Elin Stebbins Waldal's Blog, page 5

A Story of Rescue

In 2009, The New York Times, featured a collection of interviews, in each the subjects story was paired with photographs–all lovely vignettes of the individuals New York life–the Times called it, One IN 8 MILLION.

So many of the stories were just remarkable,  “ordinary people people telling extraordinary stories,” but one in particular stayed with me. When it comes to children and animals I simply have zero tolerance for people who bring harm to either. What I love about this story however–is it sheds light on something we all need more of–the story of rescue.

And on days when the world seems plain mad, I reach for this beautiful woman’s story the way one might grab a sweater to wrap the warmth they have inside a little bit tighter to their heart, for hers is a brilliant reminder that good exists.

Interviewed by Alexis Mainland and Photographed by Todd Heisler, Stefanie Rinza describes her passion for the rescuing of animals. She has rescued and found homes for about 40 abandoned animals of all kinds, including her own four dogs and birds.

This morning, when I once again watched the pictures fade in and out on the screen and listened to Stefanie’s beautiful melodic voice describe how her first dogs came into her life, I reclaimed a slice of inner-peace. Clearly she is a woman who feels deeply for living creatures that have been abandoned. As it has in the past, the story pierced me again. Something about it begs me to play it more than once. Only the second time, I closed my eyes.

Her words funneled through me, then these rose to the surface to stay…

If I see something, I can’t let it go. If I see a bird with a broken wing flapping around and no one is making a grab for it…I then couldn’t live with myself having left someone like that.

What I love is when someone has been rescued and when they come here and they’ve had their first sleep and curl up. And after everything they’ve been through they’re willing to trust someone and give them their love and devotion.”

Living creatures deserve a chance at real love and Stefanie’s story can be applied to animals and people alike, all worthy of both giving and receiving love.

Imagine the ripple effect that would be created if we all approached the struggle of a living creature the way Stefanie Rinza does, as if there was nothing more valuable then one’s ability to trust and feel safe, I dare say it would be enormous.

It all begins with awareness. When we open our eyes and hearts to someone or something that needs our hand, needs our compassion, needs our help–and then we give it–our little corner of the world begins to heal.

 

The post A Story of Rescue appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

Protecting our children

When my first child was born I remember thinking I would be able to protect him from harm. Then, in less than two months of being a mother, I dropped my baby.

Thankfully the only harm that was brought to him was the concussion he suffered.

It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I vividly remember sitting outside theX-Ray room waiting for the results that the slides of his skull would reveal. That single experience seeded the realization that I could cause harm to my own child. And if I couldn’t protect him from my own mistakes–the act of tripping–then how could I expect to keep him from people who would seek to do him harm.

The truth is I couldn’t.

Years later while writing my book I knew I had to address the concept of protection.

That is what led me to write the following excerpt from Tornado Warning:

The water is so clear today. The scattered surfers are protected by their full-length wet suits.  I so admire the surfers out there in the frigid waters bobbing up and down void of fear. I can swim in my mind back stroke to a time when each of my children played on this beach, their fortitude and very being providing me with inspiration. I am suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. It is a privilege to be a parent, having a hand in the miracle of bearing and raising children.

Yet this miracle also brings responsibility. As parents, what can we do to prepare our children for the cruelty that exists? We zip our children into a proverbial full-body wet suit lined with life’s eruditions, a neoprene triple-layer of fabric to ward of hypothermia, scrapes, and snares. We smear UV70 sunblock across their faces, hands, and feet as if our mere touch and each application will prevent the ruthless incursion of any future cancer.

I can no more imagine one of my children experiencing violence than I can orbit the moon. I hear myself thinking things such as, “Over my dead body,” or “I’d kill the person who lays a finger on any one of them.” But all that bravado gives way to an utterance, a borderline beseeching that re-states how I can handle it: Send the tough stuff to me…please keep them safe…let them be strong from all that they do, not what they endure.

