Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 36

I’m Running Away From Home

I know it’s only been a couple of weeks since my last newsletter, but I miss the connection. I caved. I gave-in to impulsivity. I happily went back to letting my fingers fly all over the keyboard – churning out thoughts and gleanings.

So what have I been up to since we last communicated?  Quite a bit:

Re-orienting myself to a new status: A Parentless Adult
Building up the courage to have a stomach scan, endoscopy and colonoscopy. And doing it. Why did it take courage? After bingeing and purging for forty-five years, apprehension about an internist looking closely at my insides was high. Results: all normal. I’m damn lucky.
Binge Watching both seasons of Sensitive Skin on Netflix.
Facing a fear: TRAVELING ALONE.

I am inspired by my childhood friend, Tawny, who walked – all by herself – half of the El Camino de Santiago (a.k.a. the Way of St. James) last summer. It is a journey that begins in France and winds through four of Spain’s fifteen regions, covering 500 miles.

She is walking the last half of the trail as I write this. ALONE. On foot – totaling up to fourteen miles a day.

I’m clearly not that intrepid. Nor that physically fit. Nor that confident in my self-sustainability. “Mouse steps, not kangaroo leaps” is my motto.

Here’s my trip’s title: “My Running Away From Home Soirée”

Here’s my plan: A nine-day road trip from my home in Tampa to my son’s home in New Jersey. With frequent stops along the way: St. Marys. Savannah. Charleston. Fayetteville. Newport News. Baltimore. And covering eight states: Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware and New Jersey.

Every stop focuses on a different aspect of traveling solo. And every city promises varying challenges and experiences. And by pre-booking my hotel rooms at every stop, I am assured that I won’t be speeding down unfamiliar roadways in darkness. Only in daylight (thank you DST). And I won’t be at the wheel for more than four to five hours at one time.

Why am I “running away from home” now?

Because I can
Because I’ve never done it before
Because I have a reliable car, a cell phone, Google Maps, Sirius Radio and a car charger
Because I find the prospect of solitude enticing
And because I realized I needed a break from my daily routine more than I needed a break from writing

What am I expecting?

To hone my self-reliance skills
To view the world through my eyes only
To experiment with dining solo
To awaken my senses of smell, taste, texture, sounds and sights devoid of distraction
To create a silent space to re-bloom
And to have a helluva good time!

Who knows? This year: a car trip along the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. Maybe next year: hiking the El Camino de Santiago.

Intrepid traveler? Frequent traveler? Experienced traveler? If you are out there, I welcome your suggestions on setting-off solo.

In the meantime, Keep Preserving Your Bloom

– Iris

I’m Tired

My friend Marlyn died eight days ago.





























Something invaded her body like a raging out of control fire, whizzing through dry timber. She was seventy-three.

Within hours, her son posted on Facebook: “It is with a heavy heart and profound sadness that I mention the passing of my mother, Marlyn Weinstein. She lived a full and happy life, and will be sorely missed by those whose lives she warmly touched. Always kind and thoughtful, she was a wonderful mother who gave her time generously to the many friends and family she loved so much. This is how I will remember her.”

Marlyn and I shared the same birthday, both fellow Leo’s. But we roared in different ways.

I think my sons would most likely post about me: “My mom was a creative person whose passion was birthing new ideas, but whose life was laced with self-imposed pressure to incessantly learn and passionately pursue new avenues of endeavors. So relentlessly busy, she trained her friends not to call her to touch base, but to text her instead. And be brief. She had little tolerance for minutiae. And she missed a lot of birthday parties.”

Not such a great legacy.

And truthfully, I’ve been thinking of cutting back for awhile. Marlyn’s death was just confirmation that I’ve been driving myself too hard.

So I’m taking a break from writing my weekly newsletter simply because I’m emotionally exhausted. It’s been a rough couple of months – which followed a rough couple of years.

I’m tired.

