Stormy Weather
December 30, 2012 by
Alki Beach, West Seattle, storm 12-17-2012
Sometimes you just have to have fun with your posts. Here are pictures of a king tide in West Seattle, made bigger by storm surge from a wind storm. Enjoy!
©2012 Robyn M Fritz
Choosing Your Culture
December 30, 2012 by
Choosing Your Culture: How Will We Live Our Lives?
An interesting thing happened yesterday when I was out running errands: I ran into culture. Then I made a conscious choice to choose my culture. Again.
It’s impossible to escape the current debates in our country over gun control. Frankly, I don’t think controlling guns will control violence, not as long as people think civil discourse is hate speech and we glorify football, the military, and gory ‘entertainment.’ Because it’s not that our culture is violent: it’s that we love that it is and choose it.
Worse, it’s become the first thing we think about when we’re just out there trying to live our quiet, loving lives.
I’ve lived in the same Seattle beach community for nearly 25 years. We’ve had our share of incidents here, but we’re as American as apple pie—whatever that means.
What should it mean? That, really, is the question.
So, I was running errands when I noticed a woman rush into the street to flag me down. In a quick glance I saw: she was worried, dressed for business, and obviously needed something. Bad enough to risk flagging down a complete stranger.
While all this registered I noticed something else: I wondered, briefly, if she was trying to scam me, if I’d pull over and get shot or carjacked.
“Really?” I said to myself. “What is your problem, Robyn?”
My problem is culture.
But I kept the doors locked and rolled the window down far enough to talk with her. “Do you need help?” I asked her.
She had an important appointment, had missed her bus, and needed a ride to the bus stop. My gut sense saw nothing wrong, so I offered her a ride. I changed the order of my errands and took her straight to the bus stop.
As we chatted on the short drive, she said how much she believed in god (interesting, since I don’t, and I’d had that conversation a lot lately). For proof she pointed to a few recent incidents in which she’d been provided for at the last minute, just like she had with me. She had two possible appointments that morning (I never asked for what) and trusted in god to get her to one of them. She’d overslept and missed the first one, and had just missed the bus that would take her to the second. Everyone she’d tried to flag down (all men, by the way) had completely ignored her. Then I’d pulled over.
I said, “Well, maybe god should buy you an alarm clock, so you don’t miss the bus.”
“But,” she said, undaunted. “You came along.”
Indeed. And we made it to the bus stop just in time, and off she went to her appointment.
Now is this a lesson in intuition? Well, I work as an intuitive, but no, it wasn’t, any more than I’ve learned to trust my intuition and I had no sense she was anything more than a ditz (who was TOO trusting). But even intuition can be wrong—my first reaction on seeing her in the street was to ignore her. Was that intuition at work?
No, it was fear. A choice of culture.
I chose my culture, again, in an instant yesterday when a hard choice was in front of me. It was the kind of decision we face every day: how do we choose to live?
The choices as I saw them: ignore her, call the police, stop and help. In that order. As I saw them, they saddened me. When did the right choice become the last one? When did we, as citizens of the planet, as Americans, abandon love?
This is what we need to discuss in our country: what is culture, what is choice, how do we choose, what do we want?
I think in the last few weeks we’ve made our choice, as citizens, as Americans. While the politicians and the media traded barbs over violence, the ordinary average people like us simply reached out and hugged grieving strangers, wrapped community and love around a town that had just lost children to violence, and spread that love as far and wide as we could.
Because love is our only choice.
Will it stick? Will we finally say ‘enough,’ and choose love? Will we insist on a culture that lives love, however hard that is at times?
I hope so, but I don’t know. I do know that love is spreading. I was already the naïve person who would stop and help a stranger, and people are always chiding me for that. Well, truth is, I’m proud of me, proud that despite all the crap out there, I still choose the simple things that love prompts me to do.
Will someone stick a gun in my face someday because of that? I don’t know. But if that stops me, and stops you, then we’re all lost already, and it won’t matter.
The world has more good people in it than bad people. It’s just not fashionable to feature us. I think we should change that.
How? By choosing our culture.
So far, we’ve let fear rule public discourse, enough that our natural instincts to help are nearly undone by it—as I almost ignored a stranger yesterday who needed a simple act of kindness.
I choose love. It’s hard, it’s scary sometimes, it’s no longer the norm. But it can be. We’ve all seen how love can lead the way.
What is as American as apple pie? The culture of peace, community, love.
Be trusting. Be wise. Love. It will make a difference. It has to.