Protect, safeguard, shelter, save, harbor—yet in the long run protection is not enough. We can’t just keep our children in a bubble. We need to build their strengths, sharpen their tools, let them own their triumphs as well as their mistakes. We need to help them understand the gravity of their words and actions before they hurt another person. We need to raise them to be good people, strong people, contributing people, and all that potential is predicated upon their own self-confidence. For in due course, we must open our hands in a wave, catch our breath as these independent creatures slip into the world’s water. We find ourselves praying silently that this child of ours has what it takes to navigate safely.”

—An excerpt from Tornado Warning, A Memoir of Teen Dating Violence and Its Effect on a Woman’s Life, Elin Stebbins Waldal, Sound Beach Publishing (2011)

And here is a video of me reading the excerpt aloud with photos taken of my kids as a backdrop.

 

The post Protecting our children appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

Road Trip

May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be at your back, may the sun shine warm on your face, may the rains fall softly upon your fields.”                                                                                                                  -Irish Blessing

We drive everywhere. And really, I mean everywhere. Truth is Jimmy and I love road trips.

Most people book flights, we bring the car for pre-travel-service. Of course there are exceptions—past trips to the east coast, Hawaii, Cabo—to name just a few, but if we can, we drive.

Our kids really don’t know anything different. Each of them has probably logged more car miles than they care to ever know. The good news is they are amazing travelers. While some kids get antsy at the 1-hour mark, ours know a 4-hour trip is a warm up.

When they were babies they required what I called the emergency travel bag. It was the modern day equivalent to Mary Poppins magic bag, filled with coloring books, games and a few toys they hadn’t seen before. And of course there was always food.

As years progressed we allowed movies for the long trips, trips that found us driving from southern California where we live clear the way to the Oregon border, then the movies were more life saver than not.

Later, when they reached the teen years, over movies, they favored the music from their iTunes accounts, sleep, each others company and even sometimes the view outside the windows.

Tonight we are driving back from Sacramento, our daughter played lacrosse over the past two days in a tournament and as I type Jimmy is zipping past the 18-wheelers and regular 4 wheel vehicles. We’ve made a few pit stops—something that no longer grabs an eye roll from the driver—even he has become more accustomed to the rhythms dictated by long drives with females who love to drink water.

The moon has crept up over the ridge to my left, while to the right is an abyss of dark.

Not for long, soon we will descend from Tejon Pass and the lights from LA will steadily appear brighter and brighter on the horizon until before we know it we are smack back in the middle of civilization.

As the miles keep clicking past tonight I find I can’t stop thinking about the evidence of drought here in California.

In the central valley dry fields spread for miles upon miles.

Farms, once filled with fruit trees, now are littered with skeleton like trees, dead from lack of irrigation. Signs shout to us that Congress created the dustbowl we pass by… and I think to myself, these are people’s lives…

Lives that have been in some cases wrecked, while in other instances we observe farms that appear to be holding on.

Now home again, the central valley tucked into the rear view mirror, I can’t help but be aware of the water we use–something that only a few years ago we took for granted. This incredible and vital resource that our state so desperately is in need of, the memory of all those farms makes me want to shout to all I know–only take what you need, don’t waste it, our state is dry as a bone, do your part….

The post Road Trip appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

The Climb

If you have ever climbed a mountain, then you are no doubt familiar with what climbers refer to as a false summit. 

That’s when, after having hiked for hours, you think your “destination” is within reach. There you are way above timberline, the views are expansive, close to the peak.

Then, you step up over a rise and discover that looming above you in the distance is the true mountaintop. In that moment what’s left of the journey feels insurmountable. Yet you can see it…

To regain strength you look inward.

With eyes closed you imagine the 360-degree view that’s in store for you, a place where the sun and moon appear to hang within an arms reach and the quiet promises a sense of peace. Then, with eyes opened you look around and realize part of getting there is honoring where you are right now.

These visions pumps through your veins as you gather yourself to take that next steps forward. And despite the whisper of doubt in your head and the fatigue that has leached into your feet, you put one foot in front of the other and begin again.

In life there are lots of false summits, moments in time when a goal feels illusive, if not impossible.

When doubt wraps itself around me like a blanket sometimes I forget that only I can cast it to the side.

During those times I may even grant power to my self-doubt, which much like a mounting storm, will only grow. When that happens I really have to work hard to re-frame my thoughts and search for a different set of truths.