It’s not that the well has run dry on subjects to write on. Or professionals in the Eating Disorder field to reach out to. Or podcasts to record or Facebook chats to set up. Or mastermind groups to run. My idea notebooks – by sheer force of habit – have as many budding ideas scribbled in them as ever. Lists of more how-to books to order and read. More techniques to experiment with in the ever-emerging and always challenging social media field.

Even though I write about “Preserving Your Bloom,” I’m not doing such a good job of preserving my own. My blooms are withering on their stalks for lack of nutrients.

My creative juices will re-emerge after dormancy. Of this I am sure. But first I need to rest and replenish. I’ve got to re-embrace with loving care – not impatience – my husband’s attempts to draw me close. I need to connect with my kids and grandchildren less sporadically. I need to give myself time for yoga classes, knitting projects, an intense conversation with a friend, a lengthy walk to nowhere or simply settling down on my shade-dappled porch with an enticing new novel. I need guilt-free time for frivolity and pleasure. And spending time with those I love so passionately.

Webinars on “How to beef up the quality of your Instagram photos” or “The five biggest mistakes newly-self-published authors make” will be around forever. My time is finite and as President Clinton once noted, “There are more days behind me, than ahead of me.”

I want to go watch my favorite baseball team play a game – without mentally going through my to-do list, while simultaneously lamenting the loss of “productive” time. I don’t want my kids to repeat the same thing they told me three times before, because I was too distracted to listen to them the first time.

Marlyn won’t get the chance for do-overs and re-assessments – in anything she aspired to. And for that I grieve.

And I also grieve for me – who foolishly is squandering her chance for do-overs because she is too busy trying – as a fellow creator confided to me just yesterday – “to be unique, admired and sought after.”

I think I’d rather be wildly relaxed and well rested, for a change.

My garden is in need of weeding, watering, pruning, cutting back and cultivating. Fertilizing. Aerating. Filling with nutrients. The withered blooms need to be carted away and, in its place, glorious blooms need to begin to push through the well-tilled soul – seeking the sun. That’s when I know I’m living true to my brand of “Preserving Your Bloom.”

And that’s when I’ll be back.

My guess: about four weeks.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris

Happier Times Are Here

It All Starts With Good Health Intentions 

It’s been an angst filled time in my life – compounded losses have abounded.

I take stock:

I’ve gained weight (I’m not one of those people who lose weight when stressed – I turn to wine and sugar to relieve my anxiety).

My jeans are tight.

My Sciatica is back in full force. (no pun intended)

Leg and toe cramps visit me nightly, as soon as I curl up in bed.

And heartburn now accompanies my heartache over losing my mom and cousin.

What to do?

Well, I’m heading back to Weight Watchers so that I can once more shed enough pounds to COMFORTABLY zip up my skinny jeans – without passing out from an inability to take a deep breath.

I’m going to be actually weighing my food instead of shoveling it into my mouth by the handfuls. And then rationalizing the portion size.

I’m scheduling physical therapy for the radiating pain in my legs.

And I’ve recruited my younger cousin, Jill, to be my head cheerleader in coaxing me back to good overall health. She solved all her health problems through diligence, research, trial and error and self-discipline. All the things I lack. That’s why I’ve recruited her. Maybe I can get some of it simply through association with her.

Stay tuned for more specifics in a follow-up newsletter.

Meanwhile, I’m basking in the thought of how healthy I will be and how wonderfully constructive all my intentions are. I guess you could label this “My Good Health Intentions Stage.”

Oops, Can’t Forget “Home Renovation Stage”

And then I read in the April 20th edition of the Wall Street Journal an articleabout finding nirvana at HOME. I start itching to expand my list of personal intentions beyond just getting healthier. And home improvement is always tops on my list for buoying up my spirits

Remodeling your space to reduce stress? Right up my alley. Redesigning to increase mindfulness? Love it. Meditation spaces to expand my wellness regimen? Can’t wait. (The fact that at present I have NO wellness regimen does not deter me in the slightest.)

