Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 32

Unearth Your Hidden Powers!

Today I want to talk about what it takes to live life at full throttle – to be empowered to live your life differently if there is something holding you back from living the life you crave.

I’m a story teller. But there was one story I never told: my forty-six year-long saga of battling bulimia – of bingeing and purging daily. Until, that is, I published my book: The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman.

The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman is a blow by blow account of what it feels like to harbor a shameful secret. And have your heart, hands and head controlled by urges you are powerless to suppress.

My lover ED – as in Eating Disorder – occupied the sum total of my body parts.

What was life with ED like? A bowl of caramels sitting innocently on a coffee table unhinged me. Food buffets unleashed my monstrous compulsion to devour everything in sight. And violent nightly purging relieved me of all those unwanted, repulsive calories doomed to pack on the pounds.

ED and I were passionately in love for 46 years – until I realized I had two distinct choices: eject ED’s power or die in a pool of my own vomit. It was a tough choice.

Shedding my secret life with ED opened the floodgates – prompting others to come forward.

Dear Iris,

I am a 46 year-old bulimic woman who has been struggling with ED since Iwas 17! I am a professional, I am a wife and I am a mother and yet I cannot seem to beat this dreaded curse. You have no idea how brilliant your book is and what a comfort it was for me to read it…Perhaps there is a glimmer of hope after all…

Dear Iris,

Though this is the first you’ve heard my voice, yours has been echoed into my heart for some time now as my hilarious sister, my loving mother, my chummiest friend, and my most patient teacher.  I am 36 years old, a happy wife, a mother of 4 wildly beautiful children, and thanks to YOU, in a slow, but slugging & sweet recovery from 9 years of bulimia.  My husband, Luke, discovered your book …and it was through it that I both latched onto professional help that I could not do without AND unearthed my hobby, passion, & brilliant talent in the art of puttering. This is my thank you for your encouraging, challenging, & changing me…

Belong to a book club? Want a provocative book that tackles the tough issues of an addiction? The harrowing paralysis of harboring a secret? The fear of revealing that secret to your kids husband and your mother? The longing to break free of the incessant urge to binge and purge nightly? To begin to use food as fuel for your body, not your soul? To control your own remote?

Email me at irisruthpastor@gmail.com  for further details on how The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman can be your book club’s next choice.

In the meantime, keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Irris Ruth Pastor

Where’s Julie Andrews when you need her?

I was looking through my “Joke Folder” in my computer. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like years ago, when e mail was more of a novelty than an everyday nuisance, people utilized this tech tool to send jokes.

Nowadays I receive tons of E-mails bearing “enticing” subject lines:

The Moment You’ve Been Waiting For
Tick Tock – Last Day to Get 20% of Your Entire Purchase
Warm Up With Cozy Fall Flavor & Enjoy Free Shipping
Cost Factors to Consider
Coveting Louis Vuitton?

All are enticing me to make, buy, try, see and implement. None are enticing me to laugh.

I’m in a jokerless funk. No witticisms, clever ditties or catchy comics arrive in my inbox – except, of course, humorous observations centered on the absurdity of today’s political climate. Those are rampant. Hopefully, they are providing a safe outlet for bottled-up rage and aggressive hostility –a healthy escape from real-time toxicity. But for me – all those partisan jests and wise-cracks are simply increasing my “consternation fatigue.”

Research proves laughter can provide many physiological and beneficial impacts on our bodies, our ability to fight off disease and to reduce stress through the increased production of the hormone cortisol.

People like to laugh and people like to hear other people laugh. Making someone laugh is empowering, sparks connection and enhances camaraderie. Who knows? It may even decrease our use of drinkable therapy and pill popping by diminishing some of our surface depression and promoting resilience.

Victor Borge once said, “Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.” I believe that when people share a laugh, connection and rapport are enhanced and the social, economic and cultural gaps are decreased. Barriers are broken down. People relax. New ideas and energy pour forth. The group solidifies.

Years ago, to commemorate her 69th birthday, actress/ vocalist Julie Andrews made a special appearance at Manhattan’s Radio City Music Hall for the benefit of AARP.

