The Baker and the Phoenix

Thanksgiving is a day to teach and be reminded that much of our human experience is determined by how we define "abundance" and tomorrow the boys and I will be unveiling our first Thanksgiving play, "The Baker and the Phoenix." It started out as a simple seedling of a story months ago, likely on a chaotic morning car ride when it was too cold for me to stick my head out the window and crank the radio to escape the fighting, potty-talking and horrific noise from the back seat. If you've ever spent time with a 6 or 7 year old, you know that they don't miss much. Every slight note of hypocrisy and unfairness is immediately pounced on and their powers of perception also extend to those around them; who has what, who is taller, faster, reads better, reads at all in my son's case, who gets to have video games, who gets more grapes, for Christ's sake..the list is endless. I may have planted the seed for this story, but I'm convinced that it's my son's observations of the world around him and his need to reconcile those observations with what is in his heart that quickly turned it into something much, much more. Of course, it will likely be carried out like an outtake from "Waiting for Guffman" but the intention is so there and I'm grateful for every moment we spent creating this story.

The Baker and the Phoenix

"The Baker and the Phoenix" is the story of an old baker woman who lives alone high in a remote mountain village. The village was once abundant with trees, animals and gardens but the greedy villagers sold the lumber and watched as it was carted away, counting their shiny new coins. Of course, the money was spent in no time and they were left with dry soil, no wood for cooking or shelter and little food. Despite her age and her few supplies the old baker woman continued to make small loaves of bread for the villagers each day. If they couldn't pay her she simply smiled, shook their hand and sent them on their way, assuring them they would someday pay her back.

The baker woman also had a gift with animals and was always nursing injured or sick animals back to health and feeding little ones who had been abandoned. (This is also how we ended up with a "shop mountain lion" named "Mookie" who I'm sure will tear down our entire set and eat the entire cast). One day she found a great bird deep in the forest and brought him back to her shop. She could see nothing wrong with him and despite all her efforts, he continued to sit in the corner of the shop, watching her with sad eyes as each day another of his shabby feathers fell to the ground. Although she was perplexed and frustrated by his failure to return to health, she kept on trying all she could think of, never giving up hope.

Finally, one day she realized that she had only a small handful of wheat left for bread and just a few splinters of wood left to start her morning fire. Her body ached and her bones creaked as she spent the early hours making as many small loaves as she possibly could from the few ingredients she had left. When the last loaf was handed out, the old baker woman had no choice but to turn away a family in desperate need of food. She boarded up her shop, realizing she now truly had nothing left to give. Then baker woman collapsed into her chair and cried, not for herself in her cold, dark shop, but for those she could no longer feed.

As her tears slowed, she looked up just in time to see the very last feather fall from the great bird (name TBD prior to curtain call). She wept once again for the bird, who was surely too sick to go on. The bird had been quietly watching her all this time and then, he bowed his head and a single tear fell from his eye. When the tear landed, it made a flash of golden smoke and there, before the baker's eyes, the flash turned into a stalk of wheat, growing from her dirt floor. Then suddenly, the bird raised his head and let out a piercing cry. A brilliant blue-green light started to swirl from the bird's claws, up his chest, then turning a blinding yellow and red above the crown of his head. When the light became so bright that the baker woman had to shield her eyes, there was a loud CRACK of thunder and the bird burst (but not in a gross way) into a million shards of light. The baker woman was in shock and jumped back to avoid being burnt by the sparks that had been sent all across her bakery. When the smoke faded, she ran to the spot where the bird had been and fell over the small pile of ashes. She held them in her hands and mourned the lost of this poor animal. She sat there all the rest of that day and deep into the night. When the very first light of dawn started to appear, the old baker realized that her shop was quite bright, and she was not cold at all. She stood on her fragile legs and turned. There, in her oven, burned a fire larger than any she could remember. A single spark from the bird lay in the bottom. She also noticed that the stalk of wheat had grown over night and she quickly got an idea. She worked as quickly as her old bones could carry her, pulling the wheat from the stalk, grinding it and making her dough.

When the villagers woke that morning they were greeted with the strong scent of fresh baked bread. They were sure they were only imagining it but walked towards the bakery anyway. When they arrived, the old baker woman hobbled over to her shop window and opened it to reveal dozens of loaves of bread, enough to feed everyone in the village. She worked all that day, feeling more alive and spry than she could ever remember. When she finally closed her shop window long after dinner, she sank down in her chair, her heart content. Then she remembered her friend, the dear, dear bird. She looked over to the corner where he had stayed for months, and she could hardly believe her eyes; there was a tiny hatchling in it's place. She quickly fed the bird and made it a small nest. Then, the tiny bird bowed it's head and began to quickly grow, sprouting brilliant green and blue feathers all over it's thin, gray body. When it finally stopped growing, it raised it's regal head to show a wonderful crown of golden feathers. The woman stepped back in awe and the great bird slowly spread it's enormous feathers to reveal wings so wide and full they stretched from one side of her shop to the other.