I’ve got a good start: One hundred fifty-year-old Grand Oaks in my yard to gaze at. I admit I’m lacking twenty acres of undisturbed land to romp in and an ocean view to elicit rapture – all of which I’m led to believe will increase serenity. But, hey, I also have an undisturbed six-foot tall concrete wall to gaze at. Okay, so its purpose is to screen out the noise of the relentlessly busy two-lane highway hugging the perimeter of my house. But it IS gaze-able. Ugly, but slightly gaze-worthy. Maybe I could employ my artist friend, Michelle, to paint a beachy-like mural across its expanse.

And I do have interior high ceilings and big windows – both of which are supposed to induce a state of restfulness – according to the nirvana article.

But I am sorely lacking a one-acre medicinal garden of edible shrubs – also recommended for inducing calm. However, I do have a new basil plant in a clay pot on my porch off the family room. It gets regularly replaced every three weeks – right after I kill the former one. And I do see greenery from many of my windows – which is supposed to “impact your mind and well-being.” Except, it’s the wrong windows with the greenery: my commode, my guest bathroom, my laundry room and my butler’s pantry. Unfortunately, my kitchen, family room and bedroom windows face a washed-out looking, decaying wood fence.

And I have to admit that my house also lacks a Japanese style tearoom, a meditation altar and yoga studio. But, no kidding, I do have a covered outdoor gazebo. It serves no purpose whatsoever, except as a receptacle of discarded, chipped, dirty clay pots. My friend, a self-declared expert Fung Shui practitioner, boldly and emphatically informed me – in a none too pleasant tone of voice – “that is where all your personal chi energy is escaping to, thus making you listless and apathetic.”

Geez.

I’m undeterred. I’m determined that my health and wellness-seeking endeavors will be infused with a new burst of creativity and inventiveness once I recycle all those old clay pots. And my presently unused and neglected outdoor space will now be dedicated solely to meditating and the practice of Yoga. No more donut dunking and romance novel reading in my old and comfy wicker chair on the gazebo. Nope. The gazebo will be stripped bare. It will be purposefully, aesthetically spartan. No decadence will dare seep into its space.

Execution is a Whole Other Matter.

But first I have to build a walled trellis and coax it into a lush mass of greenery. I’m not sure what that entails. Then I have to give up Coffee Mate, caffeine, sugar, dairy, and all carbs. I have to train myself to meditate for more than fifteen seconds. Oh, yes, and build a reflecting pool. Screen in the gazebo and install some dimmer switches, somehow soften the floor, add a few potted palm trees, and multiple cushions. And most importantly, introduce a state of quietude. That means scheduling my de-stressing (not distressing) time when automobile traffic is light and my backyard neighbors aren’t entertaining, swimming in their pool, or letting out their dog – who howls and barks incessantly. Yep: my own slice of paradise – available weekday mornings between 2am and 4am.

I can’t wait to move from intention to active execution.

Oh yes, and one more thing: I’m starting tomorrow.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris

How Have You Healed After a Loss?

My mother has been gone eight weeks. Her kitchen cabinets are still fairly well stocked, but I noticed when I went to refill the salt shaker she was out of salt. And the three packages of Pepperidge Farm shortbread cookies that were always tucked away in the small pantry were eaten days ago.

By and large, though, the apartment where my mom last lived looks the same. The walls still have her paintings and the couches are where they always have been – and as uncomfortable as ever. And she still has six rolls of toilet paper in the bathroom closet and plenty of sharpened pencils and Scotch tape in her black desk drawer in the spare bedroom. But there’s no Cincinnati Reds pennant adorning the front door to her apartment – a pennant that has hung there throughout every baseball season that she has lived there.

I know she is gone, but I still feel her presence when I come back to her apartment. And there is something comforting about being where my mom spent her last years – even though I know many of her days were tinged by the frustration of not hearing and the loneliness of not having her children nearby.

Before her lease expires in July, my sister and I will begin the task of sorting through her belongings and thoughtfully try to give to each family member what they deem most fitting and fair. The shelves will be emptied. The clothes donated. Her curio cabinet will be shipped to Washington. Her garbage can full of photos will arrive in Virginia. And her wrought iron kitchen table and chairs will go to Tampa. Her physical apartment will no longer exist. It is a wrenching thought.