This much I know–what I give power to–gets it.

Whether standing at the base of a mountain or at the summit, the view is what I make of it and turning my dreams into tangible outcomes requires me to continue to step forward.

Taking time out to be in the moment to feel, to be, allows me to take care of myself and focus on the journey—the moment that is now—for it is as important as reaching the “summit.”

Working toward a goal has a series of wins and celebrating the mini-triumphs and where I am right now makes each peak I arrive at all the richer.

The post The Climb appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

Alone time

The solace I find in re-connecting with myself, whether it is found in the quiet of a slumbering house at dawn, a walk among the trees, or watching the sun slip behind the horizon, is beyond measure. It has been my experience, that when my mind stills, my heart opens up to all that is possible.

It wasn’t always that way, years ago being alone left me feeling restless. I always wanted to be going somewhere, surrounded by people, never sitting still. And there was also what I think of as “the revolving boyfriend door” era, where ending a relationship signaled permission to begin a new one.

No, spending time alone has not always been on my priority list.

Eventually it caught up to me. Somewhere early on in my separation from my first husband I realized I really didn’t know who I was; a pretty grim prospect given I was 26, headed toward divorce and the mother of a three year old. But that single epiphany was perhaps one of the most vital of realizations because it eventually led me toward a sustainable sense of wholeness.

I started out slow. Time alone in my condo when my son was with his father. A trip to the coffee shop to sit, write and think. A day skiing at the local mountain. Oh I still filled plenty of my hours surrounded by people but, eventually I craved the time tucked away in my own thoughts to think, feel and be.

Two years ago while attending the LunaFest event with my friend Lois, they featured the short film, How to be Alone, a delightful vignette created by Andrea Dorfman which explores the first steps of spending time alone. This beautiful film is a poignant reminder that love, begins inside…

 

The post Alone time appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

What is it with guys at the gym?

Enquiring minds want to know, what is it with guys at the gym? Noises–sweat that is rarely managed–more noises–wandering eyes–more noises.

Seriously? it’s just gross.

We don’t belong to some high end gym, in fact we don’t belong to a gym at all.

We do however pay an association fee in our neighborhood which primarily covers the cost of landscaping, but also includes the use of a community gym. It’s actually pretty great. The room is a decent size, there are 3 ellipticals, 1 stair master, 3 treadmills, 2 recumbent bikes, a smattering of weight machines, a couple of benches and plenty of free weights to use.

For the most part I have never consistently been a “gym person.” There were years when I ran, first with a double jogger, then a single, then happily solo. I wish I had recorded the miles I clocked, but back then we had to rely on training logs, you know the kind that require pencils and a notebook to write in. Yeah that never happened…but there were A LOT.

I’ve also had the lazy years. Yes, the honest to goodness truth is there were years when I neglected to take care of my body, years that if I could, I would take back and switch things up, but that can’t happen so I focus on what I can do now.

OK. Back to the guys.

This morning I stepped onto the elliptical machine just after 7AM. There was one guy in the gym already, he was on a different elliptical. As I always do, I retreated into the world of my music while I churned out 30 minutes of cardio. I noticed Mr. Elliptical was watching TV. He was fine. At first.

About 15 minutes into my routine a regular I secretly call “Mr. Disrupter” slammed through the door. As seems to be his modus operandi, he had run to the gym. Did you catch that? Running means sweat. So Mr. Disrupter, without as much as a swipe of the t-shirt to his face, marched over to one of the weight machines, changed the way it was outfitted from a bar to a rope loop. And then, still dripping in sweat, he proceeded to yank the rope aggressively over and over. Um…if I could see his sweat fly in the reflection of the mirror?…Yeah. Nasty.

The thing about Mr. Disrupter is he is in constant need of fresh air. Or that’s the story I tell myself because he has an unruly habit of banging in and out of the room between sets. Sometimes he walks all the way around the building and slams through the doors on the opposite side. Annoying.

As best I could I tried to stay in my happy place.

Mr. Elliptical finished up his cardio, dismounted from the machine and didn’t bother to wipe it down. And people look at me funny when I wipe down a machine that I am just about to use. Really?

