Amazing, isn’t it~ another Christmas, come and gone.  I must admit, I’m always a bit relieved when all the hoopla is over, particularly all the advertising and inane Christmas music.  Really, sometimes I think if I hear Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer one more time I’ll commit hari kari.

The days leading up to Christmas were chock full, and I felt as if I were in the midst of a week long stress test – you know the kind where they have you walking on the treadmill and someone keeps ramping up the speed and the incline so that before long you’re huffing and puffing for all you’re worth while your heart pounds frantically in your chest.

Yes, that was my last week exactly.

Then came Christmas Eve, and a surprise invitation to have dinner with my cousin-in-law and her family.  So we did that- Jim, I, and my mother -three only children suddenly thrust into the midst of a large family Christmas, complete with toddlers running pantless through the dining room and large dogs escaping with muzzles full of ham.

Fun.  Really it was~ I’m not being sarcastic.  Spending time with a large family reminds me just how accustomed to the quiet, reclusive life I’ve  we’ve become.  There’s nothing wrong with small families, but life as an only child is definitely lived on a much smaller, less dramatic scale.  There are fewer people to be annoyed with, for one thing, fewer personalities with which to clash, fewer grudges to bear.  

But sometimes, and most especially at holidays I think, this very tiny family of ours seems rather forlorn.  When my cousin-in-law extended the invitatation, I think she was dumbfounded at the thought of a Christmas celebration consisting of three people gathered round the kitchen table.   Sometimes I do feel a bit of a lost soul at the holidays.  And it doesn’t help that  every year our little group seems to diminish in size.  So it was good to be included in their boisterous happy family - made me feel a bit like Tiny Tim, actually.

In the aftermath of that dinner, we hurried off to church for the 10:00 candlelight communion service.  It’s one of my favorite church services of the year, nothwithstanding that I’m up and down like a jack-in-the box between the handbell tables and the choir loft.   There is a calm that descends in the moment when the lights go off and we make our way out of the choir loft, lit candles in hand, to stand round the circumference of the church and sing Silent Night.  It’s a moment out of time, as if the world has stopped spinning on its crazy 21st century axis, and we’ve all been transported 100 years backwards, when life was simple and there were no beeping cell phones, no upside down mortgages, no terrorists with bombs in their underwear.

That Christmas Eve service is steeped in tradition, and perhaps that’s what  I love most about it.  Not only is the service itself part of a long tradition in the Christian church, but attending this particular one at this particular church is the one tradition my family has maintained for the past 14 years.   Our holidays seem so fluid these days – every year, the celebration takes a little bit different shape depending on travel plans and work schedules and musical performances.  But the Christmas Eve service – well, that’s a given.  We’re quite firmly rooted to being in that church on December 24, at 10:00 p.m.  Though I’m always really tired by that time of day, the music, the crush of warm bodies, the red sea of poinsettia’s adorning the chancel -it’s all a tonic for my world-weary soul.

Ah me, if only it could last.

But there is always an aftermath – for the past three days we’ve been traveling by car to our second home  here in Naples.  It really is a second home, for this is where the rest of our little family resides…our son and daughter in law, as well as my father and his wife. 

And so we have another celebration of sorts, in the aftermath of this Christmas just passed. 

How about you?  What is the aftermath of your Christmas?

It’s been a week to try women’s souls…nothing cataclysmic, thank the gods, but a preponderance of  disturbances and upsets that seemed quite determined to eradicate all those fine feelings of comfort and joy I was boasting about so happily a while back.

Too much work, for a start, at a time when I really wasn’t all that much of a mind to work at all.  And changes at work, to boot – changes that I don’t really cotton to all that well.   People are asking me to work in ways contradictory to my personality.  I feel like I know myself pretty well after almost 54 years of rather intensive study.  I know how I work best, understand what it is I need to make my work life productive and satisfying.  I think I’ve always known it, actually, going way back to the time when I dropped my plans to be a teacher, and my father asked me what I thought I’d like to do instead.

“I’m not really sure,” I admitted.  “But I think I’d like  to have my own little office where I work around nice people, but be able to do my own work all by myself,” I replied, inwardly shuddering at the memory of my practice teaching where I’d been surrounded by clamor and confusion and the demands of two dozen six year olds.

I’ve also learned that I don’t like being the main attraction, don’t enjoy being “in charge” of anyone other than myself.  That’s why I love being an accompanist so much – I’m just slightly in the background- necessary and valuable, but not the star of the show, collaboratively following someone else’s direction. 

