Inurement through Neuroplasticity: Peace with Patrick

Few if any people have never been in difficult situations that forced them to surrender and accept the consequences. We can't control other people--your children, your spouse, friends, work situation. It's difficult but not impossible to resist what you can't control. Once again, I turn to Victor Frankl and his philosophy of the one thing we all actually do have control of: the way we choose to respond to what is said and done to us or about us. Perhaps it's how you look at the situation and how you respond in a way that makes actions and words more bearable, easier to cope with. But how easy is it to accept, without resistance, difficult circumstances, hardship, and pain? There is, of course, a word for that: inurement.

The word inurement was first recorded between 1480 and 1490 from the Anglo French in ure and en ure from the Latin opera, plural of opus--work. Used as both a verb, a participle, and a noun, inure and inurement refer to an attitude that allows humans to endure suffering without being overcome by it.  

Since we don't like pain and sometimes refuse to accept it, the inurement of physical or emotional pain is a gift. Yet, is an acceptance without resistance to difficulty and pain always a good thing? Does it actually teach us a lesson or make us stronger, or even encourage us to achieve the impossible dream?

Inurement doesn't necessarily mean you can change the situation, but you can respond in a way that makes the difficulty more bearable. A broken heart, a death, the loss of a job, not achieving the goal you think you always wanted--we may not be able to change anything by our resistance, but we have a choice in how we respond to what happens to us.

A myriad of self-help books have been written advising us how to respond to every problem that humans are faced with, and the truth is, the solutions aren't all the same. But perhaps the beginning of the solution may be. No one ever said life would be perfect or even easy, but no one also ever said the way to a better life was staying down when you were thrown for a loop. 

My husband Patrick had such an intrinsic presence in my life that he made me a stronger, more versatile person. We spent so much time together that even today I expect him to walk into the kitchen for a cup of tea. How do I get through each day without him? 

Neuroplasticity--another good Lambent Literacy word.

Neuroplasticity is the brain's ability to bounce back and grow to find an alternate route or solution. But does that actually work?

I lost Patrick on the 17th of August, 2021, almost seven months ago, and because I wanted him to return to his home in England and be celebrated there by his family and friends, I have waited for this closure until the 25th of June, 2022. My two daughters Kate and Rachel and their families will then be able to honor his life with me, there in Shoreham, West Sussex. 

For seven months I have been orchestrating this day with help from my English family and Patrick's life long English friends that he kept in touch with while he lived in America--the 900 year old church setting, the lovely pub luncheon-gathering of friends and family. Patrick's four university friends wrote beautiful tributes to him and they will be meeting together with us for a reunion, one even coming in from Australia, to honor their friend.

The hymns we will sing speak of nature and God's beautiful earth, the scripture about love and hope, the tributes about the amazing impact he had on all of us. It will be a glorious celebration of a beautiful life and Patrick would have approved.

So how is my brain bouncing back and what alternative routes and solutions has all this planning brought me?

There is a peace that comes from knowing that this man's life truly mattered. I have often asked myself why we don't recognize the worth of a human being earlier in life, and why we don't acknowledge that  life in a meaningful way. Why don't we go the distance for each other more often? I believe I did, but was it enough?

Neuroplasticity engenders inurement, and these lessons help us to respond to disappointments and loss in a way that brings hope rather than despair. Neuroplasticity turns thought distortions around and allows us to see another viewpoint, to respond in a more hopeful way--even if we have no power to change the outcome.

The next time I see Patrick in my mind's eye walking into the kitchen for a cup of tea, I'm going to imagine the smile on his face as he remembers that his friends and family got it right.

Equanimity: Just Breathe

 

Victor Frankl published his widely read Man's Search for Meaning in 1946, a year after he was released from Auschwitz concentration camp. Frankl, an Austrian neurologist/psychiatrist who was imprisoned in four concentration camps during WW II., noticed that, even though the prisoners were captive, they still had the freedom to choose how they would respond to their captors. They could even love them if they chose to. He tried to teach this logotherapy to his fellow prisoners, and those who accepted his advice often became more resilient.

