The Dalai Lama and Me

“Out of many we are truly one.”  —Barack Obama

This week I was lucky enough to attend the 12^th World Peace Summit of Nobel Prize Laureates.  After trying several times to get tickets to see the Dalai Lama, only to learn that it was impossible, a teacher at school asked if I wanted to chaperone a group of students to the summit.  What luck! 

Our group had great seats and I had the best of them, on the aisle next to a darling student who was even more tickled than I was at the teasing and joking that went on between the Dalai Lama and Professor Jody Williams, the laureate in faded black jeans and sparkling red tennis shoes who is responsible for banning the making and stockpiling of land mines.  With our headsets on, feeling like we were part of the UN, we listened to the translator and President Gorbachev tell us the necessity of dialogue in world peace.  His Holiness the Dalai Lama, in sunglasses, his traditional red robe and matching visor, spoke quietly about the importance of developing friendship and trust.  Professor Muhammad Yunas, the provider of micro loans to poor people of Bangladesh asked, “Who are banks to decide who is credit worthy?”  He made the analogy of the bonsai tree, explaining that the seed of the tree is planted in a small pot.  The tree grows to look like a huge tree but is only a foot tall.  People ask, “What is wrong with the seed?”  Professor Yunas said the seed is as good as any other seed; it is only grown in a small pot.  Jody Williams ended by saying, “Unite, organize, go forward, and you will succeed.”

All of these Nobel Prize laureates, amazing, effective individuals, have made huge contributions to the world.  We may think of each of them as one person making a difference, but they all had an orchestra accompanying them.  Moving into our Week of Peace culminating with a peace rally and march at school, I’m seeing the power of one that is really the power of many.  Our rally at school may have started with one girl’s idea, “Let’s have a peace rally!  That would be so cool!” but its success depends on the efforts and talents of many.  I’m learning that networking with people who network has far reaching effects.  We have a lineup of amazing speakers: a member of Cease Fire; our area state representative; religious leaders in the community; the local precinct captain; and since the Dalai Lama couldn’t make it, me!  Oh, I’m only going to get the ball rolling and turn it over to the rest.  A student will be introducing all of the speakers and student performers. A group called HoodHope somehow caught wind of the event and asked if they could perform a rap or hip hop piece for peace.  One of the student teachers works for a radio show and jumped in to help advertise and cover the event.  And students!  They have been amazing with their efforts to contact major networks, submit announcements to local papers and spread the word on Facebook.  

Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Those who love peace must learn to organize as effectively as those who love war.”  I’m in good company.  If someone would have told me a year ago that I’d be organizing a neighborhood peace rally, I would have laughed.  Now I’m laughing because I see a group of movers and shakers: a Peace Club, teachers, students, counselors and administration in a bonsai school; local community groups; Jody Williams; Muhammad Yunas; Mikhail Gorbachev; the Dalai Lama; and me.

I’d like to make batches of peace cookies to start off our week of peace, but in public school we’re not allowed to give out home baked goods.  (Mum’s the word on those peanut butter cookies I made a while back.)  But if I could make them, this is what I’d make:

Peace Cookies

1 c. butter softened

2 t. vanilla

2 c. sugar

2 eggs

4 c. unbleached flour

1 t. baking powder

½ t. salt (I never use it, but feel free and at peace)

¼ c. milk

Cream butter, vanilla then sugar and eggs.  Gradually fold in dry ingredients, alternating with milk.  Roll out dough and cut with a coffee cup or glass to make perfect circles.  Cut out a paper template of a peace sign, hold over each cookie and sprinkle with decorator sugar.  Bake at 375 degrees on an ungreased cookie sheet for about 10 to 12 minutes.  Perhaps a mystery bakery would like to whip some of these up in the name of peace.

Wishing the world sweetness and peace.  

One Sea Star at a Time

“A hug is like a boomerang - you get it back right away.”  —Bil Keane (Family Circus)

This morning on my way out for my once a week coffee that’s slipping into twice a week, I thought about how much harder it is to be my own best friend than a friend to others.  Easier when the chips are up.  I enjoy my company when I’m looking good, behaving marvelously and my decisions are rewarded with progress toward intended goals.  The art of life is like the art of cooking, or just art for that matter. Yesterday I made up a new emergency dish that was snappy and healthy.  I praised myself out loud for being such a good cook.  Likewise, when I slide my arthritic fingers nimbly up the keys of my saxophone, I smile and congratulate myself.  And when I create the exact colors I want on my watercolor pallet and find the intensity and stroke I want, I feel masterful.

