Silence Is Golden Toasted Bagels

“We keep the doors unlocked here,” she said in a hushed voice. “It shows we have trust among the residents. Will this be a problem for you, dear?” Her mouth breaks into a soft smile, searching my face for an answer.

“Uh, no,” I sputter. “No problem here.” I tighten the grip on my suitcase handle.

She nods in agreement. I scan the room, searching for a makeshift weapon I can use in case one of the residents decides to take a midnight detour into my room.

My eyes settle on a plastic trash can and a bar of soap the size of a pack of gum. Great.

Welcome to my experience at a silent retreat in the foothills of Tucson, Arizona. Some of you had questions about this from a previous post.

A silent retreat is exactly what you think it is. No. Talking. They are designed this way to enhance your contemplation and inner guidance.

Let me say right now that a silent retreat may not be right for you. Maybe you’d rather go somewhere exotic where you can lounge around a pool and drink adult beverages. Some place like Hawaii or El Paso.

But for me, the idea of spending two days ON MY OWN with no cell phone to charge, tiny tushies to wipe or crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to make sounded like my kind of vacation.

If you’re in the market for a silent retreat, you’ve came to the right place. Allow me to share some of my nuggets of wisdom with you.

NUGGET NUMBER ONE: I was okay with the silence and not talking.

When I was by myself, that is. Otherwise, when a fellow resident crossed my path on the way to the dining hall or the library, my natural reaction was to twitch my mouth into a pitiful half-smile (no teeth).

But not here.

Talking is only allowed at dinner…and apparently Chapel, where the minister conducts a holy service and attendees sing hymns. I was a little disappointed about that. This being a silent retreat, I thought I could get away with just humming the tunes in my head.

NUGGET NUMBER TWO: I chew too much. (Say that fast ten times.)

Each morning, we filed into the dining hall. The smell of bacon, eggs and pancakes wafted through the air. The only thing I remember hearing is the gentle scrape of a fork over a plate, and wood crackling in the fireplace.

And my chewing.

To the casual observer, it probably looked like I was simply taking a bite of my toasted bagel and contemplating my life’s purpose…listening to my inner guidance.

But this is what’s really going on in my head.

Wow. Chomp.
This bagel sure is crunchy. Chomp chomp. I wonder what brand it is.
Maybe. Chomp. I should’ve slopped some more of that cactus jelly on it. Chomp, chomp.
How do they make cactus jelly, anyway? Chomp.
Oh, look. Chomp. A spare hymnal from Chapel. Chompy chomp chomp.

Good Lord, I should’ve had the oatmeal instead.

NUGGET NUMBER THREE: It’s next to impossible to get any sleep when your door is unlocked.

I know it’s a trust issue, but the fact that an unlocked sliding glass door is the only thing standing between me and another resident is a bit unnerving.

Then, I got to thinking, “If I scream at a silent retreat and no one is supposed to hear me, will I really make a sound?”

I sat up in bed all night, staring at the door. Finally, at three in the morning, I convinced myself I was overreacting and decided to go to sleep.

That’s when I heard it.

Footsteps crunching across the gravel. Stopping just outside my sliding glass door.

In the darkness, I clutched my mini soap and trash receptacle for protection. My heart pounding, I waited. And waited. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I mustered up the courage to peek through the curtain of the sliding glass door.

The moonlight reflected a silhouette no more than five feet from my window. It wasn’t a person. But I saw something moving. I flipped the light switch, and there it was.

A wild javelina. Just standing there.

Chomping.

Stuck? Light a fire under your dream.

Now that we’re half-way through 2007, it’s time to take a look at that New Year’s resolutions you made.

You do remember it, don’t you? (Or are you one of those people who say her New Year’s resolution is to NOT make any resolutions?)

Whether you have goals or not, there comes a time when you want to create something fantastic in your life, but you feel…stuck. Maybe you haven’t made much progress. Or, maybe you had a strong start, but your commitment and desire are fading faster than the chocolate crème Oreos in your kitchen cabinet.

The good news is…you’re probably moving ahead faster than you think. After all, any cause or action set in motion has a eaqul and opposite reaction. Sometimes, your desires just take a while to sync up with the Universe.

In the meantime, there is a “sure-fire” way to speed up the process. I’ve tried it, and it works. To see your goals come to fruition, you must release all negativity, resentment and regret.

Oh, and you have to set something on fire. Preferably in your own backyard. (Or maybe your fireplace, but we don’t use those much in Phoenix.)