One of the musical numbers she performed was based on “My Favorite Things” from the legendary movie “Sound Of  Music.”

Here are the lyrics she recited:

“Maalox and nose drops and needles for knitting,

Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,

Bundles of magazines tied up in string,

These are a few of my favorite things.

Cadillacs and cataracts, hearing aids and glasses,

Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,

Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,

These are a few of my favorite things.

When the pipes leak,

When the bones creak,

When the knees go bad,

I simply remember my favorite things,

And then I don’t feel so bad.

Hot tea and crumpets, and corn pads for bunions,

No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,

Bathrobes and heat pads and hot meals they bring,

These are a few of my favorite things.

Back pains, confused brains, and no fear of sinnin’,

Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinnin’,

And we won’t mention our short shrunken frames,

When we remember our favorite things.

When the joints ache,

When the hips break,

When the eyes grow dim,

Then I remember the great life I’ve had,

And then I don’t feel so bad.”

Ms. Andrews received a standing ovation from the crowd that lasted over four minutes and repeated encores.

Keep Preserving Your bloom and PLEASE send me some jokes,

Iris Ruth Pastor

 

Sophie’s Choice

In 2004, years before the 2008 Global Financial Crisis, I wrote a column on the subject of Affluenza. Affluenza is simply defined as the sickness of having too much – of acquiring possessions as an end in itself without the ability and time to enjoy, experience and appreciate each and every one.

Affluenza causes an over inflated sense of entitlement, a de-sensitizing to small material pleasures, a diminished perception of gratitude, a mistaken notion that the bearer will always be similarly “afflicted,” and an inability to be sated.

Paradoxically, the more we acquire, the emptier we feel.

I had no grandchildren back then. Now I am blessed with three grandsons and three granddaughters and one more little one on the way. I admit, I do worry – like we all do – about their safety, their futures and the world they will be inheriting as adults. My oldest grandson told me school shooter drills are common place at his school. Students practice how to react if a gun-wielding intruder breaks-in – no matter where they are at their school: the classroom, the playground, the lunchroom, the hall, the restroom.

On the other hand, my grandchildren all have loving, involved parents, stable homes and a lifestyle free from worry over where their next meal is coming from and if they will have a roof over their heads next month. For this I am thankful. And worried too.

I worry at times that perhaps they don’t quite understand that not everyone in the world, in our country, in our cities and in our immediate neighborhood are quite so fortunate. I needn’t have worried so much.

My oldest granddaughter is having her Bat Mitzvah in January. A Bat Mitzvah is a Jewish coming-of-age ritual celebrated after a girl’s 12th or 13th birthday. This rite of passage signifies that the child is now a full-fledged member of the Jewish community and holds a moral responsibility for her own actions. (No more parental blaming, Ha Ha!)

One of the basic tenets of Judaism is Tikkun Olam – repairing the world – which in a broader context also encompasses performing deeds of loving kindness.

For her Bat Mitzvah project, my granddaughter chose to help out a charity called Catherine’s Closet.

Catherine was an honor student and valedictorian of her class at Clifford Scott High School in East Orange, New Jersey. She was aspiring to be a doctor. A 14 year-old in a stolen vehicle rammed into the car driven by Courtney, Catherine’s twin sister, killing Catherine. She was buried in her prom dress.

Catherine’s Closet collects new and/or gently worn casual and dressy dresses for teenagers and women of all ages. Catherine’s Closet then sorts them by size, age and style and hosts a gigantic sale. Each dress is $10 and proceeds go to funding scholarships to further young girls’ educations.

Here’s what Sophie has to say:

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If you’d like to contribute dresses/gowns to Catherine’s Closet through Sophie’s Bat Mitzvah project, please e mail me at irisruthpastor@gmail.com and I will make arrangements for the dresses  to be delivered to Sophie’s home.

In this toxic, highly fragmented, inflammatory climate, it’s nice to know that kids, parents and their communities give more than lip service to the importance of good deeds.