But when the chips are down, that chummy feeling doesn’t come so easily. I throw out the worst insults at myself:

Sax—“You suck.”

Bland meal—“Lost cause.”

Poor decision in which I didn’t listen to my inner voice—“I thought you knew better.”

Letting anger and ego rule in the classroom—“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Writing a piece that’s going nowhere—“Quit.  You’re not a writer.”

Muddy mess of a painting—“Quit.  You’re not an artist, and you never will be.”

This week I experienced some failures and was quick to extend that title to my persona.  “I am a Failure.”  My list of credentials is short but certainly qualifies me for the position.  First, I hurt a friend.  So watch this: I feel bad for my friend, but even worse, I am mostly thinking about me and what this says about me?  I’ve told myself I’m thoughtless and careless.  Now I can add self-centered to my list.  See how that works?

Next on my resume is Poor Planner.  Funny how this has been true most of my life.  Last Minute Lindsay, I’ve often called myself.  I do fly by the seat of my pants at work.  Mostly I can get away with it.  But this week I got busted.  A co-worker, who scolded me for poor planning in the past, this time only whistled at me when I requested his help.  I spent the day alternating between defensiveness—I don’t have time to plan—and more self-bashing. 

Now, you see, I have my credentials in order and a couple of strong references.  So everything I did, every interaction I had was flavored by failure.

Maybe it’s no coincidence then that my daughter came home yesterday, crying, feeling like a failure.  The tree sat next to the nut and tried to comfort her and give some advice.  I told her that extending one moment into a day does no good.  I suggested she just focus on the moments, and not overlook the good ones.  My advice, like a hug, came right back to me.  My other nut, who somehow managed to bounce farther away from all this, joined us and added to our little shift.  He told one of his favorite stories about a daughter and father walking along a beach covered with washed up sea stars.  As the daughter walked along, she threw sea stars back into the ocean.  The father said, “There are too many.  It won’t make a difference for all these on the beach.”  The girl answered, “It will make a difference for that sea star.”  Riley, my favorite son, related the story to Casey, my favorite daughter.  He said taking on the entire beach, all of her problems, can be overwhelming.  “You don’t have to change everything at once,” he said.  “Baby steps,” I added, and made a note in my head.

Today, Sunday, rather than whining about being a poor planner, I’m going to grade papers and plan my class activities for the week.  Then I can move on to whining about losing part of my precious Sunday, like most of the other teachers I know.  Wait!  I don’t mean they whine on Sundays; I mean they work on Sundays.  I didn’t write that clearly but I’m not going to bash myself for that.

 

Instead I’m going to save a sea star.  I would never berate my friends like I do myself.  And my friends would never tell me I’m a lost cause.  Neither would they let me give up in self-pity.  And neither would I let them.  Guess I’ll practice the kindness, forgiveness and patience toward myself and take my own advice.  I’m deleting my Failure resume and starting a new one today.

Here’s that snappy little emergency dish complete with protein, veggie power, probiotics and flavor for great self-care.

Potatoes and Veggies with Pesto Yogurt

2 medium red or small baking potatoes (organic please) cut into bite sized pieces

½ medium sweet potato (organic) cut into smaller chunks

2 large carrots (organic) sliced about 1/3 of an inch thick

½ medium green pepper (organic) cut into bite sized pieces

3 or so stalks of broccoli cut into bite sized pieces

1 small zucchini halved lengthwise then cut in about ½ inch slices

1 pint of mushrooms (white button, crimini or shiitake) sliced

¼ c. plain, low fat organic yogurt

½ to 1 t. pesto

In a medium sized saucepan and a steamer if you have it, (if you don’t, you can use the pan and about a third c. of water) poor in water and add the first three ingredients and cover pot.  Steam for about 8 minutes.  While your veggies are steaming, mix yogurt and pesto together.  Add green peppers and check your water level, making sure you have about a third of an inch of water.  Cover for a few more minutes.  Add broccoli, zucchini and mushrooms.  Stir and check your water level.  Cover and steam until tender.

