Last week I endured my first root canal, which, as my luck would have it, was quickly followed by another emergency trip to Beaumont Hospital for my ailing mother. Just when I thought the medical gods couldn’t load another crisis on my plate of care-giving responsibilities … well, let’s just say I was wrong.
In short, I’ve been feeling more exhausted than usual and (I’m ashamed to admit) more than a little sorry for myself.
Of course, the endodontist prescribed an arsenal of antibiotics and pain meds to get me through a week of dental “discomfort.” But there wasn’t a pill to resupply the energy that my chronically ill mother has been draining from me.
I want to emphasize that I try to avoid most prescription drugs for the long term. I am not a fan of Big Pharma. Over the years I’ve learned that a healthy lifestyle is the best revenge, and if there’s a natural remedy for what ails me, I’ll reach for that first.
After returning home from my root canal procedure, I opened the medicine cabinet and assembled a few essential oils on the counter. Almost instinctively, I went for the bergamot, lavender, rosemary, and eucalyptus oils.
I sprinkled a few drops of each into the sink, which I’d filled with warm water. Then I dipped a facecloth into the mix, and gently pressed it to my nose and cheeks, taking deep breaths to inhale the heady mix of scents.
The tension and tenderness in my sore cheek (thanks to the root canal) began to ease (thanks to the eucalyptus). Most important of all, I felt an undeniable shift in my gloomy mood. The scent of bergamot, reminiscent of an Italian orange grove, worked its healing magic. I felt uplifted.
Doing some research online, I learned that bergamot is often used for relief from stress and depression. And I was surprised to read that lavender, which I typically use to scent laundry, is also beneficial for inflammation, wounds, headaches, and nervous tension.
“Some of the healing that has taken place under their influence would be called miraculous if we didn’t have the scientific basis for explaining how essential oils work,” notes Valerie Ann Worwood in The Complete Book of Essential Oils & Aromatherapy. Worwood’s reference book comes highly recommended by most aromatherapy practitioners, and is a good place to start if you’re interested in the topic.
And here’s the obligatory disclaimer: I don’t believe aromatherapy is the cure for everything that ails us. If the time comes when I absolutely need a prescription medication for a life-threatening disease or illness, I certainly won’t refuse it. Meanwhile, I’m glad there are some gentle and lovely alternatives which, if nothing else, delight our senses and lift our spirits. No harm in that. – Cindy La Ferle
– Original artwork and photos by Cindy La Ferle. Shown are details from an altered medical textbook (originally published in the late 1800s). The piece was featured in a juried art show at Anton Art Center. Click on each image for a larger view. –
Cindy on September 7th, 2011
“I wanted to change my life without changing my life, by finding more happiness in my own kitchen.” — Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project
With autumn on its way, I’ve been pitching and sorting; letting go of things that no longer serve my lifestyle. On Labor Day weekend, I stuffed nearly half of my wardrobe and a pile of books into five giant trash bags, then dragged them to the front porch for the Vietnam Veterans of America donation pick-up.
I’ve been inspired by The Happiness Project, a self-help guide I’m reading for our neighborhood book group. It’s the perfect time of year for a book about discovering what makes us happy — and how to employ simple changes that add up to contentment.
Author Gretchen Rubin is a practical soul with a real life — pretty much like the rest of us. She admits she’s inspired by “more radical happiness projects,” including Thoreau’s solitary sabbatical on Walden Pond (which I’ve always admired) as well as Elizabeth Gilbert’s exotic spiritual wanderings in Eat, Pray, Love (which I found a little flaky). But Rubin is a working wife and mother, and not the sort who’s inclined to do anything outlandish on the path to enlightenment. She simply wanted to to squeeze more juice out of her life — in her own apartment in New York.
So she embarked on a year of researching “happiness.”
As Rubin discovered, most people get a huge energy boost — which leads to happy feelings — when they create a sense order in their physical surroundings. If your eyes are starting to glaze over, take heart: De-cluttering is only one stop on the author’s quest for happiness. Later in the book, she also tackles the deeper philosophical theories on the subject.
But happiness begins at home, so that’s where she started.
“I went straight to the festering heart of my household clutter: my own closet,” Rubin explains. While she didn’t hire an architect or a closet organizer to redesign her storage space, she employed what she calls the most “essential clutter tool” available to everyone: trash bags.