No one in my life has ever tried to change me, and for that I’m grateful.  My parents always accepted my personality, and my husband has continued to honor all the traits which have become very deeply engrained in my half century on earth.  My truest friends loved me the way I am otherwise we don’t stay friends for long.  You see, I’m pretty easy to get along with unless you try to make me into something I’m not.  And then, as my mother says, I get my Irish up. 

Last week, that’s exactly what my boss did.  You see, she wants to change my job so that it becomes purely administrative.  She wants to hire other people to do the work I’m currently doing, and have me be the “gatekeeper,” corralling all their work, editing it, organizing it, and distributing it.  She wants to put me in charge, have me be the manager, pull me out of my nice little corner cubicle and put me at the center of an array of workers all funneling their work to me.  Just like all those little six years olds back in my practice teaching days, vying for my attention.

“But you know I don’t work well that way,” I protested.  “I really prefer working independently, I’m much more productive that way, and a lot less stressed.”

“You need to get over that,” she says, in the way she has of thinking she knows what’s best for everyone. 

Now, when people tell me I “need” to do something, I start to feel a distinct prickle at the back of my neck.  The hackles start to rise and I go into defensive mode.  Although I like to be a follower in my professional life, I’m extremely independent when it comes to matters of my personality and behavior.  Nobody tells me what I “need” to do or be. 

No Body.

“You certainly have a perfect right to decide how you want to run your business and this department,” I told her, crossing my arms over my chest in classic closed mind posture.  “But I have the right to decide how I want to work and I don’t want to work that way.”

She was actually speechless for about three seconds (a miracle really).

“Do you mean you’d leave?”

“I might,” I answered.  “I’ve been through a lot this past year, and I know that life is too short to be in a situation where I’m constantly unhappy.  I don’t have to do that, and I won’t.”

I don’t know whether I’ll have to make that decision or not, whether she’ll come up with an alternative plan we both can life with.  I’ve wondered lately whether I might have reached my shelf life with this particular job, whether it’s time to move on to something else.  There had been niggling thoughts about this in the back of mind last spring, before all the calamities of the summer hit. 

But change is hard for me – that’s another personality trait of mine with which I’m very familiar.  I’ll put up with a lot before I willingly make drastic life changes.

I guess I’ll try to be patient a while longer and see.

How about you?  Do you feel you know yourself pretty well? Are you satisfied with your personality?  Is your current lifestyle and work in harmony with your personality?  How do you handle it when people try to change you, or put you in a position where you know you’ll be uncomfortable/unhappy?

Let’s talk for a moment about the activity in which I’m currently engaged.  You know what I’m referring to.  It’s that thing you do when you need to do something important or boring or tedious or just downright odious, and you’re just loathe to get busy and do it.

Procrastination.

I’m a master at it.

All day long – heck, all weekend long – I’ve been putting off doing a report for work.  This particular report concerns a new client, so it’s one of our inital intake reports.  The interview on which the report is based was conducted by my boss and our newest staff member.  It consists of eleven pages of scrawled, handwritten notes which overflow the neat confines of our form fields, spill over into the margins and onto the back sides of the pages, and even appear on sheets of photocopied ruled paper which appeared to have been torn from the pages of a spiral notebook.

I planned hoped needed to have this report finished by tomorrow morning when I go into the office, so it could begin the review process which I’m quite sure will be lengthy and painful.

Alas, it sits here accusingly beside me, nary a word of it having been transcribed into type.

What have I been doing instead, you might ask, what important tasks have taken precedence in the last three days?

Let me see.  Saturday there was dog walking followed by a thorough brushing because they were going to the groomer later in the day, and then there was grocery shopping and a trip to Target for essentials like shampoo and aspirin and Pepcid, and then there was the drive to the groomers (which is way out in West Bloomfield for Pete’s sake!) and it’s really too far to come home so I waited in Caribou coffee with a stop over at Kohl’s; after the groomer, it was dinner time, and then the laundry I had forgotten and left in the dryer which was of course all wrinkly so it had be tumbled an tossed a bit longer.

Whew.

Oh, forgot, stopped at the neighbor’s to pick up some photos she wanted me to scan and copy for her, had a cup of coffee while we looked at her family pictures and I heard stories about her favorite brother who was killed in the war (that’s the Big One-WW2, in case you’re wondering.)

