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Mountain Medicine

IMG_0069_2Strong as a boulder, small as a pebble, that’s how I feel after returning from a twenty-day backpacking expedition on the John Muir Trail (JMT) in California.  My three trail companions and I hiked over 200 miles from Tuolumne meadows to Mt. Whitney, crossed seven mountain passes over 11,000 feet, and earned a total elevation gain of 46,000 feet during the course of this magnificent, everything-worked-according-to-our-plan trip.

Even though there are enormous health benefits to daily load-bearing exercise, drinking 2-3 liters of water and massive bowel elimination, it was being in the mountains that felt most therapeutic. Most of our days were spent in dry sunny high alpine zones where we walked by pristine lakes and rivers, through boulder fields, talus slopes and scattered granite outcroppings while mountains, dramatic rock cathedrals, either surrounded or beckoned us forward on our southward route.

IMG_0059_2Of course, it was physically rigorous, and consumed all my attention, to climb and then descend the switchbacks on every mountain pass.  Each step up the mountain, the rarified air, brought me closer to the dizzying cerulean blue sky and dazzling panoramic views.  It’s the kind of high one can’t get from smoking or imbibing; elevation elation comes from hard-core effort.  However, the subjective significance of all my efforts shrunk to pebble size compared to the import of the geologic forces that both built and eroded the Sierra Nevada mountain range.  It was obvious: me, my time on earth is puny; I too will erode. My insignificance in the scheme of things wasn’t a negation of my existence, just a perfectly calibrated dose of reality, and that is exactly the kind of medicine the mountains delivers.

IMG_0116_2Being in this vast sparse rocky land, I found the spaciousness and silence in myself to safely make my way without much self-commentary given how the wilderness wholly absorbed me. I spent entire days observing the shifts in light, the pecular and wonderful rock formations, the coursing of water through streams, the emerald and turquoise lakes populated by trout, and the ever changing vantage points which convinced me that I was beholding the most beautiful sight in my entire life, only to cancel that thought ten switchbacks later when I would again be forced by sheer awe to make that proclamation all over again.

Now as I re-enter my life in Seattle, I am not just noticing natural beauty in my surroundings, I am stopping more regularly, and opening up space and time in myself to really experience it. This morning as I stood in my kitchen washing dishes, I looked out to the backyard and observed water evaporating and swirling into an ethereal mist off our canvas chairs from the previous night’s rain; pausing, I engaged in this very quiet transitory moment. Allowing myself more time to concentrate on each moment as it arises requires an internal stillness. My mentors, the mountains, modeled how to hold steady and poised while in the flow of changing life conditions.

Having had the good fortune to traverse the John Muir Trail, I feel inspired to stay on the trail, continuing to take one step after the next.

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Narrative Medicine

IMG_0462I went to my GP, Dr. William Shaul, at Group Health today.  As we sat together discussing my current concerns in the exam room, he, sitting on the black stool in a pink-stripped shirt, was, as I have come to expect, very attentive.  Even though he was trying to get a read on my issues, I couldn’t resist diagnosing him.  You see, he is a heart type in Chinese Medicine, with the classic physical characteristic of a round, bald head and red tinged skin; however, the warmth in his eyes and genuineness in his laughter is what really gives his elemental type away.  Just as I get his type, he gets mine.  I’m the kind of patient who is primarily interested in practicing self-trust when it comes to dealing with my health issues. Respectfully and tactfully, he offers suggestions, tests, and diagnostic scans but doesn’t judge me for not choosing them.  Or when I do, he promptly facilitates their procurement. After he thoroughly and expeditiously handles all the medical business, he usually asks me for the real tell, “So, what books are you reading these days?”  And, that’s when we get down to the business of talking about our real fix: literature.  My husband, Craig, on his medical appointments, also shares his own love of books with Dr. Shaul; they, both voracious readers of the same genre of guy-lit, have a lot to discuss on his infrequent visits too.

When I was my mother’s caregiver, I went to see Dr. Shaul for a routine check up when the weariness and stress was at its highest, most crushing level.  After hearing my story and asking questions, he wrote orders for metabolic and blood panels, but it was his next set of recommendations that set this doctor apart from every other.  He handed me a list of five books on caregiving, most written by caregivers themselves. After reading over the list, I asked, “Is this my prescription?”  He laughed and said compassionately, “Yes.  It might help.”