Frankl's theory of freedom of response is more alive today than ever. The ability to keep one's cool during times of stress or conflict, the patience and presence of mind that results in mental and emotional stability is alive and well in the word equanimity. The origin of the word is aequus, meaning equal + animus, meaning mind. From the Latin came French c. 1600 equanimite, evenness of mind, calmness, good will, and kindness. By 1610, the English word equanimity retained the French definitions.

While all of us would prefer responding to every stressful situation with coolness and self-confidence, we too often react to people who know how to push our buttons. You know who they are. The ones with the snarky comments, the ones who get under our skin and give us a rash. And then there are the painful, impossible situations that come when you least expect them. But living our daily lives with equanimity doesn't happen just because we wish it would. It's a process. It doesn't happen quickly, and yet when you don't respond quickly to the jabs life sometimes gives you, you think you're defeated, maybe even less than, and you know where that leads--a serious lack of self-confidence and an often angry, unhappy attitude. If you look at the larger picture, society's treatment of women and youth as well as social media demons can destroy equanimity before it even has a chance.

It can be lonely business trying to figure out who you are and what you're worth. I'm not a psychologist, but as an English teacher I know a bit about literature, and the characters we love often display the equanimity that endears us to them. We wish we could be like them. I'm thinking Atticus Finch may be my forever hero. And let's not forget the ultimate heroic example of equanimity, Jesus of Nazareth. 

A popular and well known set of ways to build equanimity in yourself over time comes from Buddha's three teachings on suffering:

1. Stop fighting your difficulty and find ways of dealing with it that help to create that evenness of temper. Don't expect the problem to be solved right away. You usually don't have that kind of control over a situation, so start where you are and be like Frankl: Use your freedom to respond or not respond.

2. Recognize that things change. What is today may not be tomorrow. The difficulties and challenges of life aren't permanent. Be patient.

3. Accept the value of taking baby steps to reach your goal. Baby steps lead to bigger steps and changes. Letting go of what you can't control begins for most of us in a small way until we can build up to letting go more and more.

Most of us lead lives of quiet desperation (thank you, Thoreau), working too hard, worrying too much and reacting too quickly before we've had a chance to think things through and come to the realization that silence might have been the best response. Just breathe. And meditate, visualize and squelch the "fight or flight" syndrome. Take a walk in the woods and tell it to the trees. Write and read daily a gratitude list in your journal. These are just a few of the many ways to get started on your journey to cool presence of mind.

Equanimity can be our saving grace for 2022. No one can deny that we've run the gamut of pain, disappointment, and loss--loss in so many areas of our lives in the last three years, and hope is at an all time low. On Christmas Day in 1957, Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered a sermon at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. The line that people will never forget can be a tool in our process toward equanimity:

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that." 

And from the Book of Common Prayer:

"Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light..."

I wish you light, friends.

Fear in 2022: Metacognition to the Rescue

 Happy 2022, friends!  One of the little demons out there hovering over our goals and plans for the new year is that ugly monster called fear--fear of the unknown, fear of failure and our own abilities, and fear of criticism, to name a few. There is no instant cure for fear, however; it's a process, but the first new Lambent Literacy word of the new year, metacognition, might just be the beginning of that journey to dealing with those fears. 

The word metacognition, first introduced and recorded by developmental psychologist John Flavell in the 1970s, is derived from the Greek word meta meaning "beyond" and the Latin word cognoscere meaning "getting to know." It refers to an understanding of one's thoughts and thought processes, and it requires an awareness of all the questions one might have about thinking: who, what, when, where, why, and how. Metacognition gives us the ability to control our thinking processes through various strategies. For example, we can reflect on the cognitive skills we need to succeed in a given task. I love to cook. When I am putting the holiday turkey on, I go through all the steps in my mind to not only lay out the equipment and tools I'll need but also to go through the steps I must take before the bird goes in the oven. I've done it so many times, but because it happens only three times a year, I carefully remind myself each time about the bird's cavities, that is, what comes out and what goes in, how it's seasoned, what temperature and how long it will need to roast. Do I fear that I may get it wrong and ruin our holiday dinner? Of course, but I know what to do to prevent that from happening.