Sunday, it was church followed by lunch followed by running home to scan and print off those photos and then back over to the neighbors who loved them SO much we had more coffee and this time talked about books -her favorites, which are Silhouette romance.  Then, just enough time to dash home, feed the dogs, and drive out to my friend’s Christmas concert (which was way out in West Bloomfield for Pete’s sake!)  After that, it was dinner and then over to my friend Mary’s house (which is actually the house my aunt and uncle who just died lived in for all of their married lives, and now my cousin Mary is living there) to pick up some mail that belonged to my aunt’s estate.  By the time I got home (we had hot chocolate and not coffee) it was just time to watch Christmas at the White House, with Oprah.

Whew.

Today, well, there was rehearsal for Winter Concert at the middle school from 8:30 until 1:30, then picking Jim up at the tire store where he’s getting his Christmas present (four brand new tires for his 2 year old car, ho ho ho), and then coming home to print the labels for his business Christmas cards, clean up the kitchen, do some laundry, and practice a bit on the songs where I ran into trouble during rehearsal today.  Oh, plus I had to run down to my mom’s and pick up dinner (chicken casserole with mushrooms, topped with almonds and crushed potato chips, yummy) which she was kind enough to make for us) return a library book, listen to Jim have a long conversation with his former boss who wants to hire him to manage a project that somebody else at the company(who did not get laid off back in July like my husband did) has fouled up (and don’t get me started on that).  Much conversation has since ensued about said project, and oh, we had to back to the tire store and pick up the car, eat dinner, clean up the kitchen, finish up the laundry which I had forgotten in the dryer (again!)

Whew.

So now it’s 8:27.  Well, it was 7:52 when I sat down here at my desk and pulled that nasty pile of papers out of my work folder.  I suppose I could still get something done tonight, if not the whole report at least part of it.

But it’s time for the dogs’ bedtime snack, and then they like to have a ball game before bed, and – uh oh, there’s the phone  – gotta go! 

Be back later…promise.

When my son was young, there was much talk among his teachers about the best way to challenge him ~ they meant his mind of course, for he was extremely bright, a brightness that I suspect isolated rather than illuminated him at times.   Sadly, few of them ever got it right, ever discovered the magic formula that would inspire him to reach beyond himself, to push past the self-imposed boundaries, to overcome the fears.

Gwen Bell asks a similar question on her Best of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Something that really made you grow this year ~that made you go to your edge and then some. What made it the best challenge of the year for you? 

Sometimes we challenge ourselves, and sometimes life imposes its own challenges upon us.  I’m not one to embrace challenge eagerly, and I admit to a preference for the status quo.  I like things comfortable in my life, like knowing I’m can remain in control, can maintain a familiar level of competence.   But my life in the past year has been filled with one challenge after another – major ones, like the illness and sudden death of two family members, my husband’s job loss, my move to working full time – and minor ones, like a do-it-yourself home improvement project on our rental home and mastering a new set of skills in my job. 

Working my way through all these events, these changes, I was certainly brought to “my edge and then some” rather more times than I would prefer.  Sitting beside my aunt’s hospital bed, holding her hand and listening to her final  labored breaths, something I had experienced only weeks before with her husband, life felt so unreal to me, so unbelievably devastating, I couldn’t imagine a resolution.  Watching my husband, a man who has worked so hard to be the best in his field, have his job taken from him and be faced with the necessity of starting a career over again in an uncertain world, was more heartbreaking than I could believe.

 There were moments when it seemed I would be overcome by all the challenges before me,  when I felt like I was far too close to the edge to ever find my way back down to safety.  The last thing on my mind in those horrific days was whether I was “growing,” whether I was learning or becoming a better, stronger person. 

But, I was.  You see, against all odds (or so it seemed) I’ve risen to all those challenges, at least in some form or another.   Life has evened out, and though there is sadness, there are rays of hope; though I am weary, I feel a sense of satisfaction, much like a runner must feel at the end of a race.   There is peace now and gratitude for having come through not only intact, but stronger, smarter, and more sure of my life and it’s purpose.  All those days of just putting one foot in front of the other and keeping on have paid off, at least in this moment, for I feel almost secure again, almost ready to trust in the life that has always before been quite good to me.

There have been angels in my life who  encouraged me to take up challenges  – personal and professional ones – to spread my wings artistically, to explore new horizons literally and figuratively.  This past year, the angels have come in different forms, largely unseen and sometimes quite unwelcome.  But the inspiration has been there, the need to rise up and confront hard things, and in that confronting you do grow, whether you want to or not. 