© 2012 Robyn M Fritz
When Play Matters: On Orcas, Marshmallow Spines, and Dogs Singing to Beethoven
November 7, 2012 by
Photo courtesy Gary R. Jones (c) 2012
Sure, we know play is a necessary part of our lives: it relieves stress, adds balance, and inspires creativity. But we’re usually so busy with ‘life’ that we simply ignore it.
Three things lately reminded me about the importance of play: an orca superpod off Alki Point in October, the Rainbow Boys’ guide team, and my deceased dog, Murphy, showing up to sing with Beethoven (yes, THAT Beethoven).
Orcas know how to play, like the breaching orca photographed by our neighbor, Gary Jones (thanks for sharing, Gary!). My dog, Alki, and I joined the throngs of people enjoying the superpod: everybody was relaxed, happy, cheerfully sharing binoculars and observations. Party atmosphere ruled.
Watching people watching orcas made me wonder: does it really take something extraordinary like that for us to relax and play? We don’t need to get permission to play, do we?
Of course the orcas were hunting. They were clear across the Sound from us, but I knew they were also enjoying themselves when I asked them if they would swim over to my side, so I could get a better look, and they laughed. The fishing was better where they were, they said. Hard to fault that logic, since orcas don’t go to grocery stores.
So I said, “Well, can you come to visit tomorrow, same time, only over here?”
“Sure!” one yelled, following that with a huge “Yay!” as it leaped clear out of the water in a breach that made all the gawkers, including me, laugh.
It was several days later, though, before they showed up again. When I teased them about forgetting our ‘date,’ they said: “Orca time or human time?” They told me how much they love being orcas: the water, the food, being together, their curiosity about us, their amusement at how much we love seeing them.
Yes, orcas love being orcas. To them, the hunt is as fun as it is necessary to life. Work is fun, and life-giving.
I am reminded of this daily in my Mindset Alchemy sessions with clients. Lately a client’s guides have shown up in sessions with other people. I’ve started calling these guides the Rainbow Boys: they are young athletes, vibrant, dressed in rainbow-swirled long-sleeved outfits that end below the knee. They’re carrying basketballs, soccer balls, balloons, whatever they need to play with while they check out what’s going on. They are perfect guides for my client, who has leaped into his dream of becoming a professional athlete (because it’s work he enjoys—fun!). But I didn’t know why these guides were showing up with other people.
“Sacred play,” the Rainbow Boys said.
“You guys just like playing with Fallon,” I teased.
“Yes,” they said, crowding in to play with Fallon, who, apparently, is a sports nut. “But it’s time for sacred play.”
They then taught me a body technique I’ve started calling “Marshmallow Spine.” In it, we first get the client grounded and balanced, and then we draw air in from the front of the body and let it float into the back. The air, like the air inside all the balls the Rainbow Boys play with, expands to cushion and relax the body. Instead of a stiff, hard spine, clients experiment with a soft spine that can still support the body but move more freely and expansively. Marshmallow Spine: support that nourishes. Flexibility. It takes a flat ball and allows it to bounce. It’s the exuberance in an orca breach. The play in our busy lives.
As I’ve experimented with the Marshmallow Spine technique I’ve noticed that it is the same feeling I got the day I was watching the orcas play: it was relaxing into joy. It’s the breath of play expanding into tense bodies. It fills empty spaces we didn’t know were empty until joy flowed in.
I was reminded of this as I was preparing dinner for friends last weekend. I turned on my stereo, surprised that it was full of classical music, which I hadn’t listened to in years. Then I remembered that I had chosen these CDs for my beloved Murphy’s funeral in March, as I consciously chose music that matched her vibrant nature.
Now as Beethoven’s Fifth filled the house, Murphy showed up, smiling, with her trademark cheerful, teasing attitude. I asked her why that music. She said it was music “angels sang to.”
“Angels singing to Beethoven?” I asked.
Murphy nodded and started harmonizing with Beethoven. Other voices sang along.
“It’s play,” Murphy said. “Sacred play.”
I got it. Beethoven wasn’t just a genius as a musician: he loved his work, it was fun for him. He tapped into the creativity that comes from hard work combined with inspiration and the pure joy of doing it. He played. He connected to others with his play, and he’s still doing it.
All these were my reminders that play matters. Not just for relieving stress in our busy lives: for keeping us open to joy and creativity. For helping us integrate joy into our lives. For connecting to other in our necessarily solitary journey through life.
