Shifting into giving

About a week ago, Carl showed me a video of Cami Walker, an MS patient who changed her life by giving 29 gifts in 29 days. I was intrigued. I put it on the back burner in my brain. And, I thought about it.
Basically, Cami was diagnosed with MS, and was advised by a spiritual advisor to give 29 gifts in 29 days. The idea was if Cami began to concentrate on what she can give other people each day, she would shift her energy. She said it began to work, she began to feel better. You can learn more about her and her project at www.29gifts.org.
Many of you know my mom has MS. So, it struck me because of that. More than that, though, I am intrigued by the idea that she shifted her energy by one simple act every day.
So, I decided, I am doing it, too.
Gratefully, I am healthy. And, I do have a tendency to live in my head. I think about things even after I have found solutions to problems. Maybe shifting my energy will mean getting out of my own head and in the process, helping other people.
So, since I am a writer, you guys will all get to see what happens firsthand. I will write about the gifts I give the day after I give them.
Today is day one. I sat in bed this morning thinking about what I would do today. I have already decided. But, you all have to wait until tomorrow to find out what I did.

Towering Spirit

I will never forget the words I said when the first World Trade Center tower collapsed. I will also never feel good about it. I was a writer at a weekly newspaper on Sept. 11, 2001. I was also six months pregnant. I saw the planes hit the towers at my grandmother's house, where I was staying at the time. By the time I got to work, everyone was staring at the televsion in the newsroom, open mouthed, barely blinking.
In between the moments of television newsreporting, there were comments and discussion about what we, as a weekly newspaper, should do next.
Then the first tower fell.
As I am sure was the case all over the world, we all gasped. Collectively.
Chatter began about the lives that would be lost and what a tragedy we were all watching. That's when I spoke.
"But, don't you think they would have gotten everyone out of the building by now?"
Of course, I had no way to know that the emergency services at the time were telling people to stay in the tower. I had no way of knowing what was really going on in NYC.
Maybe I really am a cockeyed optomist, because I really thought that everyone would have evacuated.
Today, eight years later, as I sit on my couch and watch the History Channel, I think I was not alone in thinking that. I am hearing other people saying it.
I also know that then, as now, I would have been like one of the cameramen who was interviewed, had I been there. I would have rushed toward the towers, or pointed a camera in that direction, or spoken to the people on the street. Not for the noble job of saving others or rescuing, but rather for chronicalling the incident.
For some of us, news is in our blood. When the tornado sirens go off, we go outside to see what the sky looks like. When there is flooding, we strap on rain boots. When there is an accident or a crime, we rush toward the scene.
Part of me fears this is a dying art. But, again, as I sit and watch the shows on the History Channel, I cannot help but appreciate those who rushed forward with cameras. Those who captured the raw footage, the human reactions, the faces of those who were there. They are heroes in a different way. They memorialized sights, sounds and, in some cases, the last glimpses of people who were there.
In one case, a cameraman caught a whole company of firefighters heading in...a whole company that never headed out.
Eight years ago, I was worried for the future of the world, a world into which I was bringing a baby. I had no idea what the days, months, years would bring.
I wondered, standing there in front of the television in a newsroom, what kind of world my son would see.
Today, there has been tragedy. Many lives were lost, not only in the tragedy, but in the ensuing wars. But there has also been the strength of human character. There has been healing, in individuals and as a country.
I hope the lessons that we learned on 9-11 - to trust your instinct, to prepare and to help others - will grow more and more. I hope that by the time my sons, now I have two, are adults and have their own careers, that more will connect humanity than seperates it.
The towers fell. People died. Let us not allow the human spirit to fall and die too.

Squeezing the last breath out of summer

At the begining of this summer, when we all had the hope that there would actually be some warm weather, my kids made a wish list. Among the destinations were the ordinary places, like the pool and the beach, but also camping, an amusement park and Nate's lone wish - to pet a deer.
We accomplished almost all of the items on our list.
Nate got to feed a deer. He said he did not get to pet it, but going back to the K Mine Park, which is in Godley, should be easy enough.