He sauntered back to the free weights. I ignored him. Or I did until I happened to glance in the mirror and noticed his eyes fixed on my ass. Pahlllease. He saw that I caught him and looked away. Once again I retreated into my zone. Well I did until Mr. Elliptical appeared alongside the stair master which is right next to the elliptical I was on. He then used the bar of the stair master to stretch his stuff.

I scowled.

Scowling is the easiest way to get someone to realize I am in my 50’s. Every wrinkle participates in the fun of making a disgusted face, thus making me age within a nano second.

He finished up and thankfully left. Then it was just me and Mr. Disrupter.

On the news I saw that they were talking about a woman who had been abducted, then found. I glanced back at Mr. Disrupter and decided he actually looks dangerous. I began writing a crime novel in my head where I was the main character. I imagined my fictitious self texting my friend Colleen the word-HELP. Only in the crime novel she assumed I am saying HELP because she thought I was at the gym dying on the elliptical. But really I was stuffed in the trunk of the Disrupters car. The car he stashed for opportunities when he is alone with a middle-aged woman at the gym. He is sneaky like that because a woman wouldn’t think he has a car stashed because they assumed he ran.

Thankfully. Well…maybe not thankfully…another regular, Mr. Noise, walked in. Then I was safe from both my imagination and Mr. Disrupter.

So Mr. Noise. That guy has to be in his mid-to-late 70’s. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone in my life run faster on an elliptical. He literally looks as if he is beating the crap out of the machine. Oh and the noise part? He exhales so loud through his lips that they flap. Not sure how to type the sound, but it is usually reserved for 10 year old boys…

He pounded the pedals and snorted 10 feet from me until I cracked. Cardio done. I hopped off the elliptical, wiped it down and moved on to the weight machines then stretched.

By the time I was ready to leave 4 additional men had showed up. That is highly unusual.

Most days I share the space with a great guy named Larry. Larry is the antithesis of the other men I mentioned. Keeps to himself. Cleans his machines before and after each use. And apart from a quick nod and a smile he keeps to himself.

And isn’t that the way it should be?

Well in the end the good news is all these people are doing what they can to take care of themselves. And the better news is winter is coming and that signals the end of snake season which means I will spend more time on the trails then in the gym, happily alone.

 

The post What is it with guys at the gym? appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

Freedom of thought, a short film

The post Freedom of thought, a short film appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

Be Happy

A few days ago I caught up on the phone with one of my oldest and dearest friends, her name is Jeanne. Not long into the call she shared that, although she wasn’t seriously hurt, she had been hit by a car while riding her bike. Even though I have told myself a thousand times over–she is safe right now–let’s just say the knowledge that the outcome could have been vastly different isn’t lost on me.

Yet another reminder of how precious our time here is. 

Jeanne and I met in Vermont at an all girls summer camp in 1976, we lived in cabins that were adjacent to one another, I don’t remember meeting her per se. No, my memories of that summer, and the years that followed, come back to me much in the way photos show up on a wall in a slide show cast from the light of a projector…

There we are fake microphones in hand singing “Sky Rockets in Flight” at the top of our lungs in a mocking and screeching way. Now I see us making our way into Lake Champlain, the coldest lake– to this day –I have ever swam in. Years later there we are riding bikes back to my house from the train station on a dark rainy night, no hands on the handlebars, singing “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.” Then there was the time that we painted an elderly woman’s porch to raise money for a concert in New York City, but once Jeanne’s mom learned of the plan she vetoed it.

She would probably want you to know that her first near death experience was with me…I took her sailing. Let’s just say it was very windy and I was a relentless dare devil that loved speed. Can you see us tearing through the water sail pulled in so that the boat was heeling so hard it felt as if it would capsize? Yeah. She didn’t like that very much….

Now I see us in her room, tears streaming down our cheeks, doubled over in gales of uncontrollable laughter. We had just been asked to stop laughing. Which of course only caused us to nearly pee our pants we were laughing so hard.

Today she loves to remind me that I was responsable for corrupting her. Truth be told I feel kind of proud of that, I mean really could there have been a safer way to meet boys, drink beers and then go home where you can feel cool without having to continue your destructive path?