I first read about building a “green fire” from one of my favorite authors, Sonia Choquette. She explains the fire works because it signals to the Universe that you are liberating yourself from mental, emotional and spiritual obstacles. Once this happens, you can make a fresh start.

Here is the process for developing a green fire.

What You Need: paper, pen, pot, tin foil, Epsom salt, rubbing alcohol, matches.

1) On a piece of paper, write down all of the things you want to release at this moment. Maybe you want a new job, or you’ve been arguing a lot with your significant other. No matter what the situations, conditions or people are, write it all down.

2) Get a deep pot and line it with tin foil.

3) Pour two cups of Epsom salt into the bottom of the pot, and then pour enough rubbing alcohol over the salt to cover it.

4) Place the pot in a safe place and away from anything flammable.

5) Take a match (sometimes you need more than one), light it, and throw it in the pot.

6) Once the fire starts burning, take your paper and acknowledge you are placing it in the fire to release your fears, anxieties and doubts. You can do this with a short prayer, or a simple affirmation like “I bless all that is here and I release it with peace.”

7) As the fire burns, think of how nice it is to be free of that old, negative energy. Set your intention to move ahead in your life.

8) Stay with the fire until it burns out. Once the mixture of salt, alcohol and ashes cool, you can throw it away.

The green fire has become a ritual for my husband and me on New Year’s Eve. At the stroke of midnight, we light our fire and huddle together under the stars. As the fire burns away our old frustrations, we talk about our hopes and dreams for the upcoming year.

Green fires don’t have to be a one-year thing, either. About two months ago, I was upset about some things in my life. I wanted to find a way to earn extra income for our family, and it just wasn’t happening fast enough.

I decided to build my green fire and release my anxiety and tension. Within two weeks, I was contacted about a freelance public relations job.

Try the green fire sometime and see what happens. What have you got to lose, besides worry and aggravation?

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

As I hung up the phone, sadness washed over me. My eyes welled with tears. Heaviness clenched my heart.

I had just told my son’s friend, Joshua, that he was no longer free to call our home. Maybe it’s part of the relationship factor between little boys, but it doesn’t seem like MY friends call me at home and curse at me after a tiff on a computer game. And hang up. And then call back later and start all over. (Then again, I don’t know what kind of people you like to hang with…)

This went on all day, until finally I had had enough. When Josh’s name came up on caller ID, I snatched up the phone and told him to stop.

He muttered a half-hearted apology…and then, he was gone.

And then, my tears came.

Oh, no. I wasn’t crying because of what I said to Josh. Frankly, that brat had it coming.

It was the fact that I now wouldn’t be able to talk to Katie, Joshua’s MOTHER.

You see, I really, really liked Katie. When our kids were getting along, we would gab on the phone for hours about how silly they were. She laughed at my jokes and sense of humor. I admired her calm demeanor and carefree attitude.

I kept thinking that I had FINALLY found a mom that would make my friendship dreams come true. The last mom I had felt this way about was Donna. Our sons played basketball together and went to the same school. We bonded like peas and carrots. But once the season ended, it seemed as if our friendship took to the bench as well.

Katie and Donna were likable, smart and Good Moms. And they thought I was witty. These were all prerequisites for being “my kinda Peeps.” After all, my son had a string of friends with mothers who were so dysfunctional, they made Peg Bundy look like June Cleaver.

Isn’t it interesting that you can meet another mom, and she can APPEAR to be NORMAL? (At least, she fits your description of NORMAL.)

Then, she says or does something, and you think, “OH…MY…GOD. THIS WOMAN IS NUTS. I HAVE TO GET AWAY FROM HER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. And my son can…never…talk…to…her…kid….ever…again.”

There was Noreen. She was nice enough. She was a gymnast from Russia and seemed to have a worldly view on things. Until she decided to tell me that anyone who wasn’t White shouldn’t live in America.

Next was Tiffany. She had a way of warning and scolding simultaneously. Each time her son misbehaved - which was about every four minutes – she would screech, “That’s it! I’m giving you to the count of three to STOP, Mister!...One! Two! Three!” After three sets of this, I was ready to put myself in timeout.

And let’s not forget Veronica. When I saw her on the playground, she would hassle me about hosting a Pampered Chef party. Or buying candles. Or sampling a new hand cream. I almost reconsidered when she told me about the Passion Parties with the “adult” toys, but by then she was on my last nerve.

Then along came Katie. My search for a NORMAL mom was over.