That prescription of books was narrative medicine at its finest.  I read all the books Dr. Shaul recommended only to find that not one writer really exposed the rigor and risks I experienced as a caregiver.  Understandably, most caregivers either are dead, too exhausted or shut down to their own experience to ever give voice to it. This prompted me to start working on my own manuscript with the goal of shedding light on the interior life of a caregiver.

Dr. Shaul could not have known at the time when he prescribed his book medicine that it would be a springboard into intensive reckoning and reflection, not only about taking responsibility for my mother’s life, but ultimately, my own too.

He belongs in the tradition of healers who treat their patients with a good story.  Now, that’s a remedy I will gladly take.

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Egg On My Face

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Although my client, Rhama, and I both agree that the secret to clear skin is good nutrition, especially raw fruits and vegetables, we, like women of all ages, are always on the hunt for an anti-aging facial treatment.

Here is a recording of Rhama, who at 94 years old still has lovely, smooth skin. She dishes on how to keep surfaces, her skin and cooper pots, shiny using common household items.

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Rhama’s Home Remedy Secrets

As a proponent of waste not, want not, I have been saving my eggshells (drying in oven and then powdering in blender) for a calcium garden amendment, but it never occurred to me that I could take it a step further, and save a little albumin on the inside of the shell for my face.

This week, I tried Rhama’s beauty secret and can report that while the albumin (egg white) was drying on my face, I felt a tightening, as in toning, sensation.  After I washed it off, my skin felt satiny and was left with a soft sheen.  Is it actually tightening my pores or ridding me of wrinkles? I’m not sure, but I can tell you I like how it feels so I’ll keep doing it.

The best part about putting egg on my face is nobody has to know. In the past when I walked around the house with other facial masks like clay, blended cucumber or sake lees, little dried flakes or wet chunks would plop onto my breakfast plate or onto the floor, triggering my husband to want to know, “What is that crap on your face?”  Now with a clear transparent glaze of egg whites on my face, my secret vanity will not be betrayed by its subtle sheen.

 

 

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On Good Shoes

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I love my shoes. Seventeen years ago, I ordered a pair of these custom made shoes at Michigan Women’s Music Festival, and have enjoyed both their durability and perpetually hip style all these years.  Currently, with these shoes and my black skinny jeans on, I fashion myself as one of the original albeit unrecognized Beatles. I love you ya ya ya.  Maybe it’s because I love them so much that I started fearing their inevitable break down, and so three Sundays ago, I went in search of new ones at the DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse) store in Tukwila with best friend Anna who was on her own shoe hunt.

After entering the store, I initially felt confident I would find something with aisle after aisle of shoes and boots awaiting me. But, I wasn’t in the store more than ten minutes before I starting seeing all the single shoes on display more like cheap chess pieces than footwear.  I had the sick-in-my- gut feeling that if I bought a pair, I would end up being the pawn, the loser in this consumer game.  Upon inspection, and after trying on different shoes, I started feeling even more revulsion creep under my skin.  All these made in China shoes, even the brands I preferred like Keen or Merrells, were cheaply fabricated at a not-so-discounted price.  It was probably the sheer volume of shoeboxes that reminded me that every square inch of the store was designed to capture my money. Regardless, we both left DSW without spending a dime and feeling strangely vacant, at a loss for how to fulfill the longings which brought us there in the first place.

Which is why I redirected my attention and gave my old favorites some love this weekend.  I brought them to a shoe repair store for new heel plates (only $4.00), bought some soft insoles (only $3.95) for added comfort and then gave them a shine at home.  Taking good care of these well-crafted (and repairable) shoes reconnected me to their integrity and value.  With good maintenance, they could probably serve me for another ten years at least.

When I was in acupuncture school, I learned about the significance of taking care of one shoes during a session with a middle-aged man who came into the student clinic. He was an unusual patient because unlike most other patients who dressed casually, he came dressed in a nicely pressed suit and tie. I remember when the other intern and I sat with our supervisor discussing our observations and diagnosis, and she asked, “Did you notice his shoes?”  In fact, I did.  His shoes were old, worn and scuffed, and not at all in keeping with the rest of his expensive outfit. She reminded us that the state of his shoes suggested a kidney deficiency pattern because he was not taking care of his root, his feet. Other symptoms like fatigue, back and knee pain also supported this diagnosis.

I am reminded time after time that doing basic maintenance, whether it is on my car, body or shoes, always makes me feel more secure, well rooted, and self-valuing.