Thank you all in advance for any dresses and gowns you donate to Catherine’s Closet. Sophie thanks you too.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Funking it Up!

Many, many years ago I wrote a column on moving into a new house. Here’s a portion:

When Did This House Become Home?

Did it happen the day before we moved in, when I carefully hung the boys’ dress shirts in their new closets?  Or the first night we all slept here – camped out in sleeping bags because the beds weren’t put together?

Perhaps it happened around the time Steven got angry with me for piling dirty wash on the front stairs? Or maybe it started the Sunday afternoon we all sat out on the deck and laughed at Sam’s new “buzz” haircut? Or the night Frank proudly carried the “most improved player” trophy he had won through the front door?

Maybe it happened the day we all pitched in and mulched the shrubs? Or the first time of many times that Max angrily slammed his bedroom door shut after being told “No”? 

Could it have been the first night Harry came home from Gettysburg College and all five of our children sat around our table for a Friday night dinner? Or maybe it happened when the bus dropped off Louie after kindergarten one day and he ran in, slammed the door and yelled, “Hi Mom, I’m home.”

Come to think of it, I’m not really sure when it happened. I just know it did.

We sold that house many years ago. There’s a lot less laundry to do these days – two people vs a mob of soccer/baseball/basketball sports-addicted kids. Buzz cuts? Maybe the grandkids’ style of choice. Our sons are more likely lamenting loss of hair, not length of their locks. The trophies are packed away and our shrubs are mulched by a landscaping service. Our front door no longer barrels open by tired and hungry kiddos weighted down by backpacks at 3pm. No teenagers are around to slam doors, though I’ve been known on occasion to slam a door or two. And most dinners? Just my husband and me.

Based on the above, is our house “a home”?

It’s 9pm. In the midst of packing for a trip, I’m furiously pulling dresses out of the spare bedroom closet wondering how each one of them could have shrunk since the last wearing. My cell phone rings, interrupting my intense scrutiny of why the spandex I’ve just exhaustingly wriggled into is creating more bulges than smooth lines.

“Mom, for work tomorrow I need the most embarrassing picture from my teenage years. You know ‘the one.’ Can you snap a picture of it and text it to me?”

“Yep,” I answer knowingly. “I’m on it.”

I peel off the spandex – relieved that I can finally breathe again – and start rummaging through my picture stash. No easy feat –  most are packed away in boxes on high shelves in the garage or stacked in uneven layers under every bed in the house.

An hour later, I find it. Snap a picture of the picture. And text it to him.

Early in the morning while assembling our luggage in the front hall, I glance into our very staid, formal, seldom-used dining room. Hmmmm.

Aha! An opportunity for creative embellishment…what an unlikely place for a framed newspaper article of my teenage son, Louie, winning an Elvis look-alike contest.

I carefully place the photo beside my grandmother’s silver candelabras and atop my husband’s grandmother’s antique mahogany buffet.

It funked-up my very staid, formal dining room – though some would exchange the “n” for a “c”

My take: the definition of “Home” is where you can funk-up any room you wish.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Are You Ready For Your Next Chapter?

My two-year-old grandson approaches a big slide he’s never been down before. Tentatively, he starts to climb each rung of the ladder leading to the very top of the slide.

As his distance increases from the safety of the playground floor, he periodically checks behind himself to make sure his daddy is still there. Reaching the last rung, he plants his little bottom on the highest part of the slide. – glances back one more time at his dad – and then – lets go.

He reaches the bottom in record time – aided by the slide’s innate slipperiness.

He gets up –runs towards his dad and announces proudly, “I DID IT! I DID IT!”

WE are now all calling him the “I DID IT KID.”

Why? Not because he is so spectacularly special (which he is, of course) but because he tackles practicing new skills daily. Along with that struggle, he needs support and encouragement. But alas, the last action is all his – the idea that he can overcome his fear of something untried – something new and unfamiliar – and take a risk.

It’s hard sometimes to muster up the courage to just “try stuff.”  To venture into uncertain terrain. Nora Hiatt is doing just that.