Until our kids started fighting. And along came the cursing phone calls. Unfortunately, I was forced to learn something about NORMAL moms.

They don’t always have NORMAL children.

So, now, I’m back to Square One. My son decided he didn’t want to be friends with Josh, and moved on.

For me, I’m learning that maybe it’s not such a good idea to force relationships with the mothers of my son’s friends. I guess I expect moms to be just like me. After all, I try to do the best I can, manage my hectic schedule on less sleep than I would like, pray my child will turn out okay, and hope he calls me on Sundays when he grows up.

I grab my iPod and consider playing "She's Gone" by Hall and Oates. My phone rings.

It’s Donna, the mom from the basketball team. “I haven’t talked to you in a while,” she says. “Can we get the boys together today for a ...”

I don’t hear the rest of her sentence. I’m already in the car, backing out of the driveway.

Nothing Doing This Weekend

Whew! I'm tired. I just finished cleaning my house while my two year-old son followed behind me. Which means I clean, he makes a mess of what I just wiped down, and then the cycle starts again. Think sliding glass door.

So, because it's Friday, and I'm smelling like Mr.Clean and vinegar (it's great on mirrors -- no streaks), I am going to post a quote from Thomas Merton (1915-68). Merton was an acclaimed spiritual writer, poet, author and social activist. I became familiar with his work during a silent retreat I took earlier this year. (But that's a post for another day...)

Anyway, here it is. Enjoy your weekend. And take some time to rest. You deserve it.

*******************************
Some of us need to discover that we will not begin to live more fully until we have the courage to do and see and taste and experience much less than usual.

There are times, then, when in order to keep ourselves in existence at all we simply have to sit back for a while and do nothing.

And for a man who has let himself be drawn completely out of himself by his activity, nothing is more difficult than to sit still and rest, doing nothing at all.

The very act of resting is the hardest and most courageous act he can perform.

Cold Cereal – It’s What’s For Dinner

“Which kind is it tonight?”

My nine-year-old son is sitting at our kitchen table, holding up his empty bowl.

“Sugar-Frosted Toasty-Ohs!” I read from the oversized plastic bag. I heap them into the bowl and pour the milk.

A stray Toasty-Oh! leaps out of the bowl and onto the placemat. He pops it in his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

“Mom, I want to talk to you about dinner.”

Uh, oh. Here it comes.

“Well,” he exhales. “I was talking to Trevor today. Do you know his mom makes him grilled steak, potatoes and whole wheat rolls she bakes from scratch? He eats like that every night.”

“That’s nice,” I murmur. “But we’re still having cereal.”

He stares at me. I stare back.

“Okay,” he says. (Pause.) “But can I at least have some orange juice with this?”

It's at that moment that I realize my son has been exposed to something so sinister, so outrageous…that my own maternal instincts and abilities cannot shield him.

It’s…(queue sound of woman shrieking here, please)…PERFECT MOM.

Everyone knows at least one. With glossy hair and skinny jeans, she tends to her charming, well-behaved children, serving them nutritious meals in her sparkling clean home. She is also deliriously happy to launder her children’s clothes.

My guess is that PERFECT MOM’S smile would quickly fade if she came to my house.

I have crumbs strewn across my floor that even my dog won’t eat. A basket of laundry is piled to the ceiling. And, the healthiest item in my cabinet is JELL-O. (I’ve heard it has fruit juice or something in it that tastes like strawberries.)

Yet, I have learned a lot in my nine years of motherhood. During the first few years, I constantly questioned my choices as a mother. I compared myself to others and always seemed to come up short.

I finally made the decision to stop judging myself, and concentrate on the person I was becoming as a mom…not on the mom I wanted to become.

You may question some of your actions and decisions when it comes to your children. I know I have. But I also believe that in that moment, you were being the best parent you knew how to be.

This includes serving dinner with less than two major food groups.

So, forget about June Cleaver, Carol Brady or PERFECT MOM down the street. Be a first rate version of the mom you know how to be, rather than a second rate version of someone else.

And, if that doesn’t work, you’re invited to come over to my house for a helping of Sugar-Frosted Toasty-Ohs!

Just Checking In With You

Somewhere between the fourth bottle of ketchup and Tampa, Florida, I had a revelation.

It was May 1994. I was about to complete my one-year internship of driving the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile around the country. (Yes, you read that right…but I’m trying to pose a serious anecdote here, so stifle your laughter, please…)

My driving partner and I had the day off. We decided to go to beach and unwind from a year of attending grocery store openings, eating under-, half- and over-cooked meat by-products, and enduring dirty jokes about two females driving a giant hot dog on wheels.