My shoes and I:  We’re good to each other.  After all, we have many more miles to go together.DSC06087

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Minding Myself, Minding Others

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Besides the Zen meditation retreat I attended last weekend, I also had two mindfulness experiences last week that reinforced the value of my training.

In Janurary, I took a 6 session online webinar for facilitator training from the Prison Mindfulness Institute called, Path of Freedom, a mindfulness and emotional intelligence training for incarcerated youth and adults. As part of the curriculum, we, the facilitators-in-training, were taught about the concept of holding your seat, taken from the horse training sport of dressage.  Basically, the idea is to not let your mind or emotions drag you around like an out-of-control horse; instead, keep your center (hold your seat) as you ride through all your mental and emotional fluctuations.  For homework, we were asked to write about situations where we had to hold our seat within ourselves or with others.

Well, that week, I didn’t particularly have any triggers so I was worried I wouldn’t have anything to write about, but after going on a series of errands, I found I had plenty of material.  My first stop was to my local natural food store (PCC).  Even though I am ordinarily triggered by their high prices, on that day, I put items in my basket with relative equanimity.  It wasn’t until I was waiting in line to check out that I was challenged to hold my seat.  You see, the woman in front of me had some indecipherable issue with her debit card.  It was the kind of issue where back and forth communication between her and the cashier seemed to go on and on.  All customers have an intuitive sense of the amount of time that simple questions like, “Do you want cash back?” or “Did you bring your own bag?” should take, and this interaction was definitely taking too long by my clock. At the same moment my internal sensor was alerting me that I was in the wrong check out line, I decided to try the hold your seat exercise. Instead of focusing on the cashier, I focused on my breath and stilling my mind.  It’s not that I didn’t notice her inefficient use of time, or her poor spatial organization when she bagged her customer’s groceries; it was that I was relaxed and easy with it.  Just as I was settling into taking whatever time it was going to take, I noticed at the edge of my periphery vision, a cashier at the next register opening her drawer. I made a beeline to that register, beating out other customers to be the first in line.  Holding my seat didn’t mean I needed to stay frozen in an unwanted situation. Instead, by centering myself, I was able to relax and keep my awareness open and alert so I could fluidly move out of stasis.

My next stop was to get gas at the Safeway gas station on Rainier Avenue S. When I opened the door to the cashier’s kiosk, I had an instant flash of irritation, an inner harrumph, as I was once again at the back of a long line of customers waiting to pay while a man at the front of the line was raising his voice with the cashier.  “Not this again,” I thought to myself.  This time, the tension wasn’t all within me, although I did have my own fair share given that the Safeway on Rainier Avenue is the epicenter of gang-related violence in South Seattle. I was all too aware that an angry man could turn into a dangerous man in this setting, but I decided to focus on holding my seat, rather than entertaining random fear.  Ordinarily, in this kind of situation, I would be primarily focused on listening to my own internal annoyance, but as I stilled my mind, I started listening, really listening, to the biracial man at the head of the line.  Apparently, he did his own calculations and the amount printed on his debit receipt was inaccurate.  After the cashier asked the man to step aside for a few minutes so he could take care of the other customers waiting in line before attending to his issue, I made eye contact from my place in the line and said, “You did the math, eh?”

“Yep, and this receipt says I saved 70 cents but actually I only saved 45 cents.   It’s wrong.”

“They (meaning The Man) count on us not doing the math, on us being stupid.”

“You got that straight,” he agreed.  Two African Americans in line in front of me also turned toward me, and nodded, adding to the consensus.

“Thanks for speaking up,” I said.

“You GOT TO!”

“Yep, I learned something real important today.”

After I paid for my gas and started walking towards the door, the formerly angry man, now the acknowledged man, said, “You have a real nice day, Miss.”

Being mindful doesn’t mean just being exclusively focused on yourself, and your own internal experience.  No, being mindful means opening up your whole sensory body to really experience what’s happening, both inside and around you.  If we practice mindfulness every day, and have the discipline to hold our seat, we might become enlightened in every ordinary situation.

 

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Tea Time

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Yesterday, my friend and neighbor, Jackie, knocked on my door to drop off a little bag of Souchong tea.  The day before she sat at my kitchen counter drinking ginger green tea while we shared very wifey topics like roasted chicken recipes and kitchen remodeling ideas; she also listened to me make a vow to use up and/or throw away all the packaged tea in my cabinet before committing to a very few selections of loose herbal and black tea.  In turn, she made some black tea recommendations, and generously followed up by giving me this sample to try.