There is no magic formula for challenge, for each one of us responds in our own unique manner to the gauntlets thrown down before us.  My challenges in 2009 – each and every one of them – have taught me something new about myself and about surviving. 

It’s been quite illuminating.

Usually at this time of year, I’m a hot mess of frantic activity, running from one rehearsal to another, slogging through slush and cold, toting music bags and work bags and shopping bags from place to place.

But there’s something different about this year.

It’s rather quiet, and calm…dare I say even peaceful?   I’ve decorated the house, and done the cards.  I toyed with the idea of actually baking something (don’t laugh, I have been known to bake things on occasion), and even pulled a few cookie recipes out of magazines.  Yes, I actually sat down in a chair long enough to look through the December issue of a magazine.   In spite of all the upheaval and sadness that have characterized the past several months, this season I feel an unusual sensation of peace.

Next Tuesday, our church is having a special service entitled “Comfort and Joy.”  It’s designed for people who are having a hard time getting into the spirit of the season - for those who have suffered losses of family members, who are in the process of divorce or family troubles, who are jobless or even homeless.  When this service was first announced some weeks back, I immediately marked the date onto my calendar, for this has been a year when loss abounded for me. 

But as Tuesday approaches, it’s almost as if I no longer feel the need to go, as if comfort and joy have already found me.  Somewhere in the midst of decorating the house, placing the angel figurines on the mantel, scattering white candles around the house, and filling this Fitz and Floyd plate with golden ornaments, the spirit of Christmas has finally found me.

Comfort and joy comes to each of us in different and sometimes unexpected ways.  Often for me it comes through music – and it’s a curious thing that the avenue which sometimes causes me the most anxiety and wear during this time of year also brings me the most satisfaction and joy.  There are others who find joy in cooking and crafting, or shopping and wrapping.  Of course the time I spend with my family and my friends is a great source of comfort and joy, for what is more evocative of the spirit of Christmas than sharing happy times and memories with the ones we love.  And though it may be tinged with sadness, for always there are thoughts of days gone by when children were small and families were whole, there is still comfort in the smiles, laughter, and even the tears that come from long years of shared experiences.

Perhaps it’s simply a matter of having  taking  time this year, for I have consciously stepped back from many of the demands usually placed on me this season.  My rather small Christmas shopping list has been further diminished by a decision to make donations to charitable organizations in honor of those friends for whom I usually buy trinkets or gift cards.  Our gift to ourselves this year is a week spent in Florida with our son and daughter in law and we’ll be driving down so we can take Magic and Molly along.  But somehow, the thought of an 18 hour car ride seems relaxing rather than daunting. 

It’s quite a miracle really, this sense of golden peacefulness I’m feeling.  I half expect to wake up in the morning  my usual anxiety ridden December self.

Then again, maybe not. Maybe this year I have some extra angels watching over me, gently smoothing my furrowed brow and bringing tidings of comfort and joy just for me.

I hope so.  And I hope you have some too.

So, how about you?  What brings you comfort and joy in the midst of the holiday season?

When I was small, one of my favorite “make-believe’s” was being a newspaper reporter.  Someone had given me an old Remington manual typewriter with keys so hard to push that it took a Herculean effort from my stubby little fingers.  Nevertheless, I soldiered on, typing away at a battered office desk tucked under the attic eaves.   I can’t remember a single “story,” but I know they were always important, and I was always on “deadline.”

As I grew, the dream grew with me.  In sixth grade, I started my own class newspaper, which my friends and I typed laboriously on the old fashioned mimeograph sheets (the kind with the blue backing which left those same stubby fingers smudged in cobalt ink).  In middle school, I went on to become the editor of the school newspaper, and began to use the written word to fight for causes I believed in -like getting our bus driver to stop looking the other way when kids smoked in the back of the bus.

When I got to high school, my keyboard of choice changed.  I began playing piano in earnest, accompanying, performing, competing, all of which left little time for writing.  But the yearning to see my name and my thoughts in print – my byline- never left.

Fast, fast forward to 2006, and the miracle of the internet which allows everyone to create their own little journalistic corner of cyberspace.  Finally, a place to write, to pound away at the keyboard to my heart’s content.  A place to stretch those long dormant writing muscles and express all the thoughts I had about life in general and my own in particular.

What better name for a place like that than Becca’s Byline?