Before I can even fully process that scenario, I receive distressing news from Michigan. My beloved first cousin, age fifty-six, is in full blown health crisis mode. Diagnosed with Stage Four Lung Cancer, he is  scheduled to begin aggressive chemotherapy. Before the first treatment, he suffers three successive strokes that paralyze him from the neck down, blind him and most probably rob him of his ability to think. Chemotherapy is put on permanent hold.

On the spur of the moment, my husband and I fly to Detroit to see him one last time. We sit with his three sisters and his mom and dad, intermittently telling stories of past happier times or lapsing into sad silence. We wring our hands. We scrutinize every rogue movement of his body. We analyze his various breathing patterns. And we wait for the inevitable.

I simply can’t comprehend the scenario I am witnessing.  We laughingly referred to my cousin as “Mr. Organic.” He ate in such a healthy way. He understood the intricacies of vitamin supplements. He practiced integrative medicine. Worked out regularly. Neither smoked nor drank nor ate junk food to excess, if at all.

Just a few days ago, my cousin was released from the hospital and taken by ambulance to his oldest sister’s home. In a hospital bed, sedated by morphine, surrounded by his sisters, Wednesday morning he drew his last breath. He will be buried today.

I already miss his creativity, his verve for life, his enthusiastic embracing of all things involved in community theatre. The joy he brought to our family was immeasurable when he produced a documentary on my dad and his World War ll experiences as a ball turret gunner on a B -17 Flying Fortress.

There has been so much sadness in such a short period of time. Too many sleepless nights. Too many strange hospital corridors. Too many dire diagnoses. Too many IV poles and morphine drips. First for my mother. Now for my first cousin.

I wonder how you “Preserve Your Bloom” in the wake of so much loss.

Four things comfort me:

Judith Viorst in her book  Necessary Losses  says: “Loss is an inevitable part of life.” That helps me accept the realities of my loved ones’ mortality and blocks that “poor me, why me” mindset.
My mother would have advised me: “All that you are feeling has been felt before.” Those closest to us at some point leave us. Our feelings of loss, anger, and sadness are all part of the universal experience of living amongst people who matter to us.
And from my dad —who always put a humorous spin on things – he would have reminded me: “Don’t let life make an old lady out of you, kiddo.” I take that as a directive to roll with the punches and practice self-care.
And from a very wise friend – who capsulized moments with great clarity – she would direct me: “Don’t short circuit the grieving process. Don’t leap frog over the messiness.”

So, we will go to the funeral. We will go to the cemetery. We will go to the memorial services. And we will carry with us his fully engaged essence – remembering him when the leaves burst into bloom, when the summer heat sizzles the sidewalk, when the trees shed their leaves and when the snow blankets the streets. And we will treasure greatly his ever-lasting contributions to our family’s history. And the memorable moments we shared.

So, here’s to finding the strength to get through the rough times. And here’s to possessing the smarts to recognize that the rest of the time we should take full advantage of whatever resources we have to fully enjoy life’s pleasures.

How have you healed after a loss?

– Iris

Embracing Your Family’s History

The Past

It’s 1913. The word “teen-ager” was not yet in use. The constitutional amendment granting American women the right to vote had not yet passed. Canned beer, modern supermarkets, and Barbie dolls had not yet been invented. The US did not have an official national anthem.

And many practicing doctors in those forty-eight states had been educated haphazardly since, according to the National Library of Medicine, “Medical schools had become mostly diploma mills.”

It was also the year Fanny Landman was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. Maybe in a hospital. Maybe not. Her parents named her Fanny, after her father’s mother, who he had left behind in Austria when he set sail for America.

The family settled in the basin of Cincinnati, surrounded by other immigrant Jews, Germans and Italians scrambling to make a living. Their modest quarters had no running water, electricity or indoor plumbing. But Harry had found a job which would provide for his wife and children at Cincinnati Milling Machine Company. Harry had enough money to get by, but little protection against disease.