I sat on the edge of the beach, watching the waves flirt with the shore. As the water encircled my knees, I began to think about what was happening in my life.

I had a new job waiting for me in my chosen career field. I was engaged (and now married) to a wonderful man. My student loans were almost paid off. And, as far as I could tell, my conversations with others would now extend beyond, “Can you please pass the relish?”

By all accounts, my life at that moment in time was pretty darn good.

Since then, I have made it a routine practice to “check in” with myself. After all, it’s important to stop and evaluate what is happening in your life at any given moment.

By “checking in” with yourself, you can calibrate the aspects of your life that need to change for the better, while continuing to appreciate the people, places and experiences that bring you joy and fulfillment.

Here’s how you can do it. Find a quiet spot and get comfortable. Be prepared to be totally honest with yourself. Consider the following questions:

• At this very moment, what is really working in my life?
• What are some of the things I’m afraid to admit?
• What resentments or judgments am I holding about people that I need to let go?
• Am I learning something new each day? Is there something I would like to learn more about?
• Who haven’t I connected with in a while?
• Is this where I want to be at this point in my life? Do I need to release some unrealistic expectations?
• Have I been particularly harsh with someone lately? Have I been holding back on telling someone how they have hurt me?
• What am I truly grateful for in my life?
• Should I ask for deli or spicy mustard? (Ooops, I guess some things NEVER change…)
  

Don't Worry...He'll Pick It Up

Because it’s summer vacation time, I wanted to share what it's like to go out in public with the Steinke Family.

But before I get started, I have a confession to make. Actually, I have a confession to make for my husband, Mark. He has an addiction, and I’m in denial.

It’s not what you think.

His compulsion teaches our children the value of money and allows our family to earn extra cash. It also promises to embarrass me in the process.

My husband is obsessed with picking up spare change.

There. I said it.

This behavior might seem normal. But it drives…me…crazy.

Last summer, we took our two sons to an amusement park. As we entered through its brightly colored gates, Mark furrowed his brow in concern. “It’s too clean here,” he grumbled. “I bet they sweep up change and throw it away.” However, the spotless environment posed no threat to a man who can find a penny lying incognito among decaying tree bark and dirty rocks.

That afternoon, Mark went to get a drink of water while I waited with the kids. Forty five minutes later, he had not returned. I recalled there was a snack area close to the water fountain, and suspected I could find him there. Sure enough, I spotted my six-foot-tall husband, hunkered down on his elbows. His cheek pressed to the ground, he peered under a soda machine, sweeping one arm out to feel for stray change.

This behavior invited puzzled looks from passers-by who instinctively scanned the area, thinking they could help Mark locate whatever he had lost. I quickly pushed the stroller over to the gift shop, suddenly interested in tiny overpriced pink ballet dresses neither of my boys would ever wear.

“Look!” he exclaimed, holding out his palm as he approached me. He brandished his prized booty, something black and chipped which faintly resembled a dime. “You did all of that for a dime?” I asked.

He grew indignant, and I felt a lecture coming on. “Money is money. Every little bit helps.” He marched off, ready for his next kill…possibly a wayward nickel under the order window of the apple fries stand.

I know there’s no way around it.

Every where we go, Mark’s eyes rove the landscape, his hawk-like vision searching for a glimmer of copper, a twinkle of silver. He never stops. He screeches to a halt at a traffic light to retrieve a penny in the crosswalk. He searches the grocery store, certain that a patron dropped a nickel in the dog food aisle.

Our nine year-old son has inherited his father’s passion for finding “free money” and implementing creative ways to capture lost coins.

During our family vacation in Oceanside, California, we decided to take a stroll on the pier. I was engaged in a lively conversation about dinner plans when I noticed they had been quiet for some time. That’s when I realized that I was walking by myself. I whirled around to spot them 20 yards behind me. Heads bent together over a plank, they were attempting to free a tattered quarter from its wooden confine.

Dissatisfied with their progress, my son scanned the area for an accomplice. I watched in horror as he picked up a stained, splintered Popsicle stick, and lodged it in a crack. Moments later, he and Mark gathered the quarter, as well as amused looks from people who probably wondered if they were just another sideshow on the pier.

