The first is The Choice–Embrace the Possible. It is a memoir of parts of Dr. Eger’s life. She survived the Holocaust and time in the camps. Her father, mother, Eva and her sister were taken and she and her sister survived. 

But this is primarily a survival story with ways to apply it to your own life. She made a new life for herself in this country, worked to get a Ph.D and set up a practice and to help other people heal from all kinds of trauma.

At one point she writes: When we grieve, it’s not just over what happened–we grieve for what didn’t happen.

Her other book is titled The Gift–12 Lessons to Save Your Life. This is a shorter book and focused on the lessons she and all of us can learn. At the end of each chapter in this book there is a page of bullet points for that chapter’s particular focus. I am still reading them over one at a time just to check out where I am and how I’m doing.

The Choice is hard and inspiring reading. And The Gift is an extremely helpful I read. I recommend reading both.

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—-

I Decide

—

I marched in

halfway through

three months of

treatments and

said with authority

“You said Taxol

would be easier.

It isn’t.”

—

they listened

—

“Today” my voice

was clear. “Today

I want copies of

everything: blood

pressure, temperature,

blood work numbers

everything

—

they gave them 

to me

—

“Today is different”

I told calm doctor

as if he didn’t know

“You tell me if it’s

a ‘go’ for today’s 

treatment

—

but then you need

to sell me again

on why i’m

doing this

—

give me statistics

name my options

say your best judgment

—

and then

then I’ll decide

if it’s a ‘go'”

—

he did that

—

I decided to

keep going

but on that day

I claimed strength

and power and

control

—

I never let go

of them again

For more information about the Trilogy of Cancer: CLICK HERE

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Another story has roots both in the winter and summer of ‘82. Debbie, 21, was home from Buffalo State College in January, between semesters. She and Dara, had agreed to drive Mother to the doctor’s. Dr. Goldfinger’s office was near my job and I would meet them there, saving me from taking an extra hour off from work.

Debbie called me at the nursing home. I could hear commotion in the background. Debbie said, “She canceled the doctor’s appointment. She’s really mad at Dara.” “It’s o.k.” I said, “just let it go and we’ll straighten it out when I get home.

When I arrived home, Mother was in her room, both doors firmly shut. The children gave me their version. “Grandma was getting ready to go and so were we,” Debbie said, “and Grandma came out of her room, looked up the stairs and saw Dara coming down. Grandma said, ‘No! I won’t go with you dressed like that. Go change.’ “

I interrupted the story, “What were you wearing, Dara?” Debbie continued, “You know–the way everybody dresses now.” It turned out that Dara was wearing the 1982 layered-look. She had on a pair of jeans and on top of them, pink shorts and leg warmers; a long-sleeved knit shirt and on top of it, a short sleeved shirt. Dara thought it looked pretty good.

Dara refused to change. Grandma insisted. Finally Dara went upstairs to change, but by the time she came down in different clothes, Grandma had canceled the appointment.

I talked to them—thanked Dara for changing, reminded them both that Mother doesn’t see many teenagers and how they dress, and went in to hear Mother’s side of the story.

It was pretty much the same. I said, “You know, Mom, it’s crazy but kids really do dress that way right now. It’s called the layered look.”

She said, “I still don’t like it. It’s not appropriate dress. I don’t approve of it.”
I hung in. “You know,” I said, “sometimes I think that the important thing is not whether it’s appropriate or not, but whether you’re comfortable. And sometimes I think that if someone has a problem with how you look, that that’s really their problem, not yours.”

She looked at me and listened. She usually took things in and considered them but in her time and her space. I felt like I had tried and I didn’t know if it was over or not. It was over for then but did crop up much later.

That summer in a separate instance, I had taken the day off to run errands and also to take her to another one of her doctor appointments. As she got dressed, I don’t think she made a connection with the other instance. I certainly didn’t.

She came out of her room and I grinned. It was hot outside and she had on her favorite aqua pedal pushers, white sneakers, ankle hose and bare, 72-year-old legs between the hose and the pedal pushers. She wore a white tea shirt with a huge strawberry on it, and on her head was a red and white checked spunky hat.

I said, “Dr. Goldfinger is going to think you look really spiffy.” And he did.

She had her exam. We left the doctor’s office, got back in the car, and headed down the New York Thruway for Nyack. As I drove, she said, “Now I want to go to lunch.” I glanced at her, “Where Mother?” She said, “The Nanuet Mall.” I looked at her again, “Mother, where at the mall do you think we’re going to go to lunch?” She said, “At Bambergers, at the tea room.”

I kept driving as I said, “Oh no! No Mom. You’re just not dressed for the tea room.”

A mile may have spun by as we rode silently with me thinking I had settled the question. Then she started to talk in her quiet, determined voice. I kept my eyes on the road as I heard her say, “I thought the most important thing was not whether you were dressed appropriately or not, but whether you were comfortable. And I thought you said that if people had a problem with how you looked, it was their problem, not yours.”

I still kept my eyes on the road and thought to myself, “O.K. Ann. Those are your words. You said it. Now see if you can do it.”