Little Fanny, at age seven, was stricken with both Diphtheria and Scarlett Fever – two common and serious childhood illnesses in the early 20th Century. She was buried in an unmarked grave. When her siblings reached adulthood, they tried to track down her burial plot; they failed in their efforts. This is the only photo we have of Fanny:

The Present

One evening, I went to see my ninety-two-year-old mother-in-law at her apartment in an assisted living facility. We talked of many things – and I learned more about Fanny than I had learned in the forty years I had been married to her son. When I got up to leave, my mother-in-law called out, “Wait one moment, Iris. I have something I want to give you. It’s not worth much, but I want you to have it.”

I watched her rummage through the tiny compartments of her jewelry box and finally she emitted a sigh of relief and pulled out a small velvet box. She turned to me and said, “I’m giving you this – the only thing left from my sister Fanny – who I never knew. I think you, of anyone else in the family, would appreciate it.”

Tears sprang to my eyes and stared to fall on my cheeks. “Don’t cry,” she whispered. “This is a good thing.”

I was touched beyond words and hugged her hard. And slipped the little girl’s ring on my pinky finger, where it has been ever since.

My mother-in-law was wrong. A family heirloom is priceless.

The Future

The ring will be a reminder of past tough times, the harshness of disease and poverty, and the fragility of life.

It will be a symbol of continuity – that even someone who we never knew could have such a profound effect on us

It will be a gentle reminder to be deeply grateful for the many advances, discoveries and inventions that have today given us a reasonable chance of good health and longevity

And it will be a prompt to recognize once again how important it is to delve into our family history. Ask for the stories. Listen to the reminisces. Record the observations and memories.

Why? Simply because it helps us live our own lives more fully.

What family heirloom do you prize? And why? How did knowing your roots and your ancestor’s stories enrich your life?

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris

Replacing Fear With Joy

It’s 11:15am and I’m squirming in my seat. Impatiently scraping my saddle shoes against the metal sidebars of my desk. I glance up at the big wall clock. Fifteen more minutes until lunch break. I can already taste the spicy hamburger loaded with fried onions and the iced cold Coke I will soon be guzzling.  My best friend, Sharon, and I are heading straight for White Castle – four blocks away. Karen and Linda are trying the new pizza place by the library and Libby is heading home for lunch.

The recess bell pierces the silence of our classroom at exactly 11:30am. We hand-in our spelling tests and scramble for the door. Freedom. Ninety glorious minutes of unsupervised time to roam the streets surrounding our suburban elementary school.

It’s 1957. There are no locks on the portals of our schools. The red brick structure sports floor to ceiling windows that are open in both fall and spring to the outside world of fluttering leaves and newly mowed grass. Our school is a haven of safety, even though no armed guards march around the perimeter nor security cameras hang from the corners of our classrooms. The more responsible of the students are patrol boys – assigned to carefully cross the younger children at the intersections surrounding our three-story schoolhouse. It’s an oasis of learning –  a building that fosters growth and both protects and shelters us.

In all the years my siblings and I attended that school, my parents never heard of one incidence of violence, threat or harm from a gun-wielding assailant – in the school, on the playground or in the surrounding neighborhoods we explored in – on our own – from 11:30am until 1pm each school day.

Our post-World War II schools periodically have fire drills, where we line-up and – in an orderly fashion – march outdoors. Periodically we have civil defense drills, where we are instructed to huddle under our desks for an allotted amount of time until the all-clear siren blasts from the speakers and we unscramble our little bodies and sit back down at our desks. We are told we do this as a precaution against invasion from that big scary country called Russia.

The civil defense drills themselves are benign, but the fact that a mean country so far away can possibly separate me from my mom, dad, brother and newly born little sister simply terrifies me. It is the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I ponder every night as darkness descends and I am alone in my bed: “Will I see my parents again, once I am dropped off at school?”

Of course, not all is serene. Trouble is brewing. Trouble I know little about. South Vietnam is being attacked by Viet Cong Guerrillas. Federal troops are sent to Arkansas to enforce anti-segregation laws. Writers and playwrights are convicted by The House for Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) for such things as Communist party membership. But to me, all that seems important is the burgeoning rage of Rock and Roll music, my hula hoop, pogo stick and Nancy Drew mystery books.