We’ve had a hard year at our house. We lost Murphy in March. In October, we dealt with serious illnesses at our house, life-threatening conditions that are all resolved now. At the end of a grueling month we played: with each other, with orcas, with the Rainbow Boys and some adventurous clients, and with our beloved Murphy as she sang with the angels to Beethoven’s Fifth.
We discovered again the joy of sacred play. Orcas delight us in part because we recognize play at work. Full deep breathing relaxes us. Beethoven’s music endures because he took joy in his work. When we allow joy in our lives, we do the same thing. We connect: to other beings doing their work, to ourselves. To life in harmony with our beloved planet.
Play matters. Now just go do it: play. And let me know what your Marshmallow Spine discovers.
© 2012 Robyn M Fritz
It’s a Good Day When…
October 22, 2012 by
It’s never fun to be sick. In the last month, all four of us were down: Alki, my Cavalier boy, with a serious infection that required multiple rounds of antibiotics and herbal support and acpuncture; Grace the Cat, with an upset stomach; and me with repeated rounds of bronchitis and an unexpected trip to the ER (well, are those kinds of things ever expected?).
Nevertheless, we always find something to enjoy, even if it’s dessert. Especially when we live at the beach.
I grumble about it being cold on Alki. Really, Alki Beach has to be the coldest spot in Puget Sound, at least our end of it, which gets the wind from north and south, and it’s always cool, if not downright frigid. But I live here because I need to be by the ocean. I love the smell, the sounds, the sights. Sea lions are cool, bald eagles awesome, and whales, well, most of us agree we live here because sometimes we get to see whales. Or orcas.
We got lucky and saw them twice in a week. The first time, Alki and I stood watching dozens of orcas in the distance. I asked the orcas, “Can’t you come over to this side of the Sound, so I can see you better?”
One orca said, “The fish are running here.”
“How about tomorrow, same time, closer?” I bargained.
“Okay!” the orca yelled, and then shouted, “Yay!” just as it breached.
Okay, I was thrilled. The orcas also weren’t there the next day (too busy elsewhere, they said). But they were back shortly afterwards. Thanks to my neighbor, Gary Jones, I have pictures to share with you.
Enjoy!
© 2012 Robyn M Fritz
photos © 2012 Gary R Jones
Yes, It’s Lettuce
August 17, 2012 by
Add it up! Take one amateur photographer. Discover fascination with brilliant red lettuce. Take up close and possibly way too personal photographs. Don’t make people guess what it is. Happy summer from Seattle.
© 2012 Robyn M Fritz
Lavender: When Summer Makes You Smile
August 17, 2012 by
We joke about summer in Seattle all year—and can’t stop smiling when it shows up!
Bonus is, it also smells great, especially when the lavender harvest is in.
I am so grateful when I work to establish good relationships with people who love their work, and then I enjoy the fruits of our mutual labor! Like my auto mechanic I bumped into this morning while we were waiting for iced coffees. Like the farmer at the West Seattle Farmer’s Market, who brought me some tiny lemon basil plants to humor my city girl’s green thumb, knowing all the while that I’d still buy oodles of it when she harvests, which I did (what you don’t gobble yourself makes lovely gifts).
And especially like Marcella Stachurski at Cedarbrook Lavender and Herb Farm in Sequim, Washington, who picked up the phone a few years ago, when the Seattle lavender crop had failed, and promptly filled my entire large large large order. It was literally on my doorstep the next morning (having delighted our postal carrier all day on his route). The lavender doesn’t get picked until it’s ready, and it’s shipped the same day.
Summer. Lavender. People who love their jobs.
Awesome.
© 2012 Robyn M Fritz
How Do We Really Define Land of the Free?
July 5, 2012 by
The Fourth of July in America has become a puzzle for me. We’ve devolved into an ‘us or them’ paradigm, it seems, where the only thing that matters is our military. Why is that?
Seriously, why is that?
I honor every American who works hard at whatever he or she does: from serving in the military to growing food, building roads, teaching, writing, fitting shoes, whatever it is. Especially those who love their work and respect other people.
I’m also puzzled over the state of our national discourse: people argue, rant and rave, attack characters instead of debate ideas. And somehow in that we get nowhere, as a society, as a culture, as a country.
The Fourth of July used to be something that narrowed the field, so to speak. It gave us a time out to look around and say, “Yes, wow, I am a citizen of this great country.” Time to think about it: “What does that mean, exactly, to be a citizen of the United States of America right here and now?”