She’s a woman inspired from Toni Morrison’s wisdom: If there’s a book you want to read, and it hasn’t been written, then you must write it.

Well, there was an event Nora had been wanting to attend, but could never find. So guess what? She created it.

On Thursday, October 17, in Indianapolis, she is birthing a new concept entitled NEXT CHAPTER – a full day of events aimed at women over 60 who are eager to re-imagine this stage of life.

The day-long workshop will feature breakout sessions, a gourmet lunch and me as the keynote speaker. Also? Some tantalizing surprises – none of which Nora will reveal!

What she does say is this: “Now, as we start retiring, this generation of women is changing how we view ‘the R word’ once again. Some of us are continuing to work for pay. Others (including me) have structured a regular blend of volunteer gigs that allow me to keep my brain active, be around people of diverse ages and still travel whenever I want. And we are looking at how we will spend the next decade or so.

“Next Chapter,” says Nora, “will meet women where they are and provide an opportunity to hear from other folks who are not only grappling with similar issues, but coming up with creative approaches and solutions. This day is about US. It’s time to get moving.”

Break-out session topics will range from maintaining brain health and keeping fit, to writing a memoir, to mastering the intricacies of Facebook, to downsizing.

My take: Let’s all bust out of our self-imposed silos. Stop clinging to outmoded behaviors and mindsets. Reach out. Broaden our horizons. It’s a bit like college living, 50 or 60 years later — minus the frat parties, exams and pre-game tailgating.

Think of this special day as a time of exploration and adventure. –  a time to write your own “next chapter.”

http://events.r20.constantcontact.com...

The Importance of Playdates as Time “Melts” Away

Next year is my 55th high school reunion. My husband’s too. Special to us? You bet. It’s where we re-met 44 years ago at our 10th reunion and married the following year. Our class has an active website and notifications pop into my e mail account announcing classmates’ birthdays, weddings and career updates. The biggest surprise: death notices.  No longer shocking. And no longer caused by freak accidents.

Unfortunately, the pain of mortality is becoming ever-present.

Why start this newsletter in such a doomy/gloomy manner? Simple. If the class comedian, the star athlete, and the shy kid in the third row of algebra class have met their Maker, my days are numbered too. Not clinging to tired patterns. I’m embracing a new narrative. And rather than deploring the inevitable, it’s dramatic re-set time. I’m reveling in the luxury of added time. Of doing something purely for pleasure. Of viewing being active and productive as not being mandatory.

Playdates with valued friends and family – outings or just chilling – are occupying a much higher priority. Polishing my inherited antique furniture and organizing my life‘s possessions Marie Kondo style won’t be crossed off my to-do list anytime soon.

Being someone who tends to do most things to excess, I went from zero playdates to two in a row this past week.

First Outing: lunch of course with one of my besties, Lynne, and then off to The Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida  which houses the largest collection of Dali’s work.

I’m not sure about the existential reasoning behind Dali’s very famous painting The Persistence of Memory featuring a “melting clock,” but I know he was inspired by observing Camembert Cheese melting.

Personal significance? Time is fleeting – like feathers released from a pillowcase – flying everywhere – never to be retrieved.

And just as special is the Dali Wish Tree – a Ficus tree in the museum garden, teaming with ribbons that carries the wishes of museum visitors. Part of the Hindu and Scottish cultural tradition, the branches hold fond hopes.

Second Outing: A walk on the beautiful sandy white Gulf Coast beaches with another one of my besties – Francine.

Followed by lunch – of course – and bargain shopping at the local beach boutiques.

What did it cost me?

A slight dip in my checking account

A delay in answering my e-mails

A refrigerator devoid of coffee creamer, eggs and Georgia peaches

Wilted plants on my front porch

What did I gain?

Appreciation for being mobile enough to walk the beaches

Gratitude for valued friends to enjoy

Recognition that I’m in control of my own remote

Thankfulness for some disposable income

And most of all, a heightened recognition that because life is unpredictable and finite, we must invite JOY, ADVENTURE AND CHALLENGES into our lives.

But you knew that, too, right?