Our summer started out right away, with camping at Indiana Beach, which included an amusement park and a sand beach.



We expected that as the summer wore on that we would get to go to a beach in Chicago, but it never seemed like it was hot enough.

We also visited Lincoln Park Zoo, the Morton Arboretum and Six Flags Great America

We had a great summer. And we still have the weekends to do more fun things, before the weather changes to unpleasant cold. Anyone have any suggestions?

Don't wait to exhale

In the interest of National Relaxation Day, I am posting a couple of photos of places that make me feel at peace.



This one is of a path in Germany, where I lived for two years.

I am alway moved by walks in nature. My two favorite local places are the path in Channahon Community Park and Pilcher Park Nature Center in Joliet.

But the place dearest to my heart of relaxation is in Pottenstein, Germany.

A vegetable by any other name

I have always liked Farmer's Markets. Although I am not a vegetarian by any stretch of the imagination, I don't think I have met a vegatable I did not like. Going out to the Joliet Farmer's Market with JJCs Chef Michael McGreal opened up vegetables that I have never even seen before. Like Petit pan squash...I have yet to try them, but they are on my list. I took the opportunity of my trips to Joliet and to the New Lenox Farmer's Market to buy veggies you don't find in a store, like suntan peppers. The idea is that suntan peppers are left on the vine to ripen. So, a green pepper might not be green all the way around. Places where the sun hit the pepper directly, for example, turn orange or red. I bought one or two of these. They taste the same, but psychologically, I cannot bring myself to buy loose, non vine ripened vegetables, especially tomatoes, now that I know what I know.
During my trip to the Joliet market, Chef McGreal told me about the modern ripening of tomatoes. Basically tomatoes are picked when they are green (which is very tasty to fry up, but I digress) and then brought to a warehouse, where they are chemically ripened with a gas. The gas changed the color of the tomatoe, but not the taste...which is why the tomatoes you buy at a store do not taste the same as the ones in your garden.
I am intrigued by heirloom tomatoes and am going to begin looking for them. I will let you know what I think when I find them.

Why I became a journalist

This original post ran July 11, 2008, nearly a year ago today. I am rerunning it because I am told these same people are out in Will County today.

The other day, I was reminded about why I became a journalist. When I was in high school, the administration decided to formally celebrate pro-life week. A symbolic display of paper booties was hung in the main hallway, statistics were posted on the cafeteria wall and a poem was read on the loudspeaker every day.
That poem, which I tried to find on the Internet, but could not, talked about the beautiful development of a fetus, but ends with "my mommy killed me today."
When we got to the last day of the poem, three girls in my homeroom ran out crying.
I was moved to action. Why was it necessary to make these girls relive what was probably the hardest and most gut wrenching decision of their lives? Did they have sex before marriage? Clearly they did. Did they make a decision to have an abortion? Yes, they did. But why, in trying to celebrate life, did we have to cause more pain.
I spoke up then, when I was a teen, because I thought the point could be made without causing more pain. And in speaking up, through my school newspaper, I got people talking, and administrators listening. And the girls who needed it, could get help to talk about their feelings. Back then, there was a better way. I believe there still is.
It was many, many signs of aborted fetus that greeted me, on the way to lunch, no less, on Friday afternoon. Did members of The Truth Tour warn me it was coming up with a sign telling me graphic images were ahead? Yes, they did.
But their display made me just as mad, if not more, than I was when I was in high school.
Their Web site addresses some of the objections they have heard and I would like to press them a little more.
1. Children will see the photos. The Truth tour wants people to know that is why they stand in advance of the protest with a sign of warning.
But I have news for you. Children sit in the backseat. I can not cover their eyes. So, you are forcing me to have a conversation with my child about abortion possibly before I want to. My children are 6 and 4. I should be able to chose when to tell my children about abortion.
2. It hurts women who have had abortions. The Web site says, "We try to help these women take the first steps along the journey of healing. Our display includes pictures of Our Lord which prominently bear the message, "Jesus Forgives and Heals."
Really, so you only offer comfort to women who are Christian? And, what about women who did not ABORT their babies but MISCARRIED? Exactly what will this do to them? The path to healing does not begin with guilt and more pain.
3. The Truth Tour saves babies. According to the Web site, protestors have been told by women who saw the display that they changed their minds.
What I am saying, though, is that there is a better way.
Why don't the same people who would spend a day protesting along the side of the road spend that time creating an organization that will support women who are pregnant and don't want to be? Why not counsel these women, connect them with places for adoption or support them to be ready when the baby comes?
Instead of causing more grief and pain, why not spur healing with a picnic of beautiful babies who lived because the mothers chose life? Why not support counseling programs for women who chose abortion, to help them to heal?
It is not enough to simply put links to these places on your Web site.
Protestors are doing it because they believe it needs to be graphic to work. The Truth Tour is a Christian organization, so let me ask you the most important question...do you believe, if Jesus was alive today, that he would stand on the side of the road with a photo of an aborted fetus? Or, do you believe he would seek out the women who needed help, forgive those who had chosen abortion, and counsel those who were pregnant with no means to care for the baby.
Jesus would have loved them. And you don't love someone by standing on the side of the road with a sign of death.