We got off at Nanuet and headed for the mall. We parked. I got the wheelchair out of the trunk and helped her into it. I looked at her crazy outfit, complete with bare knees now that the pedal pushers had shifted upwards as she sat in the wheelchair.

We headed into Bambergers. There was no line at the tea room and so we stood together waiting for the hostess. She came around the corner, well dressed, large menus in hand. She looked at Mother, stopped, closed her eyes, opened them again as if she thought she was seeing a mirage. She gracefully recovered herself and said, “Where would you like to sit, ladies?”

We had a good lunch and I tucked the story into my memory to help me remember how Mama and I pushed at each other.

Pick up your copy of Mama and Me HERE

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This morning because of earlier reading I had already been thinking of different economic models of living, and of being a witness to what I believe in, and along with step by step, it just all meshed together.

It was a wonderful time. I used colored pencils, primarily because I thought that markers would bleed through to the other side of the page. And I found that the colored pencils had a quiet meditative feel to them. And to my surprise I could vary the background and make a sort of shady part. I used coloring the mandala as my meditation time, and breathed differently afterwards.

I was thinking afterwards that sometimes I approach some thing as if there are rules about it—when really you can make up your own rules. And I think that’s true of coloring mandalas. You can think deep thoughts. You can pray. You can just enjoy the beauty of what you’re doing.

There was one year where I started with a circle and I drew my own mandala—in fact that’s where the mandalas in this book came from. Sometimes they had a meaning. Sometimes they didn’t.

Try coloring a mandala yourself. It’s time well spent. Relax and enjoy.

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Getting Ready to Start the Year with Daybook of My Personal Faith

Daybook of My Personal Faith came out in the middle of summer, and many who now have it, have already started reading it, including me who wrote it.

And yet as we come closer to the end of the year, I find myself getting eager to start it again on January 1st. That’s when you usually start reading a daybook.

I tried to write it so you could start anywhere, and in fact, you can. But even for me there’s going to be something special about starting again in January. This daybook builds. For instance one of the days in January you go outside and take a picture, and then each month after that you do it again, so that by December you have a rotogravure of photos from each month of the year. Each of the months has a short Bible verse to memorize, and so by the end of the year, you will have twelve in your brain filed under “Bible Verses I Know.”

The Daybook is more than just reading (as the photo-taking shows.) There’s a plan to it. Each month has new words to a well-known hymn; a recommended book for that month; a chant to sing; a mandala to color; something about the power of music; something about peace and justice; an old hymn to read out loud; meditations; some kind of active worship; poetry; something about prayer; a favorite quote of the month; new poems on the Ecclesiastes verses about time; and a grace for the month. So there is variety.

In the middle of all those things, Daybook was also designed to spur the reader to think about your own faith and what’s important to you. For each of us have pieces of our faith that are unique to us.

So…read on…day by day in Daybook of My Personal Faith.

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Step Close

This song was written out of my experience years ago, when it seemed I felt like I wanted to be close to someone, and then when it happened, I wanted to be alone again. Ever feel that way?

Like close is one thing—but a person can get too close, too smothery, where the boundaries almost get merged and there is no me, and no you, as separate people, anymore.

That’s the kind of closeness that I guess even now I don’t want.

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Don’t Write Me a Letter

I really wrote this because it happened to a friend of mine who was in a relationship and he broke it off with a letter.

Seemed disrespectful to me.

You talk a lot when you’re starting a relationship, and you keep talking as it moves along.

It only seems right that when it’s not working for one of you, that that person would have the courtesy to say “We need to get together and talk.”

Only kind of country-music-sound song I’ve ever written.

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There are some areas of the world that are nuclear-free zones.

After hearing people who were present at Hirashima, I’d feel much better if there were just no nuclear weapons.

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Do You Hear Me Talking?

There are simple examples of this—when we just don’t listen to each other. Sometimes it’s in a marriage where the same question is asked over and over again and it feels like one person was simply not listening.

It can happen among friends or in the office or at church. Maybe you have your own examples of times when you simply don’t feel heard.

In current times I think the gun controversy is one of the best examples of this song. There is a breaking news story of murder and mayhem because of the drastic misuse of a gun and we cry out. Then it happens again and we cry out.

And again and again.

And finally we say “DO YOU HEAR ME TALKING—DO YOU SEE MY LIPS MOVING—DO YOU HEAR MY WORDS FLOATING THROUGH THE AIR?”

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Call Me Woman

Language is important to me. I’m not a lady. I’m not a girl. I’m a strong, resourceful, creative woman. My name is Ann—without an “e”.

I think whenever you say “She’s a…..” you need to double check yourself because first and foremost we are women.

It starts somewhere just before teenage years. When a young woman is even eleven or twelve, she’s not a little girl anymore—she’s a young woman. And it continues as we who are female continue to grow in years.

I push aside the labels—old lady, sweetheart—and I ask for clarity. Just say it plain, let the words come out of your mouth—she’s a woman, and quite a one at that.

Sometimes I think that the person who is calling you sweetheart or lady thinks they are paying you a compliment. Maybe it is a compliment to some people. But sometimes it’s antiquated or patronizing. Sometimes it’s a political put-down.

So play it safe and call me woman.

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