Preserving Your Bloom (and Sanity) While Caregiving

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to be interviewed by Carol-Ann Hamilton, host of The Conscious Caregiver Show.

An elegant interviewer and formidable wordsmith, she reminded me that the definition of Preserving as in Preserving Your Bloom (PYB) is maintaining something in its original or existing state, protecting, safeguarding or looking after and caring for. Carol-Ann also pointed out the meaning of my first name: Iris.

Iris means rainbow in Greek and Iris was a Greek goddess who served as a messenger representing faith hope, wisdom and courage. I’m very happy that my mom and dad gave me such a fortuitous name and that being a messenger for positivity has certainly been a large part of my life work.

https://www.spreaker.com/user/bbm_global_network/conscious-care-giver-show-49

Hope you both enjoy and learn something from our conversation.

And I leave you with the following that someone much wiser than me penned:

We inevitably encounter losses and pain as we age. People we love get sick.

People we love need us to care for them and advocate for them.

And people we love will one day leave us.

I firmly believe that the secret to overall contentment comes from acceptance of life as it is.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Three Friends in Two Weeks

There is no gentle way to say this: My husband and I lost three special friends within a two-week period. Their ages: 83, 72 and 65.

Two had health issues, but their deaths were nevertheless unexpected. Both died in front of their wives – wives who had stood by their sides for close to five decades. Caregiving was an everyday, 24/7 reality for these couples.

My other friend died suddenly after re-starting her life as a single woman. Her last public picture was snapped at a non-profit gala: she is dressed head-to-toe in hippie garb, with a dazzling smile and glowing expression.

Sometimes well-intentioned people say the wrong thing.

It’s easy to stick even your mini-size 5 foot in your mouth in a difficult situation like death.

Research shows people who are grieving are more likely to think “She is a moron,” instead of  “She was uncomfortable with this situation,” after someone lobs an insensitive, invasive or awkward comment.

So, here are some really stupid things NOT to say to loved ones left behind:

It’s better this way.

Time heals all wounds.

I know what you’re feeling. I understand what you’re going through.

It’s part of God’s plan. She/he is in a better place.

What happened?

At least you’re not going through (and then cite your personal story…)

Stay strong.

Everything will be okay.

It was his/her time.

Don’t be sad when there’s so much to be grateful for.

G-d needed him/her more than you do.

People have been through worse.

We all have problems.

G-d never gives you more than you can handle.

Everyone dies eventually.

You can re-marry.














Be aware of the bereaved feelings and concerns, particularly after the loss of a spouse:  














I feel like I lost my best friend.

I feel guilty that I didn’t do enough for him/her.

I am afraid.

I am devastated.

I am worrying about lots of things.

Suddenly I feel very old.

I am thinking about my own death more frequently.

I’m relieved the suffering’s over, but guilty for feeling that way.














I’m trying to process the permanence of him/her not being here with me.  And what he/she will be missing, not what I will be missing.














What helps the mourners?














Texting is great and stating you don’t expect a response is even better.

Listening.

Expressing that you have no idea what they are going through or how it feels.














Understanding there are so many death-related tasks all at one to be done from the mundane to long lasting – choosing a casket, arranging for a burial plot, canceling future doctor appointments, writing an obit, selecting burial attire, securing clergy to officiate, post-funeral arrangements.














Offering to do specific tasks such as coming to walk their dog, picking up a prescription or fetching a relative at the airport. This lifts the burden off the survivors to come up with a task for you to do.














Sending something special to them – my hand-knitted pouches with comforting, personalized messages tucked inside have worked well.














Showing up. With food. Or organizing meal deliveries during those first wrenching weeks.














What should the person offering comfort keep in mind:














Realize that losing a life partner involves a dismantling of the life they have built together.














Realize that grief is accompanied by feelings of anger, despair, disbelief, shock, numbness, apathy, loss of appetite, and lack of energy.














Acceptance of the death of a loved one varies with each individual.

Doing something is always better than doing nothing.


















Losing friends and family is a part of living and living longer. And dealing with loss in a healthy way is an important component of sound mental health at every age.