“Instead of making people feel more satisfied, a wide range of choices can paralyze them.” — Gretchen Rubin
“When I finished, I had four bags full of clothes, and I could see huge patches of the back of my closet,” Rubin recalls. “I no longer felt drained; instead, I felt exhilarated.” After purging her closet, Rubin suddenly had easy access to pieces she would actually wear. Which meant she had more to wear.
“Although people believe they like to have a lot of choice, in fact, having too many choices can be discouraging. Instead of making people feel more satisfied, a wide range of choices can paralyze them.”
Amen to that. A longtime collector, I tend to hoard old prom dresses, “skinny” jeans that used to fit, Halloween costumes, and bridesmaid gowns that could pass for Halloween costumes. And having spent the last two years working as a background extra in Michigan films, I’ve accumulated an “extra” wardrobe of thrift-shop costumes that compete for space in the closets of our spare bedrooms. I wear only a fraction of these “choices” daily. I end up wearing the same pieces because I’m too lazy — or overwhelmed — to weed through my own wardrobe jungle.
Following Rubin’s example, I brought several trash bags upstairs and got busy. In the process, I discovered buried treasure in the back of my closet, plus dozens of pieces that had gone out of fashion ages ago. Not to mention all the stuff that wouldn’t fit.
So I divided my potential discards into two piles: Clothing I could wear at our three-season home in western Michigan, and clothing to donate to charity. I find it’s much easier to part with costly fashion mistakes when I know that someone in need will use and enjoy them.
As happiness expert Gretchen Rubin discovered, weeding out a closet is more than a simple act of getting organized for a new season. By making it easier to find the clothes I really want to wear, I free up the morning energy I need to devote to more important activities — and things that make me happy. The kitchen pantry is next on the list. – Cindy La Ferle
Cindy on August 1st, 2011
I was in the midst of a hugely profound change and I wasn’t altogether sure of who I would be when the process was complete.” — Donna Henes, The Queen of Myself
I finally figured out what I need to do next. The light dawned while I was weeding the small Japanese garden at the rear of our property.
As most gardeners know, a well-tended Japanese garden should serve as a contemplative oasis. Simple and sparse, it is, ideally, the antithesis of a fussy English cottage garden. In a Japanese garden — especially a Zen meditation garden — you must take time to prune what you’ve planted and resist the temptation to add anything new. Less is more.
Earlier this season, however, my own Japanese garden was overgrown, its open spaces obscured by weeds and perennial grasses gone wild. Emotionally exhausted, I hadn’t been able to muster the enthusiasm to work outside in the heat and humidity – despite the fact that this particular garden is my favorite back-yard escape.
But last month, after pushing myself outdoors to pull the tangle of weeds blocking the view of my granite Buddha figure, I realized it was time to weed out my own life as well.
For starters, it hit me that I need to stop berating myself for “not doing enough” — whether it’s caring for loved ones or trying to rebuild my career. I’ve spent the past three years micro-managing my elderly mother’s medical care in addition to my own obligations. I need to take better care of myself — and accept my own limitations.
It also occurred to me that this isn’t the time to pile on new career goals or projects. It’s time to stop pouring my time and energy into dead-end assignments that offer little reward in return. It’s time to clear some space. It’s time to get clear. Period.
Not long after my weeding session in the garden, I stumbled on two remarkable books offering fresh perspective on facing midlife transition and nurturing creative growth. (Don’t you love how some books fall into your hands when you really need them?) I’ll be reviewing both books in more detail later on. But in the meantime, I’d like to share the titles and some brief description, in case you too are in need of a creative jump-start this summer.
The first guide, The Queen of My Self: Stepping into Sovereignty in Midlife, by Donna Henes (Monarch Press; $16.95), found its way to me as a review copy. As I began the reading it, I couldn’t help but think of the author as a wise fairy godmother who arrived just in time to sprinkle a few beams of light on my path. (She even wears a crown in some of her promotional pieces.)
I discovered the second book, The Artist’s Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul with Monastic Wisdom, by Christine Valters Paintner (Sorin Books; $14.95), while shopping on Amazon.com. Since I’ve always been attracted to books that explore monastic wisdom, this title lured me immediately. The author draws on the insights of Benedictine spirituality to explore the relationship between the monk and the artist, reminding us that we all need time to reflect in our own “monastery” – i.e., creative solitude — in order to reach our highest potential as writers, gardeners, poets, musicians, painters, or simply as “artists of the everyday.”
Or, as Donna Henes writes in The Queen of Myself, “A practice of solitude and separation – be it occasional, frequent, or constant – teaches us that we do not need the approval or permission of any outside source to validate our personal experience or emotions. In knowing who we are, we are empowering ourselves to know what we know and feel what we feel.”