Sadly, our culture now seems to be one that perpetuates fear. Yes, there are plenty of things we can fear: hatred, contempt, the politics of loathing, economic turmoil, drought, crop failure, cropped pants, and men who don’t wear shirts in the summer.
But there are plenty more things we can love: each other, determination, courage, experimentation, curiosity, intelligence, commitment, and winter fleece.
There are even more things we can do: we can get together every day, in large ways and small, and connect with each other. A quick smile at the market, a nod at work, letting the annoying driver cut in ahead of you, staring at the sun shining through a thunderstorm (it happens).
The Fourth of July is one of those days: connect to all Americans, as Americans, regardless. We’re not just military. We shouldn’t be. We have other things to be in the world: ambassadors of freedom.
Here’s hoping that next year when they televise the concerts and fireworks and highlight the people we should thank for their service, that they move beyond the military and show people of all races and creeds, representatives from each state, smiling and laughing together, joining together, one heart and one voice: we’re doing something great in the world, together. We’re Americans. We’re proud. We love: each other and the world. Whatever the work we do, whatever we look like. We matter. All of us, together. We’re all the land of the free.
You in?
© 2012 Robyn M Fritz
Chiropractic Care Isn’t just for People … or Dogs
May 17, 2012 by
Some days you’re just goofing off and you find news about somebody who makes a difference. This one is ironic to me, since it deals with chiropractic care, this time for race horses, in particular, for 2012 Kentucky Derby winner I’ll Have Another.
Here’s a link to the article, “Equine Chiropractic Asset to O’Neill Team,” just published in thebloodhorse.com. It profiles Larry Jones, a chiropractor who works exclusively with race horses. Jones’ philosophy is that a lot of physical problems in race horses, especially back issues, can be treated more successfully chiropractically than with medications. It’s his life’s work—a calling and a business.
A lot of people dismiss chiropractic, like they dismiss other holistic modalities, including diet and exercise. So they patchwork a problem. Give a drug for pain. Take some time off to recover. Prey on suffering people with the latest miracle cure.
Sometimes that works. Well, not the miracle cure bit, but you get the idea.
I personally have had better luck in my own life with chiropractic than with most other modalities I’ve tried. My dog, Murphy, also benefited from chiropractic care off and on during her life. And acupuncture, Chinese herbs, diet, drugs, and laughs. I had to work hard to find out what worked for her, and my other animals, Alki and Grace the Cat.
I’ve had to work hard to find solutions for myself, too. Why? Because our current medical system doesn’t like anything that doesn’t benefit a big drug or hospital or insurance company. They’d rather you take a drug, which can mess with your body, than have a chiropractic treatment that both resolves the issue and makes your body, and your mind, feel better.
Case in point: I’ve worked very hard to get well and stay well. Years of work. Now my insurance company doesn’t want to cover a $59 chiropractic bill for anything, including a migraine. They’d rather I pay $100 a dose for a pill. This infuriates me and makes my chiropractor boil. And it should. If we have to pay for health insurance, we should get coverage for what works for us, and not for what some unknown person thinks should work.
So I credit Doug O’Neill for an enlightened approach to his stable’s care. Winning the Kentucky Derby didn’t prove that equine chiropractic care works. But since a winning horse benefited by it, maybe other trainers will look at it for their horses’ care.
After all, we all get out of whack on occasion, and chiropractic works.
Health insurance, not so much.
© 2012 Robyn M Fritz
Why the New iPhone Commercials Fail
May 4, 2012 by
I actually have an iPhone. I got a smartphone for my business so I can take credit cards at public events. I wanted the easiest phone to use, and an easy-on-the-eyes background.
Then I discovered you can make phone calls with the iPhone, and if you’re lost and know the tool is there, you can even find yourself on the phone, and possibly get un-lost, if that’s even a condition. I even downloaded a song to play in a workshop I teach.
The iPhone is brilliant. I now understand why people like technology.
So why is the phone’s new TV campaign so poorly done?
So far I’ve seen two commercials. Each star a person—and their phone. In each, the person, one a woman, the other a man, seem engaging, dynamic, successful, and interested.
But they are having a relationship with their phone. They not only like it: they smugly relish it.
Did you notice that there are no other humans in these commercials? One lone human and their talking phone? Doesn’t that just creep you out?
Here’s a better idea: have a commercial in which different people talk to each other about something, sending directions, restaurant ideas, sight-seeing, whatever, but doing it together, all made easier by technology.
But let’s not have technology replace human interaction.
Oh, wait, we already did that. Let’s take it back. Stat.
(c) 2012 Robyn M Fritz