Here’s to managing our losses and maximizing our joys!

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

I went for a walk in my old neighborhood

I went for a walk in my old neighborhood recently – the one where I raised my youngest three sons. –  the neighborhood we moved away from thirteen years ago.

I walk by the park where my sons went sledding and G-d knows what else they did – bingeing on beer, sneaking a smoke, hanging out with a female friend.

As soon as I snap a picture of the park entrance, I text it to the three of them.

Surprisingly, one of my sons immediately responds: “Oh wow. Looks like they finally removed the tree at the bottom of the hill…must have been because my idiot friend hit it when sledding.”

Emboldened that I had garnered interest, I proceed to snap pictures of their elementary school, middle school and high school as I stroll along.

Climbing the last hill heading back to my sister-in-law’s, I stop for one more photo – a picture of a bunch of teen-age boys shooting hoops in the shadow of the neighborhood water tower.

I text that one too.

Immediately a flurry of responses bombards my phone:

The old neighborhood looks great. Timeless.

Love that town.

Super nice hoops. I think the back boards and hoops we had were Soviet style – an overstock from the Gulag. Wow. Those kids are so lucky – the hoops in the park look brand new. Ours sucked.

One more text flew in right after that: Mom, sounds like you had a good walk.

I stopped short – puzzling how to answer. Was it a good walk? To them – perhaps – from their vantage point, it was. An update of the neighborhood they grew up in. A nostalgic look back at their childhood streets and avenues.

For me, it was a heart-wrenching reminder of days long gone – days I wish I had savored more.

But there were:

Math problems to check

Lunches to pack

Car pools to drive

Bills to pay

Whites and darks to sort

I know I went to soccer games

I know I watched my kids playing wiffle ball in the backyard

But the memories are wispy, illusive threads.

I want those days – those every day, mundane days – to be seared in my memory – indelible.

Not blurred by time.

I’ve got pictures, videos, diplomas, worn soccer and basketball jerseys, baby shoes and baby books.

But it’s not enough.

The time of active parenting is all-consuming, exhausting

And seemingly endless.

Then it’s over.

No more: beer cans in the bushes, angrily slammed doors, scraped knees, bruised hearts, lost homework, hugs and handmade birthday cards.

I wish I had paid more attention.

The family who bought our house has lived there almost as long as we had.

The streets look the same, but the people I knew are gone, as are the children I raised.

The late July evening is filled with lingering sunlight. I pass other walkers.

A man with his dog.

A father with his teenage daughter.

I recognize no one and no one recognizes me as I walk the very familiar streets.

The air smells the same – a mix of fuel, freshly mowed grass, wildflowers, graham crackers and sun-warmed laundry.

My sons are now dealing with raising their own kids.

Reminding them to wash their hands before dinner, to place napkins in their laps and chew with their mouths closed, please.

Wiping noses

Buying school supplies

Registering for fall soccer

Was it a good walk?

I guess it depends on who’s asking.

And who’s answering.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Wednesday morning wisdom you don’t want to miss!

Caregiving is an opportunity to give back to those people in our inner circle who have given so much love, attention and effort into making us the people we are today. But caregiving can also suck the oxygen out of our bodies, mental well-being and souls.

Ever been a caregiver? Or know you will be someday soon? Or watched a friend or family member struggle through?

How do we find balance?  Manage other’s expectations while keeping in mind our own needs? Prevent guilt and regret from washing over us? And keep positive, energized and engaged?

These are tough questions and a tough topic. And I’ll be tackling them Wednesday morning, August 7, as a guest on the radio show The Conscious Caregiver with host Carol-Ann Hamilton. We’ll be chatting about attitudes and mindsets, practical strategies and approaches and what I’ve learned about myself as a result of my care taking experiences.

Tune in at 8:55 a.m. EST until 10:00 a.m. by clicking on this link: https://www.facebook.com/theuncopeable/

It’s not just about PRESERVING YOUR BLOOM. In this case it’s also about PRESERVING YOUR SANITY!

Hugs,

Iris Ruth Pastor