It’s now 2018. I’m no longer that scrawny, fearful ten-year-old, fifth grader. Now I’m a not-so- scrawny, but more fearful, seventy-year-old grandmother. And I don’t like what I see happening in our schools across the nation.

Many of us have a home to live in, a job to go to, a pantry stocked with food to eat, a car to ride in and a cell phone to communicate with. But our peace of mind has been eroded and our control of our kids’ safety is at great risk. We must no longer put our efforts into acquiring more of what we already have. We must direct our efforts toward getting what we don’t have: a safe environment for our children.

I realize that my grandchildren are not as lucky as my husband and I were. Their night terrors are based on reality, not like mine which were based on “What if’s”.

I realize that times have changed and violence flares up all around us. It certainly makes “Preserving Your Bloom” – my watchword – all the harder to do. It is easy to feel jaded. To shut down. To tune-out. But it is more imperative than ever to use our talents and resources to reflect on what we loved about the past and try to re-create that in the present.

Let’s take our children to visit our nation’s capital physically or acquaint them with the wonders of our nation’s seat of government through books, documentaries and the Internet.
Let’s visit Ellis Island and the Tenement Museum to show them how hard life was for the immigrants who flocked to our country’s shores seeking safe haven and how – through hard work and diligence – they succeeded.
Let’s seek out historical landmarks in our own cities.
Let’s tour our state and national parks to see the many natural wonders our United States has been blessed with.
Let’s educate our kids on both the power and privilege of voting.
Let’s expose our kids to our own family’s history – giving them the rich details of the sacrifices and triumphs they experienced firsthand.
Let’s use our libraries, support our historical societies, display our American flag proudly and sing our national anthem with joy and vigor.

In these consistently diligent ways, we can make a difference. We can lessen the chance that our precious grandchildren will fall asleep in fear and wake up the same way, wondering, “Will I see my parents again, once I am dropped off at school?”

To my Jewish family and friends, a very joyous Seder surrounded by your loved ones. And to my many friends and readers who celebrate Easter, may it be a joyous time as well.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris

Losing My Mother

In my latest podcast I reflect on losing my mother. Click ‘play’ above or find the podcast on iTunes.

Giving Back

How important is it to give back? And how exactly can we? We have the power to brighten someone’s day and to make a difference in the world – in so many very simple ways.

We live in the physical world and can see the results of encouragement, kindness and empathy first hand.

It’s how we treat the people in our lives, beginning with our spouses, our kids, our parents. Our friends. Neighbors. Shop clerks. Employees. Strangers we bump into for a mere few seconds of our lives – and may not ever see again. Which happened to me recently at a book conference: the the guy standing in line in front of me calmly noted the slow-moving line of people – both waiting to buy coffee and trying to get to the next panel discussion on time. He paid for his cup of coffee and my cup of coffee to save me and the others standing behind me a little bit of time.

It’s listening. Paying attention. Taking note. Being proactive. Giving someone a compliment while picking up your dry cleaning. Remembering to call your friend to see how her dental surgery went. Acknowledging – with a hearty wave – the driver who lets you in the turn lane when you’ve forgotten to get over. Sending a message of encouragement when a colleague is experiencing a rough patch in her career. Writing a thank you note for a dinner party – mentioning one dish in particular that made it so special.

I thought a lot about giving back when I was writing my book – hoping that when it was published it would help other midlife and baby boomer women who were struggling with challenges that sapped their strength and marred their psyche. I wanted my book to inspire readers to gain the wisdom to live the life they craved – in fact, that is the subtitle of my book.

With the internet at our fingertips, we also have an opportunity to spread goodness and kindness. We have an opportunity to reach others – but it is an opportunity laced with ambiguity and ambivalence. We love the internet for its convenience, for all the information at our fingertips, for the instant connection to people both far and close, by blood and friendship. But we pay a price for this new way of living. It’s intrusive. It’s addictive. And, it’s quantitative.