Metacognition covers every aspect of our lives. It's all about planning out our work, tracking our progress, and assessing our own knowledge. So, how can metacognition help us in dealing with the dark, menacing cloud over our heads better known as fear?

What are you afraid of? Most of us might answer  the unknown. Which is what exactly? Unless you're a mind reader or you have the gift of sight, that would be anything in our future. We can plan for what comes tomorrow but we don't have any guarantees, so worrying about the unknown actually hands over the regulation of our minds to the fear monster.

Or how about more specifically fear of what other people might think of you? Fear of financial burdens? Fear of change? And then there's fear that you aren't good enough, qualified enough, smart enough, athletic enough, fit enough, popular enough, and the list goes on and on.

Fear is most often based on thought distortions, and that's where metacognition comes to the rescue. When we don't have all the answers right away, we have a tendency to create them based on the worst possible outcome. Reframing thoughts allows you to break through distortions in your thinking and see yourself or your situation in a more positive light. 

For example, my garden in winter is cold and bleak, which makes me sad. I love working in the garden and seeing the fruits of my labor, and yet, in fact, I know a winter garden is a natural phenomenon and there isn't much I can do about it....except look at it from a different perspective:

1. Deciduous trees lose their leaves, but they'll return in spring.

2. Many flowering plants reseed and will also return. When planting season occurs in March, nothing is quite as exciting as watching new plants grow.

3. Roses in spring are magnificent and worth the wait.

4. Birds and other wildlife have a more difficult time foraging for food in winter, but I have twelve bird/squirrel feeders and can help the wildlife by keeping the feeders well stocked.

5. I can continue to compost and enrich the soil for more successful spring planting.

6. On warmer days I can take my coffee or tea out to the arbor, sit quietly with my journal, and watch the birds and squirrels.

Speaking of journaling, writing your history--your feelings and thoughts each day, not only gives you a sense of the relevance of your life but also encourages you to think. It can even include writing a gratitude or even a gripe list. Describing where you are at that moment in your life makes you conscious of your thinking, the first step to looking at your fears realistically. Journaling can be done in several ways: on the computer or voice recorder on your phone, through art or photography, not just by hand in a book. One of my favorite writing aphorisms is "How do I know what I think until I see what I say?"

Cognition is the thinking skills that we develop over time to store and retrieve information in our minds, but metacognition is the ability we can develop to control our cognition, that is, to reflect on the skills we need to succeed not only in the task at hand but also in developing positive perceptions of ourselves. But it's a choice we have to make. Do we plan out what we want and need to do to succeed? Do we then track our progress? And finally do we take time to assess the knowledge we have gained? Yes, part of the problem is a lack of confidence in ourselves, but maybe it's time to stop making excuses, start with the self-discipline that comes from self-love, and reframe those negative thoughts. Do you remember love your neighbor as yourself, and put your oxygen mask on first? Take good care of yourselves, friends, and have a blessed new year.

No Christmas Subtext: The Gift of Truth

Despite the fact that Christmastime is a celebration of the greatest gift, Christ's entrance into the world to save our souls and grant us eternal peace and tranquility, it is the one time of year that so many of us fall prey to anxiety and depression. As usual, these unhappy, debilitating feelings revolve around facing the truth about ourselves, the people around us, and the events that cause the kerfuffle. What often occurs, through a sort of self-protecting scheme, is avoidance of the truth. And we know where that ends up. This Christmas let us not bury those hard truths behind falsehoods. After all, the truth about Santa Claus was that he was actually a kind and generous man who attained sainthood. While that may not be our objective, a little more honesty wouldn't hurt.

Characters in stories, the written word as well as film, often express what they really mean between the lines, hiding the truth about what they would like to say but can't. Or won't. Writers love this technique called subtext. It adds layers of meaning to their characters, and the implied meanings can contribute significantly to the plot as well.

In Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, The March Hare teaches Alice about the importance of truth and clarity in her word. He insists that she should say what she means, and she replies:

Alice: I do, at least--at least I mean what I say--that's the same thing, you know.

March Hare: Not a bit!

The thing is, if characters in stories use subtext, the art of camouflaging what actually needs to be said, people in real life--that would be us, folks, do it all the time. We know the advantages of communicating clearly and truthfully, yet for one reason or another we avoid doing so, and this behavior results in serious issues within families, schools, and businesses--life in general. Since this blog is about the way we learn and use language to improve our lives, the battle between subtext and honest communication is the path we're going to follow. You won't have to look far to find examples in your favorite holiday movies.

In the romantic comedy The Holiday, the character Amanda Woods, an American who has left her romantic woes in Los Angeles and escaped to England for the holidays, falls in love with an English editor at a major publishing house in London. Afraid of her new feelings, she tells Graham as he takes her home from their outing, "You don't have to walk me in. It's freezing. I'm tired. I'm leaving in nine days and I'm not sure I can handle complicated." After getting out of one disappointing relationship back home, Amanda fears putting herself out there again and tries to make a run for it. Graham, on the other hand, isn't being honest either. In all of their conversations, he portrays himself as a single guy without a care in the world. Graham is actually a widower with two young daughters, as Amanda discovers later. A parallel romance occurs between Graham's sister who has escaped her own love disaster by running away to Los Angeles. The love disaster, Jasper Bloom, chases after her, but their conversation goes something like this, after he suggests that they sneak off to Venice for a few days:

Jasper: I don't want to lose you, babe. 

Iris: Are you free to do that?

Jasper: Darlin', haven't I just traveled halfway around the world to see you? I wish you could accept how confused I am about all this.

Iris: Okay, let me translate that. You still are engaged to be married?

Jasper: Yes, but....

Iris: (She gets up.) Oh, this was a really close call.  You were right. Very square peg, very round hole.

Earlier in the film, Iris's friend Arthur tells her the truth about herself. He says that in the movies, there's the best friend and the leading lady. He tells her she has to stop acting like the best friend who is being used and be the leading lady of her own life. Jasper, however, delivers the disguised message through subtext: Yes, I'm getting married but I'm so confused it doesn't matter. We can still be together. Iris finally sees beyond the subtext and ends the relationship. The film has a satisfying ending because, face it, it's a romantic Christmas comedy.

Next is A Castle for Christmas. Famous romance novelist Sophie Brown's latest book has displeased her readers by killing off a beloved character. The subtext here is that Sophie's husband has left her for another woman, and her bitterness gets its revenge through the destruction of the character Winston. Sophie leaves New York and escapes their wrath to a little village in Scotland where her father's family were once the grounds keepers of the castle Dun Dunbar. She quickly falls in love with Myles, the Duke of the estate, who quietly falls in love with her but believes his dukedom and castle define him. When his castle is entering foreclosure, Sophie buys it, adding injury to Myles' fragile ego. If he loses it to the woman he has fallen in love with, he believes he will lose himself, so he sabotages the relationship. Their last conversation must be riddled with insults directed at her to prevent her from knowing the truth about him.  Again, a Christmas romantic comedy will come out clean in the end, and he decides he'd rather lose the castle than lose Sophie. All is well when the characters decide to have an honest discussion about how they really feel.

Another old favorite, The Winslow Boy, is set in early twentieth century England right before Christmas. Kate Winslow and Sir Robert Morton have opposing views about women's roles in society. As he defends her younger brother and wins the case against the Crown, their conversation goes like this:

Kate: Why do you take such great pains to prevent the truth about how you feel?

Sir Robert: Which of us knows the truth about himself?

Kate: Why are you ashamed of your emotions?

Sir Robert: Cold, clear logic wins the day. 

Kate: Then why did you weep when the verdict was read?

Sir Robert: Very easy to do justice, hard to do right.