Spoon desired amount and top with yogurt and pesto mixture.  Before you take your first bite, give yourself a little hug to show appreciation for your self-care efforts.  With each bite, you can picture another sea star swimming in the ocean.

Butting Out

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

Courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.  —The Serenity Prayer

A mother is given the gift and privilege of knowing when her child is ready.  But for friends and for parents of adults, I may think I’m gifted, but what I assume is my privilege is really called interference. 

I wasn’t always so gifted, and regrets sometimes stir me into a sticky mess.  But mostly I was in tune with my little ones.  At two and a half, wiggling around on the changing table, Riley informed me that he would use the toilet “In six months.”  I said, “Good.  That’s when you turn three.”  In those following six months I’d get fed up with his diaper changes and ask, “When are you going to use the toilet?”  He’d always answer, “I’m not three yet.”  True to his word, the day he turned three he used the toilet, without help and has been using it successfully ever since.  At least, I assume so.

When Riley was three and four, I took him to a park district program two days a week.  They were kind and understanding enough to let me stay the entire time since he was afraid to be without me.  Family members would suggest I take him to a real pre-school and leave “to get him ready for kindergarten.”  But I knew he wasn’t ready.  Even though I was new to parenthood and didn’t yet fully appreciate the amazing changes those little ones go through, I knew my son and knew that preparation for five year old activities at four made no sense.  I was gifted in knowing my son and his needs.

My daughter was not as clear at expressing her needs.  At nine and ten she believed she needed to be with friends all day and have sleepovers every night.  One night, after kicking and screaming—figuratively—I held her tightly—again, figuratively.  She protested loudly, longly, tearfully until my arms nearly gave out.  Finally she settled down and settled into her own bed, all cozy and sweet.  She said, “Thanks for making me stay home.”

Aside from the classroom where it is not only my privilege, but my duty to know when students are ready to learn, be pushed and receive, my turn is over.  The privilege I had as a parent has come and gone.  I’m learning this the hard way.  Luckily my friends and family are patiently sticking around waiting for me to be ready to learn this lesson.

I have a friend who is in big trouble.  The problem snow balled so gradually until now she finds herself a victim of severe emotional abuse coming from her husband and children.  Their attacks are unimaginable.  She agrees that she needs to get out of there in order to recover.  And I, with great wisdom rooted in my safe and financially secure life—daht da da dah!—am here to tell her how to do it.  “Get a job.”  “Look here.”  “Go there.”  The answer is so clear to me, but she doesn’t do what I say.  I get frustrated.  I get resentful.

Since I don’t like being stuck in the muck of resentment, I prayed for an open heart. Whether you believe in a higher power or not, the act of earnestly praying is also goal setting, which has powerful results sometimes.  I got my miracle.  My heart opened unexpectedly, and led my head back to my little boy’s words: “I’m not three yet.”  My friend knows what she can handle and what she can’t muster.  She has great courage to continue to ask for help from others, to face the abuse and somehow find strength every morning to get out of bed with hope each day.  She knows that with her self-confidence diminished, looking for a job is a set up for yet another message of worthlessness.  Who am I to know when she’s ready?  In fact, by pushing someone when they’re not ready, I may be giving the message that they’re not capable of figuring things out for themselves.

My dear friend is finding her way out of the abuse with patience and persistence.  She has found the support of others in similar circumstance and help from a small group of friends who are looking for a temporary place for her to stay until she is ready.  

I’m grateful for my friend’s patience while I find my way.  I’m grateful I found my heart again, the real gift and privilege of adulthood.  I’m grateful I can shut up.

But if I could just make one more suggestion (Oh, I’m hopeless!): try this heart healthy recipe to help you open up.

Salmon Hill

4 individual filets of wild caught salmon

2 medium sweet potatoes

3 medium red potatoes

1 ½ c. low fat ricotta cheese

2-4 T. asiago or parmesan cheese

20 asparagus stalks

½ c. plain, fat free yogurt

Juice of ½ lemon

2 t. fresh or dried dill

Salt and pepper to taste

I’ve heard that omega fatty acids are better absorbed when combined with beta carotene. Here’s how we’re going to open our hearts:

Combine yogurt, lemon and dill and set aside. Roast quartered potatoes and largely chopped sweet potatoes until soft.  At the same time, for a healthier preparation of the salmon, bake covered in a 375 degree oven with salt, pepper and lemon for about12 minutes.  Remove from heat before it’s cooked all the way through.  It will continue to cook anyway for five minutes. Place four plates in your hot oven to heat during final preparations. Steam asparagus with a little salt and pepper on low for 5 to 7 minutes while you mash the potatoes and blend with enough ricotta and asiago cheese until you have your desired consistency and taste.