I recognize this. If I write a newsletter that garners lots of comments, does that mean that that particular piece was more valuable than one that received fewer comments? If I paste on Instagram a picture that draws 300 likes, does that mean that picture was more meaningful than one that garnered forty-five likes? Not necessarily.

So I’ve learned to write what I feel in my heart. And write what I hope will inspire others to achieve, dream, and live their lives in full bloom. And guard against my emotions being neither unduly flattered nor overly impressed (or depressed) by the number of shares and likes.

Comments, however, are another matter altogether. Comments – when negative – provide me with food for thought. Comments – when positive – stoke the embers when my fuel tank is running near empty. And I heartily thank each one of you who have ever posted a comment on social media.

My recent book launch made me realize how powerful feedback can be and how important reviews on Amazon are from readers. My Amazon go-to guru, who lives in Portland, tells me that about half of potential buyers like to read reviews. And more weight is given – not to the professionals – but to what the average person writes, because – they’re like THEM.

Reviews are important.

To the author – because they validate the book’s merit.
To the reader – because it shows how someone interested in the topic responded to the author’s experience and story.

So why don’t people leave more reviews on what they buy? I’m not talking just about books – though I’d certainly like to see you review mine! I’m talking about reviews on other books, products and services, too.

My guru, eager to supply me with suggestions to dismantle barriers to writing reviews, suggested the following:

People aren’t sure what to say.

She proposes a simple approach to writing reviews of any kind. Click the number of stars and then tell two little things:

What was one thing you can’t get out of your mind about the product – the one thing that lingers in your memory about the experience you had with it?
Why do you think someone else would enjoy it too?  Or not?

Writing a review takes a little forethought and reflection, but sharing your experience connects you to someone else interested in the same book, product or service. And my guru and I both think we all need a little more connection in this world.

If you’ve read my book The Secret Life of a Weight-Obsessed Woman or will be reading it, please consider leaving a review.

Click here to go to the Amazon page for my book.
Scroll down to the little gray box that says “Write a customer review”
Sign in to your Amazon account
Rate and review the book!

Policies for reviews can be inconsistent. For instance, identifying yourself as a friend or relative of the author may cause Amazon to throw out the review. Sometimes even calling the author by her first name can be a red flag. And verified purchases get more consideration.

I’d be honored if you left an HONEST review of my book. And, as I’ve said before, very appreciative of the connection.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris

Staying Close to Your Family

March 16, 1970 – forty-eight years ago today – was my due date for the birth of my first son, Harry. I would end up delivering him into this world three long weeks later. As I remember, those weeks were filled with anxiety over the mechanics of the actual birthing process and how much it would hurt. And I recall feeling quite relieved over having three more weeks to prepare for becoming a mom.

In reality, the hospital I delivered at was putting mothers to sleep so I missed the entire birthing experience and my husband, who was banished to the waiting room, was as clueless as me as to how Harry actually entered the world. And having three more weeks of preparation for being a mom? Joke time. Nothing prepares you for the monumental task of parenting.

I’m way past diapering, grade school playground skirmishes, teenage angst, college applications and graduations. My youngest child is almost thirty-four and I’m STILL grappling with parenting angst – now centered on how to be a happier parent of adult children.

I question my relevancy in my adult children’s lives – especially when I send out a group text and not one of them replies. And I don’t know any parent who doesn’t have at least one sticky situation they can’t seem to satisfactorily resolve.

That is why I was so excited to chat with Dr. Ruth Nemzoff – who sprouts mama-loshen – the Yiddish word for common sense. Our entire podcast was peppered through with her practical, straightforward advice on how to create close relationships with our adult children – even when popular wisdom advises us to fade quietly into the woodwork.

You can listen to the full episode here on my blog, or on iTunes.