How about you? How did you name your blog?  Ruth is collecting those stories…share yours  with her and the rest of us, won’t you?

Okay, call me Scrooge, call me old fashioned, call me  a stick in the mud, but I simply don’t get it.

When and why did the holiday season become this frenzied, maniacal rush to buy things at the cheapest possible price?

The lead story on our local news was actually about people camping out all night in tents at the entrance to Best Buy, hoping to get in on the rock bottom Black Friday sale prices on all the latest and greatest electronic stuff.  Meanwhile, not five miles down the road, there were scores of homeless people who would consider themselves lucky to have the tent those folks were lounging in, much less the big screen tv they were all hepped up about buying.

I just don’t get it.

“It’s fun,” one shopper who had been out hitting the malls since 4:00 a.m. was quoted as saying.  “We start out earlier every year, and see how long we can go.  It’s fun to try and get the best deals.  It’s a tradition.”

Well, at least I’m comforted to know she values tradition.

Forgive me, but I think these folks are all absolute nutters.  Can they find no better use for their time and money?  And have they no sense at all about the true meaning of this holiday (if there is one left anymore).  Could any one of those folks so avidly searching for the latest video game or robot toy or perfect sweater for Aunt Sue and Uncle Bob stop and tell me how their frantic searching for cheap merchandise has anything to do with the birth of Christ?

Really, at the risk of sounding pious, it just seems sadly ridiculous that a holiday intended to celebrate the birth of a man the Christian world believes to be their Savior, a man who dedicated his simple life to the belief that mankind should live in peace and harmony with one another, and that true happiness could be found in doing good for others, that this holiday could become a paen to materialism and excess.

I have to admit, part of me feels a bit unpatriotic for my anti-shopping attitude.  The sad truth is that our American economy is counting on a  big shot in the arm from Christmas retail sales.  I certainly have every reason to hope the economy improves…but still, does it have to be at the expense of the true meaning of the season?

Forgive the ranting but all this shopping mania makes me hopping mad.  I’ve spent the entire bloody weekend trying to avert my eyes from the newspapers and tv commercials and internet ads proclaiming the greatest bargains of the year and rock bottom door buster prices.   I’ve been forced to spend my time reading, going for walks, listening to music, and of course eating some very good food. 

Poor me. (wink)

I will eventually have to go shopping, however, to purchase gifts to place under the Giving Tree at our church.  Gifts like hooded sweatshirts, warm hats, socks, and gloves, soap and shampoo, and children’s books.  These will be given to some other folks who camp out on the streets of Detroit every day, not just on Black Friday, because they have neither a wide screen tv nor a home to put it in.  Small and simple gifts, but it seems to me they come a little closer to expressing what this holiday is all about.

UPDATE: As an antidote to all this madness, I’ve just joined the Advent Conspiracy, a group which urges people to focus on compassion not consumption during the Christmas season.   It encourages us to spend less on gifts, and spend more  time with our families and in activities that help other people.  Sounds like a good idea to me.

Through many dangers toils and snares

I have already come,

‘Tis grace that brought me safe this far

And grace will lead me home.

 ~Amazing Grace, by John Newton

 I sat in church last Sunday and listened to our choir singing these words.  This is my favorite verse of one of my favorite hymns, and as many times as I’ve heard it and sung it, it had special meaning for me last week. 

Whether one calls it grace or faith or luck, there is something that keeps us moving forward through all kinds of adversity, something that mends broken hearts, strengthens tired spirits, gives us the courage to pick ourselves up and go on.  It is truly amazing, and I’m thankful for it.

May today bring you and yours all the grace you need, for whatever reason you need it.

Happy Thanksgiving.

This is one of my favorite pathways in Island Walk – it follows one of the larger lakes that are embedded throughout the five square miles of this community.  Late yesterday afternoon, I took my customary stroll, thinking ahead to next month when we will (hopefully) be back with Magic and Molly along.  This is their favorite pathway as well, and bringing them down in the dead of winter is quite a treat.  Suddenly, it’s summer again, and there is a new spring in their step since daily walks no longer involve coats or ice balls on tender paws.

Of course, traveling with two dogs is quite an undertaking, and requires extra time and money, both of which are in rather short supply here this year.  When we’ve brought the dogs to Florida in winter’s past, we’ve taken three days to make the 1500 mile trip.  This time, mostly because of time constraints, we might try to reach our destination in two days, which means over nine hours of travel time per day.  The dogs are superb travelers – but it’s the humans who get tired!