The strength of the past

This ran in the Herald News on July 8, as a sidebar to a larger story about hypnotherapy.

In a past life, I was a woman living on the east coast of America. I was married to a man who once was a fisherman until he was called to war. He died in that war. We had one child together, a son.

I know this because I remembered it, but I am not sure that I believe it.

As part of my hypnotherapy story, I sat in Linda Herrick's office and participated in a past-life regression session.

Past-life regression sessions take longer than traditional hypnotherapy sessions because you have to be in a deeper state of hypnosis.

As promised by Herrick, I did remember all the things I saw in my mind when I came back to full consciousness.

"How do I know I wasn't just making it all up," I asked as soon as I came out of hypnosis.

"Don't you think you would have made it more interesting?" Herrick asked, laughing.

OK, so I admit the two lives I remembered were rather boring. In one I was a widow and in the other I was a man who traveled to different villages to repair things. In the first, we are estimating it was the 1940s, and in the second, sometime in the 1800s.

Whether these really were or were not my past lives I could not tell you for sure. I did, however, find the whole experience fascinating.

Herrick asks logical questions as the hypnosis begins: What are you doing? What do you see? What is your name?

What I found most interesting were the details I could remember versus the ones I could not. For example, the woman who lived on the East Coast was very vivid in my mind — the way she looked, what she wore, the things she was seeing. However, I can't for the life of me tell you what her name was.

In order to go to past lives, Herrick first brings you to memories of your childhood. My memories of the house I grew up in are pretty vivid, so I was not surprised to remember those. But one of my memories was of me in the front room of a home I do not remember. When I asked my mom to describe the place she and my dad lived in when I was very young, what she described sounded like what I saw in my mind.

I also found it interesting that my active mind kept questioning what I was seeing. In the first life I remembered, I saw a castle. And my active mind said something like, come on, a castle?

But in that life I did not live there; I simply could see it in the village.

What I walked away with was a cool lesson, no matter whether the memories were past lives or my imagination. In the life as a male, I was independent. I had no family and wandered from village to village. But, at the end of my life, I wished I had settled down.

In the second life I remembered, I was again a fiercely independent woman. I did not follow the norms of the day, preferring to be alone in my home rather than with the other war widows. Others saw me as a bit cold, reserved, but I was happy. And while I imagined or remembered that I was not affectionate to my son in the way I am to my children today, when I died in that lifetime my son was heartbroken. Clearly there was love.

So, in my awakened state, I remembered those emotions, the qualities of the people in my mind. And I would like to keep more of that independence from the past lives, but more of the affection from the current one.

Whether or not these were my past lives I was remembering, I would do it again just to see what would come up.