On each hot plate, lay out 5 asparagus stalks parallel.  Place a large dollop of potatoes on top.  Set the salmon on top and drizzle yogurt atop your fortress of health.  Know in your heart that you are ready to serve.  Garnish with fresh dill and enjoy with the best of them.

Offing Gunga Din

“Our very life depends on everything’s recurring till we answer within.”  —Robert Frost

A while back I had a program change at work and was put into a class with an another teacher.  We both have been teaching at this school seven years. She’s a smart, fast thinking, funny gal.  I admire that about her.  I also admire her ability to work a crowd, pull in the detached and win over the thugs.  I’ve been struggling with her in that class for the past few weeks.  I realize I’ve been struggling with her most of my life.

Most of my life I’ve had a latitude attitude.  Everyone is either below me, or more often, above me.  From my earliest friendships I’ve lived this up and down life. This is true of Ms. Smart, Fast Thinking, Funny Gal (Ms. SFF). I could never be as clever or funny or effective at winning kids over like she is.  My usual MO is to first feel inhibited and in awe of others who are better than me.  Then, to feel better about myself, I shift into reverse, grab my automatic weapon from under the seat, point it out the window and blast away.  If I can knock them down a few rungs of the ladder, maybe I’ll feel better about myself. 

For a week I was leading the class instruction and Ms. SFF was the “supporting” teacher.  I was insecure and shaky since I’m not “as good as” Ms. SFF.  And after a week of her interruptions for the sake of getting the laughs, I was mad.  My first move was to complain about her to another co-teacher whom I very much respect.  Together we pulled out our hand guns equipped with silencers and let the bullets fly.  That helped.  But it didn’t solve anything.  After telling me all week to take as much time as I needed on this unit and short story, Friday she told me, “We should finish this Monday, at the latest.”  And because I think she’s better than me and I have little confidence on her turf, I said nothing.  My default was to feel small.  Then I got mad and decided which of her character defects were at work here. 

I’m amazed at how easily I give up my values and self-worth, especially when someone I admire challenges those.  But the good news is I know this.  I pulled up my boot straps and remembered the important contributions students made, at my lead.  I remembered how sweet it felt to show them how important their contributions were.  And I’m left knowing the skills they are improving, at my lead, are important and worth taking time on.

Now, after some meditation, reading and listening to the wisdom of others, I am reminded that humility is one of my personal goals.  Being humble means simply knowing this: we are all in this together.  I envision taking down the ladder with other helping hands. We all hang on side by side.  I remember that some of us are short and have to reach higher.  Some of us have injuries from childhood trauma.  Some of us might be a little weak.  But side by side, we can work together.  If I can focus on principles rather than personalities, maybe Ms. SFF and I can be creative with our contrasting approaches and do what’s best for the class.  Someday I’m going to master this.  But for today, I’m going to work on a humble email to my co-teacher . . . after I make a humble breakfast, each ingredient as important and delicious as the others.  The email may not get my desired results, but I know the breakfast will make my morning.

Humble Breakfast Union

1-2 t. sunflower oil

onion, 4 slices (thinly slice and halved)

4-5 white mushrooms sliced

handful of fresh baby spinach

2 eggs

3 T. plain nonfat yogurt

2 T. goat cheese crumbles

Salt and pepper to taste

Sautee onion and mushrooms in a small skillet until onions are soft and mushrooms are juicy.  Add spinach for no more than a minute. Pour in eggs beaten with yogurt. Eggs will remain a bit wet because of the yogurt.  The flavor is yummy.  But if you like dry eggs, who am I to judge?  Go ahead; use milk instead.  When eggs are cooked nearly to desired consistency, dot with goat cheese, cover and remove from heat.

A piece of toast with honey makes a sweet, contrasting contribution to this breakfast.