Our conversation about tea went something like this:

Me:  “I’m sick of looking at tea bags at the bottom of cups – they’re so ugly – like afterbirth.”

Jackie: “Yeah, they kind of look like an herbal tampon.”

Aesthetics is part of the reason I want to make this change. Saving space is another. Probably the most important reason is because my cabinet of teas has become one of those messy bulging avoidant areas, usually found behind doors or in drawers, which has become dreadfully stagnant. I’m not sure why I’ve had such a block to throwing out those 3” by 5” boxes, which neither I, nor my guests, ever choose.  Maybe it’s because all those colorful boxes give the illusion of having choices, and I’ve been choosing illusion over reality.

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As I write this post, I am sipping on the Souchong tea and it’s good, I guess. I have to admit: I’m not very discerning when it comes to tea. If a tea has a medicinal benefit then I usually can convince myself to like it but I’ve never had strong preferences based on taste alone.  I know I don’t like fruity teas but beyond that I couldn’t even pretend to have an opinion on a tea’s qualities, never mind its aroma.  Which is probably why I have been buying packaged tea.  And I must admit the teas I buy are usually geared towards what’s on sale versus its ingredients.

As I begin the gradual emptying of my tea cabinet, I’ll also have to ready myself for filling the void. Probably the only way for me to feel more connected to my teas is if I actually grow, harvest and store the leaves and flowers in glass canisters of my choosing.  That’s a lot of work.  And so is cleaning out a teapot every day. But that’s how I roll. I suspect my lack of involvement in my tea collection has kept me indifferent and distant all along.

A few years ago, my friend Lizzie actually gave me the tea plant, Camellia Sinensis, which grows well in the Pacific Northwest, but I wasn’t ready for it then and sadly, it didn’t survive.  I’ll have to try growing it again, and perhaps start foraging for other tea ingredients, but in the meantime, come on over for tea.  Right now, I have quite a selection!

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Doggie Daily Self-Cure

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When Craig comes home from work, he opens the door, and before greeting me, he first gives attention to our beloved companion dog, Golda, who awaits him every day. After setting down his shoulder bag he puts on a rubber dog-grooming glove, and with all the care of a skilled masseuse he gives her a vigorous skin brushing. The glove is dimpled, similar to those old-style doormats that are emblazoned with the word “welcome. Should Craig be distracted momentarily from this duty when he arrives home, Golda follows him around the house, nudging him with her nose as a gentle reminder that he has a job to do. When he gets down on the floor with her, he makes sure to brush not just her torso but each armpit and leg too.

It’s this act of doggie daily self-cure (and her daily raw chicken liver with kibble) that I believe has kept our arthritic Golda on her paws.  It’s also an act of daily self-cure I personally  partake in because in both humans and animals alike, skin brushing stimulates blood and lymphatic circulation. For an old dog like Golda who is no longer active, and cannot scratch or self-groom, this kind of friction massage is very therapeutic.

In all the seventeen years she has lived with us, veterinarian visits have been very few and far between. Now, besides diminished hearing and vision, her back legs sometimes fail her when she mounts steps and she often struggles when both getting down and rising from the oak floors so we occassionally give her a lift.  Our old gal has had a few fast growing growths that were removed from her paws and larger undiagnosed tumors remain in her abdomen.  She sleeps for most of the day, but still looks forward to her daily walks, two bowel movements, supper, and of course, skin brushing.

A few months ago, after Craig built a ramp so she could still get in and out of the dog door on her own, we knew we were entering into doggie end-of-life care. Our Golda, even in her old age, is still a beautiful and serene creature.  Through the years, we have covered a lot of ground, and gone the distance – together.  Her comfort is our comfort.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Winter Garden Food Tour

 

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This morning seven of us women started at Parsley Farm, had a good look around at the winter crops, and then mosied over to Mary’s who is also utilizing every square inch of her yard to grow food.   Mary shared her folksy water storage idea using plastic bladders from wine boxes.

We moved on down the road to check out Anna’s expansive first year garden, and learn her trick of digging her food waste right into her garden beds.  We crossed over to Val’s and learned about her goal of making a wildlife habitat and then ended at Annya’s place where she taught us how to pack in lots of fruit and veggies in a small space.