Here are some of Dr. Ruth Nemzoff’s insights:

No one has all the answers when it comes to family dynamics; we just have our own experiences
We spend more time in relationships with our kids as adults then as kids
Times change – recognize the reality of what living is like today as opposed to when we were raising kids
Different things work and do not work with each particular child
Most relationships have blips, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love each other
Focus on what we have gained, not lost, with becoming empty nesters – less time pressure, greater freedom. Take joy from what you have now and what can you do with that time to bring you happiness

Here are some questions Dr Ruth Nemzoff and I both pondered and discussed:

How can we maintain ties with family members who have different political and religious beliefs?
How can we tell if we are really close to our children?
There are many ways for adult kids to show caring. Do sons and daughters help their parents in different ways as they age?
Can we be friends with our adult kids?
How honest can we be about our financial situations, end of life choices, expectations for their help as we age?
Weddings and engagements can bring out the worst in us all! How can we avoid the minefields that inevitably arise?
After the wedding, what are some guidelines for good relationships?

If you’d like to hear even more wise wisdom from Dr. Ruth Nemzoff, her book is available on Amazon: Don’t Bite Your Tongue: How to Foster Rewarding Relationships with your Adult Children.

You can subscribe to my podcast in iTunes here.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris

Announcing My New Podcast!

I must admit after sending off last week’s newsletter about my mom, I was seriously considering taking a long break from writing.

My husband’s surgery, my mom’s passing away and the frenetic pace of publicizing my book,The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman, had literally drained me. I was yearning for a quiet mind – one that wasn’t always sniffing out the next idea and then finding just the right words and tone to express and convey it. I envisioned lazy days TV binge watching, going to gentle yoga classes on a regular basis and leisurely lunching with long-neglected friends.

But I’ve changed my mind.

Why?

Comments from readers on the passing of my mom made me realize the power of connection and the importance of telling and sharing our personal stories.

“Your Mom always had hugs for me, smiles that went from here to the ends of time, and always time to listen…the woman had chutzpah and never stopped being who she was. I’ll miss her spunk, ideas, and voice!”

“When I think of your mother, one word in particular comes to mind: creativity! Sleeping at your house when we were kids, reflections of her creativity permeated your house. What stands out most in my mind was her paintings on your bedroom walls, which conveyed feelings of beauty and positive energy, although I don’t have a clue what they really were!”

“Having been there (My mother died in 2003), I can tell you some things that might help: Set boundaries if needed. The death of a parent can at times bring out the not so good. She might be gone, but her memories will always remain as long as you speak of them. Never disparage the departed. We are human beings after all.”

“It will never be the same, but I (and my siblings) take comfort that our parents are back together and we get some good laughs about the good times and some of their distinct character traits that made them who they were and helped us to become the people we are today.”

“Iris, your post about your mother is a “four tissue” article.”

The outpouring of comments I got from my honest post about loss was so unexpected. And it reminded me why I started writing my slice-of-life column over thirty years ago and why my fingers will still keep pounding on the keyboard:

To connect
To tell my story so that you can also share your story
To make a difference when it’s dark and to celebrate when it’s light

Not only am I continuing with my newsletter uninterrupted, but I’m also going full speed forward with my newest venture – a podcast series called Preserving Your Bloom.

There are four podcasts to begin with – three centered on eating disorders. One is from a trend setting professional heading a premier eating disorder organization. One from an anorexic Australian woman who battled her disease for decades and one a therapist treating those in the trenches. And the fourth is from a wise woman from on getting along with your adult children. Below are the links and relevant information:

June Alexander suffered with anorexia until age 60 when she found a weapon to effectively fight back and help others in the process.

Elissa Myers is the head of the Academy of Eating Disorders and provides perspective on the growing field of Eating Disorder research and emerging trends in treatment and recovery.

Dr. Nina Savelle Rocklin is a Los Angeles based therapist who advocates for an anti-dieting stance when fighting the food monster within.

Ruth Nemzoff is the author of “Don’t Bite Your Tongue: How to Foster Rewarding Relationships with your Adult Children” and shares her wisdom on maintaining stable and loving family relationships.

Once again, I’m presenting you yet another way of taking care of yourself. It’s Preserving Your Bloom through connection and by sharing our personal stories as we journey through life.

You can subscribe to the podcast in iTunes here.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris