Archive for the ‘Columns & essays’ Category
Cindy on February 22nd, 2012
Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is discord, harmony ….” — St. Francis of Assisi
Traditionally, some Christian churches ask us to forfeit something we enjoy for the duration of the Lenten season. We might choose to give up alcohol, potato chips, peanut butter, shoes shopping, ice cream, favorite TV shows (or, heaven forbid, dark chocolate truffles) while we prepare for “rebirth” on Easter Sunday.
I won’t argue with any of that — and I’m not incapable of postponing pleasure when the occasion calls for it. Truth is, I find that chocolate, one of my diehard addictions and pleasures, is so much easier to surrender than a genuine bad habit.
So what’s the point?
Over the years I’ve come to view Lent as a fresh opportunity for serious soul-searching. I love the idea of escaping to a metaphorical desert for 40 days to review and purge my bad habits; to strip away the stubborn layers of outworn grievances. (Not that I’ve been entirely successful in previous attempts.) All said and done, I try to use the whole Lenten season as an extended spa for the spirit; a reflective retreat.
Though my list is long and overly ambitious for 40 weekdays, here are just a few of the lousy habits and ridiculous behaviors I’d like to give up:
*Caring (too much) about what other people think.
*Believing that it’s my role in life to keep everyone happy all the time — even when I’m exhausted or over-extended.
*Believing I must achieve something big in order to make a difference or have value as a human being.
*Taking the key players in my life for granted while fussing over others who don’t deserve as much attention.
*Buying more black clothing than I can possibly wear.
*Worrying about things I can’t possibly fix or control, including my mother’s dementia.
*Assuming that the most expensive product is always superior.
*Feeling guilty if I’m not “productive” all the time.
*Allowing the beauty, fashion, and cosmetic industries to make me feel ashamed about aging and looking older.
*Wasting time on the computer when I could use a walk and fresh air.
*Not taking enough time to form well-researched (balanced) political opinions.
*Playing small when I should be aiming higher.
*Expecting more from some people than they are capable of giving.
*Making foolish assumptions before I have gathered all the necessary information.
*Putting up with people who make foolish assumptions before they have gathered all the necessary information.
*Neglecting my feet when I moisturize.
*Not taking time out to meet friends for coffee when I’m invited because it’s easier to stay home in my pajamas and communicate via social media.
*Dwelling on the mistakes I’ve made.
*Dwelling on the mistakes other people have made.
*Apologizing for things that aren’t my fault.
*Failing to notice — and apologize — when I am at fault.
*Clinging to old stuff I need to pitch, which includes just about everything in the attic.
*Forgetting to appreciate what I’ve already accomplished.
*Feeling guilty for reading the books I want to read instead of the ones on the neighborhood book club list.
This is only a start, of course; there are other much-needed improvements I can’t even list here. So, how about you? What will you do differently — or give up — this season? – Cindy La Ferle
To access an earlier Lent reflection from my book, Writing Home, please click here.
– Original artwork (above) by Cindy La Ferle. Please click on the image for a larger view. –
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 February 12th, 2012
If you really want to write, you will do it anywhere: under trees, on the bus, in the bathroom, or in a booth at a noisy cafe.”
First published in 1929, A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf is often reduced to a catchphrase for writers and architects who haven’t even read the book. Originally penned as two lectures, Woolf’s landmark essay asserts that every woman writer should have a substantial income and a room of her own if she is to produce literature worthy of publication and readership.
Furthermore, Woolf said, women who want to write ought to be given the freedom to travel — and they must have plenty of idle time for daydreaming and creating. That was very progressive talk for the 1920s.
And while it isn’t exactly earth shattering today, A Room of One’s Own is still considered a major milestone for women writers. Whenever I’m asked to name 10 books that changed my life, this one never fails to top the list.
Excuses, excuses!
Not surprisingly, the subject of finding or creating “the perfect writing space” always comes up in the writing workshops I teach. Sadly, not having a room of one’s own is the most popular excuse for not writing anything. I’ve met a few self-described procrastinators who have an extra guest room, for instance, but insist they can’t work there because it’s poorly lit, uninspiring, too small, too cluttered, too close to the neighbor’s window, or cursed with bad feng shui.
But sooner or later, every serious writer arrives at this truth: If you really want to write, you will do it anywhere: under trees, on the bus, in the bathroom, or in a booth at a noisy cafe. Serious writers need only a pen and a notebook to get started. And nothing — not even a bad view or ugly curtains — will stop us.
That said, I believe Virginia Woolf made an excellent point about the need for peace and privacy, and she didn’t even have kids to distract her.
Setting boundaries, closing doors
Working with little ones underfoot is another challenge entirely. When my own son was a toddler, I began freelancing in the damp basement of our 1920′s home. If you’re a younger parent who’s eager to combine writing with motherhood and homemaking, setting up shop at a kid’s craft table next to the laundry room might sound convenient.
But I quickly discovered this was not what Virginia had in mind.
Working in a murky basement became a metaphor for the way I undervalued my career at the time. Aside from the fact that the ambiance was vaguely reminiscent of Freddy Krueger’s boiler room, my desk was typically littered with construction paper or my preschooler’s science experiments. Settling in to write, I’d find blue finger paint or Play-Doh oozing from my paper-clip container. My scissors and rolls of tape mysteriously disappeared.
Meanwhile, the clothes dryer kept buzzing, which didn’t exactly impress editors when I phoned to pitch stories.
A year later, I moved my office upstairs to a sunroom with windows overlooking the yard. Not so coincidentally, I started taking my work seriously then. My writing became both a career and a vocation. I established a tighter writing schedule and contributed regularly to several local newspapers and national magazines.
Two years ago, my husband generously agreed to renovate my office-sunroom, adding shelves and counter-top space for books, a printer, and office supplies. Most important of all, my home office has a glass door to help establish my boundaries.
Clearing your own space
Every writer is different, so you’ll have to experiment until you find what works for you.
Not long ago, I met a parenting columnist who’s also the brave mother of four little boys. She rented cheap office space just ten minutes from her house, which seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. But after three months of commuting back and forth to work and trying to coordinate an awkward breast-feeding schedule, the columnist admitted her new office wasn’t so ideal. The clamor of family life is what kept her energized and motivated.
If you don’t have the luxury of a spare bedroom or an attic with a desk, claim a corner of the house where you can focus on your work. Use the area just for writing (or your other creative projects) and keep supplies within easy reach. Put up a folding screen for privacy while you work; or use it to conceal your works-in-progress. Creating an official space for your creative life will dignify your goals and intentions. You’ll find it easier to follow a routine — and harder to keep making excuses.
If you don’t already have a room of your own, can you describe your ideal space — right down to the supplies you’d need? What would you have to do to make it a reality? – Cindy La Ferle
Note: Part of this essay is excerpted from a previously published essay “Home Sweet Office” — which appears in full in my book, Writing Home.
Top photo: a glimpse of my recently remodeled home office in Royal Oak.
Cindy on February 8th, 2012
Facebook’s initial public offering of stock is likely to make a lot of developers and designers of the site very wealthy. But for many users, frequent Facebooking may not be so beneficial.” — Stephanie Pappas
The Facebook debates are heating up this week, thanks, in part, to the announcement that Mark Zuckerberg filed an IPO for the world’s largest social network. Some are peeved by Zuck’s greed; others are justifiably worried about some thorny new privacy issues.
My own post about quitting Facebook (Jan.24) had nothing to do with the IPO. It was, essentially, about my efforts to spend fewer hours online and to reclaim some quiet space in my overbooked life. (Part of my New Year’s resolution was to live a more “examined” life, which also meant I had to start questioning my online habits and routines.) In other words, my FB piece really wasn’t “anti-Facebook” — nor was it a criticism of the wonderful people on my Facebook friend list.