While I never know what to expect when we go out in public, I admit Mark's coin fetish helps our finances. When I was pregnant, we set a goal to pay off my student loans before he was born. My last monthly loan payment - $80 - was paid from saving the change Mark found while scouring every parking lot, patch of grass and filthy public restroom.

Today, Mark drops his collected coins into the Money Bucket, a chipped ceramic mug residing on top of his desk. Every few weeks, he separates and wraps them into neat little rolls. Even if he only has one roll, he takes it to the bank. The bank teller may smirk as he plunks down one wrap of 50 pennies, but Mark doesn’t care.

He’s just excited about the increase in our bank account.

Of course, some people think the only way to receive more money is through a pay raise or a winning lottery ticket. However, you can’t expect a windfall when you fling a loose penny in your pocket. In reality, you are throwing away the very thing you want most.

Through my husband, I have learned that money will come to me when I appreciate what I already have. Whether I have a dime or a dollar, my attitude toward money influences how much I receive. This means that financial abundance may happen one coin at a time. It’s still money, so I welcome it into my life.

During our last vacation, Mark found a grand total of $23.68 in change. Add that to another 51 weeks and you can see how our bank account expands each year.

I still cringe at the sight of Mark crouching behind a vending machine. At the same time, I marvel at his diligence to find the pennies needed for our next big purchase.

No More Whining! Answer These...

Each week, I tune into HayHouseRadio.com to hear my favorite authors take calls from listeners. Most callers have the same issues - they are miserable in their jobs and dislike their careers.

The caller usually rants, “I'm just not doing what I KNOW I should be doing...I’m not living my PASSION!” The host, by this time, is probably chewing on the end of her pencil and checking e-mail for the latest on Paris Hilton.

Your passion doesn’t have to be what you do for a living, although blending the two is ideal.

Maybe you already know what makes your heart sing. Congratulations.

But judging from what I hear, most people don’t have a clue.

The following is a list of questions to ask yourself about discovering your passion. Take some time to read these questions and contemplate your answers. Notice any patterns in your responses.


1) What section of the bookstore do you visit first?
2) What are your three favorite movies of all time?
3) What are your three favorite songs of all time?
4) Whose life would you like to have for 30 days?
5) What subjects come to mind when you daydream?
6) If you volunteer, what types of volunteer activities do you prefer? Why is this important to you?
7) If you could have any job in the world, what would it be? Why?
8) What tasks, job duties, etc. have brought you the most success?
9) If you could make only one positive change in the world today, what would it be?
10) During the past week, what was something you felt strongly about?
11) What subject do you love to talk about with others? (Not including yourself – haha)

Your "One Thing"

In the movie, "City Slickers," a group of male buddies take a vacation at a dude ranch. Curley (Jack Palance) is a hard, crusty old cowboy full of wisdom. He gives advice to Mitch (Billy Crystal), who is facing a mid-life crisis.

Here is the scene:

Curley: You all come out here about the same age. Same problems. Spend fifty weeks a year getting knots in your rope – then you think two weeks up here will untie them for you. None of you get it. (Pause.) Do you know what the secret of life is?


Mitch: No, what?


Curley: It’s this. (Holds up his index finger.)


Mitch: Your finger?


Curley: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and everything else don’t mean [BLEEP].


Mitch: That’s great, but what’s that one thing?


Curley: That’s what you’ve got to figure out.


What is YOUR one thing? Have you figured it out yet?

GenXer With A Purpose

As you can guess, I am a product of the 80s. I’m a proud GenXer – one of 46 million people born between 1965-75.

It’s been almost 20 years since the picture on this page was taken. Somewhere along the way, I lost the can of AquaNet (although I have a can reserved for flat hair emergencies), and started combing through the elements of my life.

Do I have solid relationships with people?
Am I a good mother?
Did I make the right career choice?
What’s the purpose and meaning of my life?

Nothing made sense to me. The more questions I asked, the fewer answers I received. But I persisted…and slowly, a path emerged that led to my authentic self.

While your journey is different from mine, it starts the same way. You must listen to your heart. When we start listening to our hearts, we start believing. And when we start believing, we start seeing our lives as a series of endless opportunities to be joyful, loving and content.

Like the staying power of my hairspray, I’ll stick with you and share insights into what has helped me along the way. I will show you how to be true to yourself, listen to your intuition and allow for Divine guidance to take over.

My deepest wish is that you will read something among these posts that will encourage you to create exciting, new possibilities for your life. All of the answers are within you right now. It’s time to start listening.

Let’s get started…