After that day, the villagers used the stalk of wheat to start a garden and there were soon saplings growing throughout the forest. Slowly, animals began to return to the forest and the villagers were once again happy and healthy. The great bird, the unnamed Phoenix (we'll call him Lee Majors for now) left the same day he returned to his true glorious state, but he could often be seen flying over the forest, checking in on the old woman who had cared for him so diligently. Every 7 or 8 years, Lee Majors would return to her shop, his feathers listless and tattered and the baker would care for him until he once again burst into ashes (still not ever in a gross way) and became reborn as a Phoenix.

*Snip-snap-snout, this tale's told out*

Worry Warts

Having a family binds you together with other people in a way more intimate than most of us can imagine. Sometimes you feel like the crew of a ship, out at sea, isolated from the world around you by waves and the knowledge that everything you need can fit into one little boat. Sometimes you feel like you've been secretly cast on a season of "Big Brother" with a group of people who just want to fight, scream, pee their pants and throw food. Luckily that doesn't happen nearly as often. But even in a stable, happy family there are times when the sails get ripped, the rations run out and big decisions have to be made. By someone. And it's you. Things are quickly changing for us; long-held dreams are suddenly coming to fruition, new developments seem to be happening daily and things we had always put in the "it's a given" pile are on the chopping block. Everyone has to make decisions and I know mine are not on the same plane as deciding whether to cut the blue wire or the red wire but the problem with being an adult with children means that all these decisions need to happen while still packing lunches, doing store runs, making sure the special red socks are washed, being responsible for 10 feet worth of toenails (yes, the dog counts) and all the other things we all do everyday. When big things come up it creates a perfect pressure cooker environment. Before we know it, we become so overwhelmed that we can't think straight and that's when the worrying comes in. In so many instances, the thought of deciding and choosing the wrong wire is just too much, so it's easier to worry obsessively until we are backed into a corner, time is out and we just say "Uncle!" and choose something, anything. Or worse, we let someone else do the choosing for us.

When this all started a few months ago I noticed that my shoulders had started creeping up to my jaw, as if I'd shrugged and they'd just stayed there. I went to bed each night making lists, running numbers in my head, and feeling anxiety about my knitting project. Since I took up knitting to have a relaxing hobby I knew I'd let my worrying ways get out of control. There are so, so many things in life that warrant a good worry and there are billions more that simply do not. When we're overwhelmed it becomes impossible to separate the two and if we put the worry-worthy items in Column A and the not-so-much in Column B it's easy to see how we spiral. The lists combine and worrying suddenly becomes preventative medicine for thousands of inconsequential things. But worrying is not preventative medicine. I've started to realize, probably much later than most, that many times worrying is just a synonym for fear and helplessness and if you can correctly name the real feeling then your work is halfway done. I once remarked to a very wise woman that I was very worried about a good friend. Her reaction? "Oh, that's terrible! Don't do that! When we worry about someone, it tells them that we don't believe they can do it, that we doubt them, that we think they are a lost cause." While I can think of several people I've encountered who are, in fact, lost causes, it really struck a chord. When I think of friends who are ill, do I really think they won't make it? Absolutely not. I see their fire, their strength and I feel no doubt whatsoever. But I do worry about how they feel; I worry if they're getting enough rest, eating well, feeling alone, feeling frightened, if they're getting enough love. And of course, the interesting thing is that all those questions can be answered or remedied with a phone call or a visit yet many times we just don't do it. We don't want to intrude or over step, so instead we do the most proactive thing we can think of, which is to worry about them. If you were waiting for medical results or just lost your job and a friend called to say, "I worried so much for you last night I slept three hours and cried in the shower for you this morning," it certainly doesn't inspire confidence.

We all know the haggard, over-worried person who combines and confuses love, empathy, compassion and action with worry and it's not a pretty picture. I've become determined to NOT be that person. It's not the person I set out to be and it's not the person I want my children to wake up to every morning. It's so much more empowering to be a solver of problems, a maker of decisions and a care-notter of pointless, petty things. Vowing to never, ever worry is pointless, but I do believe I can cut my worrying by at least half. Below are some helpful worrying alternatives:

1. Breathing, breathing is good.

2. When you feel overwhelmed with worry, try a good Uttanasana pose and you'll feel how all your worries are quite literally shoving you down. It's a great way to force a deep breath.

3. Write them down. Look at them hard and decide if you want these worries to be so powerful in your life that you'll take time to write them down.

4. Ask yourself if you can fix it. If yes, make a plan to do so. If not, think of three things that could at least make it better or make you not care about it. Write them down if you need to.

5. FORCE yourself to sing. It doesn't have to be "The Love Cats" but it probably shouldn't be "Comfortably Numb." On my current worry-free playlist: "In A Big Country," lots of Bollywood and "Good Feeling."

6. Kung Fu fight! Preferably with someone of equal or larger size. This one really works.

7. Exercise. It works but has varying levels of discomfort.

8. Hug a child (always get permission if not your own).

9. Take a dog for a walk. Having something be so grateful to you for 30 minutes definitely clears your mind a bit.

10. My favorite - do something for someone else and expect NOTHING in return. Don't do it grudgingly, don't drag your feet, don't worry that they won't like it since that's, you know, another worry. Just know that you're making someone's day better and possibly taking a worry off their list.

11. If all else fails and you feel yourself sinking in worry, watch this and regroup.