These kinds of informal, small scale, neighbor to neighbor sharings really make my day.

Even though it’s our time to rest, just like our garden beds, here are some resources if you get to thinking about next season’s garden.

Excellent organic seeds at a good price:

http://www.fedcoseeds.com/

King County’s Free soil testing program:

http://www.kingcd.org/pro_far_soi.htm

King County’s manure share program:

http://www.kingcd.org/programs-farm-manure.htm

Year round Garden Hotline:

www.gardenhotline.org  206-633-0224

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The Cleaning Cure

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Have you ever had the experience of waiting for those precious few days when your partner will be away, and then finally you are alone? This morning Craig left to visit Indian Bob over the Christmas holiday so finally I had the solitude I’d been waiting for to start rewriting the first chapter of my memoir.

Well, of course, instead of sitting down to write, I had to clean the space first.  That’s not too avoidant, it’s practically a norm for writers to clean their space as a first attempt to clear their head before banging it up against their subject matter. But when I decided to make DIY household cleaning supplies, I knew I was really getting off my mark.

The reality is I’ve been putting off making these simple, totally non-toxic, effective and inexpensive cleansers for about as long as I’ve been putting off rewriting chapter one.  As it turned out, spending the very few minutes it took to make an All Purpose Spray Cleaner and a Soft Scrub cleanser, using Seattle writer Raleigh Briggs’ very cool book, Make Your Place, affordable, sustainable nesting skills, triggered an all out, clean every white surface in sight siege.  Raleigh Briggs offers excellent non-toxic solutions for household cleansers so her book is a small and very worthwhile investment.  She uses basic and inexpensive ingredients like baking soda, vinegar and essential oils among other simple ingredients, and enough practical hands on tips to make all conscientious homemakers succeed at using non-toxic cleansers as a first choice.

This is my favorite recipe for making a soft scrub for cleaning bathtubs and sinks:

1 c baking soda

3-5 drops tea tree oil (other oils are fine too – lemon, eucalyptus, peppermint)

¼ c liquid castile soap

2 aspirins, powdered

Mix all ingredients together and add enough water to make a paste. Keep in a shampoo bottle or small Tupperware container.  To use, apply with a sponge, scrub and rinse thoroughly.

Now back to the clean white page.

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Rice Currency

img.phpSouthend Sake for sale this Saturday (Dec. 8th) at the Rainier Beach Community Club Holiday Bazaar located at VFW, 6038 S. Pilgrim Street, Seattle, 10a.m.-2p.m.

A few years ago we came under the tutelage of sake master, Ten Ridlon.  Ten passed on all the technicalities and timing of adding the primary ingredients (water, rice, koji and yeast) over a forty-five day period.  When rice and koji are introduced gradually into the fermentation, at repeated intervals, the yeasts produce alcohol at higher concentrations than any other type of fermented alcohol. It took awhile for us to acquire our own mastery over these few ingredients, but now we are making consistent delicious batches of Shiboritate Namazake Genshu Nigori Sake.

Let me explain these Japaenese terms:

Shiboritate means that it was just pressed.  The sake we are selling on Saturday was pressed on Thursday night.

Namazake is a sake that has not been pasteurized.  It has a live culture of probiotics, which requires refrigerated storage and has a shorter shelf-life than pasteurized sake.

Genshu is undiluted sake.  Most sake is diluted with water after brewing to lower the alcohol content, but genshu is not.

Nigori is cloudy sake.  The sake is passed through a loose mesh to separate it from the mash.  It isn’t filtered thereafter and there is much rich sediment in the bottle.  Before serving, the bottle is shaken to mix the sediment and turn the sake white or cloudy.

Unlike beer, sake, fermented rice wine, tastes more nutritive, and its sparkly, clean disposition reminds you that it is very much alive. I only drink it in tiny sips due to its high alcoholic content however; Craig enjoys sake with most meals.  As grill master, he especially enjoys using it as a main ingredient for his moistening marinades for fish, pork and chicken.  I use sake kasu, or sake lees, the remaining solids that were pressed from the liquid sake, for pickling, and experimentally in cooking.  I also use it as a face mask.

In 8th century Japan, rice grains were traditionally used as a commodity, a means of currency.  At Parsley Farm, we would like to continue trading in grain and we encourage our neighbors to develop their own mediums for currency so we can have a very vibrant and alive marketplace in Upper Rainier Beach.