In any event, the piece was syndicated on BlogHer.com. As of today, it earned close to 23,000 “reads,” which is a lot more traffic than I’m used to — at least for a blog post. On Monday, I was quoted in “Now is the Time to Quit Facebook,” by Chicago journalist Alicia Eller.
Readers’ comments following Eler’s post are fascinating. Among my favorites: “I wasn’t on Facebook before it was cool to not be on Facebook.”
Apparently the topic is so hot that Eler posted another piece on ReadWriteWeb titled “It’s True: You Have Too Many Facebook Friends.” This article offers some fresh analysis on why it’s probably not healthy to spend too much time on Facebook — and why it’s really not cool to have too many Facebook friends. (Hint: It makes you appear insecure.)
In another interesting post, LiveScience journalist Stephanie Pappas discusses new studies on our emotional reactions to Facebook. Check out “Facebook Takes a Toll on Your Mental Health.”
If you’re fascinated by the culture of narcissism and social media addictions, don’t miss these thought-provoking pieces. — CL
Cindy on February 5th, 2012
Crafts make us feel rooted, give us a sense of belonging and connect us with our history. Our ancestors used to create these crafts out of necessity, and now we do them for fun, to make money and to express ourselves.” –Phyllis George
Who was she? It’s likely I’ll never know. I found her photograph (at left) in an old album that once belonged to my mom’s stepmother, affectionately known as Granny Bee.
Bee grew up on a farm in Greenup, Illinois — the “Village of Porches” — and chapters of her childhood could have been lifted from Ray Bradbury’s nostalgic short stories. But she died when I was in my teens, and I don’t remember very much about her relatives.
The family album Bee passed down to my mother contains a gorgeous batch of sepia-toned photographs, some dating back to the Civil War. Many are marked with the names of photography studios in Chicago or Aurora, Illinois; others are from studios in New Hampshire. Sadly, the people in the photographs are not identified. Not a single name or date is penciled anywhere.
Bee had no children of her own, and since I’m her only “grandchild” by marriage, the fate of this album is now in my hands. And while Bee’s ancestors aren’t technically mine, I still feel a certain responsibility toward them.
I often use vintage photographs in my mixed-media artwork. In particular, the dour-looking “mystery woman” in Bee’s album has fascinated me for years. Her deadpan expression is so classic, and so charming, that I’ve used copies of her image in several of my projects. Just for starters, she’s worn a poinsettia on her head for humorous Christmas cards and a witch hat on Halloween party invitations.
This week I finished a more fitting tribute to her: a mixed-media “reliquary” of found objects. (Please click the image at the far left for a larger view.) The word remember is incorporated throughout the piece, along with scraps from an old hymnal, sewing notions, vintage fabrics, a rusted picture frame, feathers and twigs.
___________
“I like photographs that leave something to the imagination.” — Fay Godwin
_________________
I’ve even tried to give my mystery woman a proper name. “Isabel” or “Esmeralda” both seem to suit her — yet somehow I sense I’m on the wrong track.
Early on, I tried to investigate. But even before her memory was fogged by dementia, my mother couldn’t recall the name of the relative in the photo — nor could she determine her kinship to our beloved Granny Bee.
So I suppose I’ll have to settle for the stories conjured by the photo in my own imagination.
Regardless, I love how crafting something with my hands sets my mind whirling in a thousand different directions. And I love how art helped create my special relationship with the incomparable “Isabel Esmeralda” — a relationship that reaches across time and never stops delighting me.
If she were alive today, would the mystery woman be honored — or appalled — at being the center of attention in my art pieces? I wonder if I could make her smile. — Cindy La Ferle
Traditionally, some Christian churches ask us to forfeit something we enjoy for the duration of the Lenten season. We might choose to give up alcohol, potato chips, peanut butter, shoes shopping, ice cream, favorite TV shows (or, heaven forbid, dark chocolate truffles) while we prepare for “rebirth” on Easter Sunday.