Sir Robert continues throughout the story as an enigma, hiding his feelings through the use of subtext until the idea comes to him that he may never see Kate again. As he leaves, they have words:

Sir Robert: I hope I shall see you again, in the House of Commons, up in the gallery.

Kate: Across the floor one day, but not up in the gallery.

Sir Robert: You still pursue your feminist activities. It's a pity. It's a lost cause.

Kate: How little you know about women.

Sir Robert: Do you really think so. How little you know about men.

He leaves, she grins, and the film ends with the audience assured this romance may be just getting started.

 Our words matter. Truth matters.

Yes, we accept the subtext in these romantic comedies because we're confident they'll have a happy ending and the truth will out. If it doesn't, we leave it on the screen because "it's just fiction," but this is seldom what happens in real life. Our inability or lack of willingness to speak our minds and tell the people we care about how we feel leads to resentment and a break down of relationships. So, why don't we speak up and say what's on our hearts and minds? 

Could it be that we don't want to risk speaking the truth because we fear what comes next? I'm no psychologist, but I do know none of us is a mind reader. We think we know each other well, but we actually have only touched the surface. The only way to communicate is to tell the truth in the best way we know how.

Our words reveal so much about us, and that can be uncomfortable. Yet  honest, sincere, carefully chosen words can elevate both speaker and listener and improve the quality of our daily lives with the people we love. Our connections with them begin with language.

So the question is, why do we engage in such antisocial behavior? Why do we revert to subtext instead of being forthright and authentic, first with ourselves. Another possible answer might be that we value whatever filter we have acquired that enables us to speak in a more gentle and hospitable way. The straightforward truth, however, neither sugar coated nor cloaked in different apparel, is exactly what may be needed for situations that affect our emotional health.

 I suppose we dread the unknown but possible consequences of truth--loss and rejection and risk, and it's that last bit that is the proverbial double-edged sword. Laying the truth out on the table may be painful, but it is the first step toward resolution and redemption. And isn't that, after all, what we want most in the end? 

Merry Christmas, friends.

  

Lamb Storms and the American Preschool Education

You know me. I'm the one who names her cats after Jane Austen characters and follows the Bard with love in her heart. And after several literary tours to the UK with my students, I married my lovely Brit, Patrick. So when my dear friend George, Patrick's daughter, suggested that I look at Robert Macfarlane's book Landmarks, the quintessential book on British landscapes, I excitedly found a copy and read it.

 When Landmarks came out, the reviews read like love letters. One of my favorites from the Daily Express said, "Surely no one since the young Ted Hughes has written about British landscape and wildlife with such fierce enthusiasm." 

Horatio Clare, from the Daily Telegraph, wrote, "Passionate and magical...a deep scholarship of the countryside with an adventurous approach, all rendered in immaculate, delicious prose." 

But it was this one from the Guardian that got me thinking about the American education system: "So important, enriching. Ought to be read by policymakers, educators, armchair environmentalists and active conservationists the world over." Educators? Hmm. What was so important that a teacher needed to read about the environment and animals in Great Britain? Well, read on.

Since this is a blog post about words, I'll focus on one expression that Macfarlane offers and we'll go from there. A lamb storm, also referred to as a lambing storm, is an unexpected snow storm harmful to newborn lambs. Farmers across the northern part of the UK understand this phenomenon well around March lambing time when adverse weather conditions, thanks in part to global warming, mean lambs need to be monitored throughout the night to make sure they're warm and comfortable. Farmer John Fagan writes in Farming Independent, "I'm just back from the lambing shed. It is allowing me just a period of calm amidst the lambing storm that is taking place. I'm glad to have plenty of pens but it is hectic. The lambs are getting barely enough time to mother up, sucked and out to grass. I've no choice but to get the lambs out quickly...it is vital to watch them carefully to make sure the ewes are looking after their new families. Nothing gives you more satisfaction than letting out a bunch of ewes and lambs and seeing them happily bounce away with their mothers."