It was a good trip, these past few days – not long enough, but welcome and appreciated.   We did some very nice, vacation-like things, enjoyed some time with our son and daughter-in-law, who coaxed us into a (surprisingly!) fun try at playing Beatles Rock Band on their Wii™, and had some maintenance done on our car (the 98 Pontiac Trans Am we keep down there) to keep it in good working order for the winter. 

I did not open the work folder I brought with me.  It came home untouched, and I will deal with the ramifications of that on Monday.  It was simply too important to just rest this time, to leave behind the world of medical reporting and insurance company requirements, and immerse myself in the world of sunshine, quiet pathways, and arched bridges.

I read quite a bit  and finished two delightful novels – The Family Man, by Elinor Lipman, and Knit the Season, the latest installment in Kate Jacobs series about the women of the Friday Night Knitting Club.  Both were perfect relaxation reads – well written with good stories and interesting characters.  Though quite different, both novels touched on the importance of family connections, and of making those connections a priority in our daily lives.   This is something that’s been on my mind quite a bit in the past few months, so these novels were very compatible with my current mindset.

Today we came home to a rather nice fall day, nice enough to go for a walk (alas, no lake views or bridges to traverse).After the walk, and trip to the library where I was greeted with an embarrassment of riches on the reserve shelf with my name on them, I came home and settled in with a cup of tea and my latest bookstack.  That’s Molly on her favorite perch.

It was good to get away – but it’s alright being home again.  I don’t suffer the disconnect I once did when we returned from Florida.  Perhaps I’ve grown accustomed to having a fragmented family, for that’s what it is, really.  With my son and daughter-in-law, as well as my father living in Florida, half of my closest family members live far away from me.   It took a while to come to terms with that, but I believe I’ve made some sort of peace with it.  

But I’ve also learned, especially in the last few months, how precious time can be, and how terribly capricious fate -  one minute the people we love are with us, and in the next they can be gone forever.

In the end, home is wherever you can be with the people you love the most.

How about you?  If you’re home, are you happy to be there?  If not, where would you rather be?

“I can relax really well here,” my husband says, propping his feet on the ottoman and settling comfortably into the chair.  We’re sitting on the lanai at our home in Florida, watching the sun set behind the pond across the road.  His bottle of Yuengling beer sits comfortably next to my glass of Clos du Bois chardonnay, each one ever so slightly beaded with sweat.

I forbear from making any remarks about his ability to relax at home (which appears legendary to me), because I know what he’s talking about.  I can relax really well here, too.  

Perhaps it’s this community we live in, a gated community, but one very expansive in style and scope, with lots of open spaces, wonderful walkways marked with arched bridges over ponds of every size, plenty of wildlife (herons, osprey, ducks, and even an occasional ‘gator).   Perhaps it’s the size of the house itself, larger by far than our aging little bungalow at home, bright and open and shiny new.  It could be the nearness of our son, who lives just down the road thereby eliminating that ever present sense of impending danger felt by parents who are thousands of miles away from their children.

Whatever the reason, I don’t feel the relentless push to get things done that drives me when I’m home.  I’m able to slow down without feeling guilty, sit quietly on the lanai or in the den and read halfway through a novel at one sitting rather than snatching a quick chapter here and there.  I’ll watch an entire two hour movie from start to finish, or wander around the neighborhood slowly, taking note of tropical plants and flowers I never see in the mid-west. 

So, yes I can relax quite nicely here.

Relaxing is something of a lost art in our Western culture.   We hear a lot about “relaxation techniques” – yoga, meditation, biofeedback – all sorts of externally induced ways to relieve the stress which seems endemic to modern life.  Now there are even “relaxation drinks” (the opposite of beverages like Red Bull), with names like iChill and Mary Jane’s Relaxing soda, cocktails containing herbs like valerian root and rose hips, which promise to smooth away the anxieties of the day and help you ease into a state of relaxation.

But true relaxation can’t be bottled or packaged, can’t be massaged  into tense muscles or beamed into frayed nerve endings.  It’s really a very personal state of mind and spirit.  For me, the key ingredient is time…having time stretched before me without a long list of obligations attached to every second.  My time at home is fraught with those kinds of lists, and they seem to grow exponentially in my head.  Here, not so much…so I allow myself the luxury of taking time, of worrying less about what I’m accomplishing and just being.

It’s an art I should practice more often, I think.  And probably you should, too.

How about you?  What does it take for you to really relax?