We never lived in the same town as children nor have we as adults either. Growing up she lived in a Boston suburb and I lived in a small bedroom community of New York City in Connecticut. Amtrak rides, phone calls and letters knit together a friendship that now has spanned a lifetime. Today she makes Boulder, Colorado her home while I am in San Diego, California and we still manage to talk on the phone until our ears are hot and throats are dry.

Lucky, lucky us…

This morning Jeanne send an email. She told me she had first received it from one of her friends who lives in Peru, moved by the message, she forwarded it to Jimmy and me. And now I share it with all of you…

Subject: BE HAPPY.

There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones who don’t. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living. 

“Today may there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.” -Author unknown 

I couldn’t agree more. What about you?

The post Be Happy appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

RIP Brittany Maynard

Brittany Maynard’s gorgeous smile stares out at me from the People Magazine exclusive which shared with the world that on November 2, yesterday, this courageous woman carried out her decision to end her life with the help of the Death with Dignity Act available in the state of Oregon.

If you are unfamiliar with her story, last spring Brittany Maynard was diagnosed with stage 4 glioblastoma; a medical conclusion that carried with it a 6-month life expectancy, she was 29.

Twenty-nine. For a moment think back, what was your life at that age?

When I was 29 the divorce from my first husband was finalized. I was a mother to my sweet boy Max. On a whim I enrolled in, and completed, a weeklong Outward Bound course in the Rocky Mountains. I worked for what was then Kinko’s Copies, as a Regional Training Manager. I liked to ski and camp with my son. I had loads of fun friends, we danced, drank and laughed. I was in therapy sorting out my past and grabbing tools to build a future. My life was full. I was happy, young and had a seed of hope that things would only get better. I was healthy. And I was months away from walking into a bar and meeting the love of my life.

In my 30’s, a decade Brittany will not experience, I would have two more healthy children, move from Colorado to California, stay home with my kids, then later begin a career in new home sales. In my 40’s my prosperous career would fall apart in the recession. At 47 I would be inspired to write and publish my first book—a book I had started at 22—become a speaker and create a life that helps people.

And now in the decade of my 50’s—I cannot begin to imagine a fate such as the one that was Brittany Maynard’s. Reading her parting words I can’t help but feel what a gift she was—to her family, her husband, her friends—and by extension, thanks to her generous attitude, all of us.

Goodbye to all my dear friends and family that I love. Today is the day I have chosen to pass away with dignity in the face of my terminal illness, this terrible brain cancer that has taken so much from me … but would have taken so much more,” she wrote on Facebook. “The world is a beautiful place, travel has been my greatest teacher, my close friends and folks are the greatest givers. I even have a ring of support around my bed as I type … Goodbye world. Spread good energy. Pay it forward!”

Pay it forward indeed.

A month ago, after learning about Brittany, I wrote a post called, The Every Day Last Day, in it I mused about Brittany’s decision:

And now with days left to live, Brittany is connected to all that matters in the end, the people and things she loves. Truth is we are all dying. The rest of us simply don’t know when…”

If we have our health we have so much to be grateful for. I for one intend to keep in mind all the incredible things I get to do.

Notice I wrote “get to do.” Life is always filled with “have to’s.” Take those “have to’s” and turn them into “get to’s,” I can only imagine that Brittany Maynard would have loved the opportunity to do anything I might dread on my list.

It’s a paradigm shift. One that recognizes what a privilege it is to be alive and healthy.

Rest in Peace Brittany Maynard. There will be loads of opinions about your personal decision to leave this world on your own terms. I for one am going to simply say thank you for giving us permission to bare witness to your courageous and all too short life.

 

The post RIP Brittany Maynard appeared first on Elin Stebbins Waldal.

November

With an extra hour tucked into my pocket like a newfound treasure, I watched as the morning sky kept it’s daily promise to shake the dark from its edges and bring back the sun. And I thought, welcome November, welcome. In Southern California November’s arrival means autumn has permission to really show up. Crisp air. Brilliant foliage. […]

The post November appeared first on Beyond the Backyard Blues.