With all of this in mind, I am spending the month of August on a creative sabbatical – the best birthday present I can possibly give myself. If I need more time, I will continue the sabbatical through September.
A creative sabbatical requires a change in attitude and routine – but it really isn’t a vacation or an escape. And it isn’t a fancy permission slip to hang out and do nothing. Often used by corporate management as a tool to prevent burnout, a sabbatical is a time of exploration, inner work, and, hopefully, rebirth. It is a time to stop spinning our worn-out wheels and to approach everything with what the Buddhists refer to as “Beginner’s Mind.”
Of course, the very idea of a sabbatical works against the way I’ve been operating for years. Like most Americans, I was raised to believe that if you “keep busy” you won’t have time to be depressed or stressed; that you must keep all lines moving. Eventually, though, something’s gotta give.
During my creative sabbatical, I’ll work on several exercises outlined in the two books mentioned, and will be seeking additional resources as well. Periodically, I’ll return here to post some thoughts from my journal as well as insights I’ve gleaned from my studies. With the exception of a deadline I’m obligated to meet, I won’t be submitting columns or articles to other web sites or publications.
Throughout August, I will reflect and journal privately on several key questions, including: Why do I write? Why do I identify or label myself as a writer? For whom am I writing and publishing my work? How much is my work worth or what should I earn from it? Should I follow another career path entirely? What other creative avenues have I neglected — and which ones do I most need to explore? What is the best use of my creative gifts, or where and how do I need to serve? What’s really blocking my path? – CL
– All garden photos by Cindy La Ferle. Please click on each image for a larger view. –
Cindy on March 30th, 2011
A college campus is its own village, full of folklore and traditions and initiation rituals. Like a village, it has its haunted places, its ghost stories.” – Michigan author Laura Kasischke
It’s nowhere near Halloween, but here I am, waxing poetic about the supernatural. I just finished reading a new literary thriller, The Raising, and can’t stop thinking about “ghosts” and how we’re haunted by people and places from our past.
If Daphne du Maurier were alive today, this is the sort of novel she’d write. Part gothic suspense, part ghost story, it’s deliciously creepy and atmospheric. Set on the campus of a prestigious Michigan university, The Raising circles around a car accident that killed Nicole Werner, a straight-A sorority sister. Driving on the night of the accident, her boyfriend miraculously (or mysteriously) survived the crash. A year later, it’s rumored that Nicole has been spotted on campus. From then on, the goosebumps don’t let up.
Mira Polson, the cultural anthropology professor who teaches a seminar on the folklore of death rituals at the university, is among the novel’s most intriguing characters, giving the plot its much-needed weight and focus. Mira delivers some compelling — and well-researched — theories on our collective fear of dying and the dead. In contrast to Mira’s macabre obsession with her topic are the college students whose cavalier sexuality and cruel beauty drive the story to its end. (Most college students believe they’re immortal, don’t they?) One caveat: If you’re a female student considering Greek life, you’ll think twice before stepping inside a sorority house after reading this one.
Award-winning author Laura Kasischke, who teaches at the University of Michigan in the MFA program, deftly moves back and forth between past and present, interweaving the back stories of her characters without muddling her plot or confusing her readers. She’s also careful enough to avoid the typical Stephen King horror cliches — though I see terrific possibilities for one heck of a spooky screenplay.
I agree with some of the reviewers who were a bit disappointed in the novel’s conclusion. Without revealing too much here, I’d hoped for a bit more closure on the “whereabouts” of certain characters, not to mention retribution for others. That said, life itself doesn’t always wrap up the way we’d like it to — and the ending of this novel didn’t spoil the experience of reading it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve picked up a book and couldn’t it put down, so I’m especially grateful to the indie bookstore in St. Joseph, Michigan, where I found this one on a “staff recommends” shelf. My only wish is that it had been released a little closer to Halloween. — Cindy La Ferle
Charmed by the very idea of aromatherapy, I’ve always stored a few essential oils in my medicine cabinet. I sprinkle a few drops of lavender oil in my laundry, for instance, and rub eucalyptus oil on the walls of my shower when I’m congested. And when I have a rare moment to spoil myself, I book an aromatherapy massage at a nearby Aveda salon.
I sprinkled a few drops of each into the sink, which I’d filled with warm water. Then I dipped a facecloth into the mix, and gently pressed it to my nose and cheeks, taking deep breaths to inhale the heady mix of scents.