Since my brain frequently leaps to metaphorical if not symbolic conclusions, another group of lambs comes to mind, precious little vulnerable pre-school children, many of whom will be experiencing a structured school setting for the first time. And unfortunately in American public schools, and perhaps many private ones as well, we lag far behind other developed countries as we prepare children for the long journey from pre-school to high school. It's lambing season, folks, and the storms are brewing.

The U.S. ranks 26^th in preschool participation for four year olds, 15^th in teacher-to-child ratio, and 21st in total investment relative to country wealth. Finland’s child ratio is 1-11 and Sweden’s is 1-5. The U.S. at best is 1-15.

In addition to looking at basic demographics and statistics, research-based early learning curriculum indicates greater efficacy occurs when teachers spend less time on strict discipline and more time on curious discovery with children. (Picture lambs frolicking about in the meadow.)

It is an established fact that a trusting relationship between teacher and child helps preschoolers learn through playful activities and experiences. These children are still trying to understand the meaning of everything—how and why things work. They’re also curious about what effect their actions will have, and as they grow they will continue to test the boundaries. Hearing “bad” words that are inappropriate for a four-year-old to use?  The child most likely has no idea what the words mean, but he has deducted from the tone of the person who first used the words that this behavior might be testing the waters. What better way to find out than to use them themselves?

It should now occur to you, dear reader, that frustration, harsh words, and punitive behavior are no different from the lambing storms that are so harmful to newborn lambs. I recently heard a distraught mom admit that her pre-school child hates school. As soon as she picks him up in the afternoon he tells her he was bad and his teacher doesn’t like him. How long can a child endure this kind of disparagement and how long before the damage can be reversed? Are we making sure our little lambs are safe and warm, or are we sending them out into the storm? 

According to Unicef's most recent Child Well Being in Rich Countries survey, children in the Netherlands are the happiest kids in the world, and this is based on material well being, educational well being, and behavior and risks. The study concluded that Dutch kids feel no pressure to excel in school and have very little stress, but these children actually do thrive in a happy, relaxed school setting where they are encouraged to enjoy learning.

I’ll close with ten healthy discipline strategies published by the American Academy of Pediatrics that work not only in the classroom but also at home.

1.       Show and Tell. Teach children right from wrong with calm words and actions.

2.       Set limits.

3.       Give consequences.

4.       Hear them out.

5.       Give them your attention.

6.       Catch them being good.

7.       Be prepared for trouble.

8.       Know when not to respond.

9.       Redirect "bad" behavior.

10.   Call a time-out. (“Go to time out and come back when you feel ready and in control.” This strategy can help a child learn and practice self-management.)

The Cauldron: Vessel of Magic?

If you have read or seen at least one Harry Potter story, you are familiar with the word cauldron, that large black vessel where potions are developed and spells are cast. The truth, however, is that the first recorded use of a cauldron--yes, a rather large iron, brass, or copper kettle used for holding liquids, can be traced to the late Bronze Age period and was used primarily for cooking. Cauldrons were extremely valuable and would have been passed on in wills.

The word cauldron derives from 13th Century Middle English, but the word was actually borrowed from the Norman, meaning "hot bath." Prior to cauldron, it was cetel, kessel, ketel, and chetel, making it easy to see its connection to kettle.

Today cauldrons are seldom used for cooking. Dutch ovens that are a bit smaller than the large kettles have taken their place on the stove or in the oven, and cauldrons have become a cliché popularized by fiction stories of witches and leprechauns. But this wasn't always the case for centuries, as history has proven with a number of valuable archeological finds.

The Gundestrup cauldron is a Bronze Age vessel, a richly decorated silver cauldron believed to be from between 200 BC and 300 AD. It was found in a peat bog in Denmark where anthropologists believe a burial or ritual may have taken place.

The Battersea cauldron, a large bronze vessel dated to 800 BC to 700 BC found in Great Britain, now in the British Museum, is estimated to be 3000 years old and is made up of bronze sheets melded together. It was found in the River Thames near Chelsea Bridge that connects Chelsea to Battersea. It is thought to have been used for communal feasts and deliberately placed in the river as a religious sacrifice.

Cauldrons were important family possessions for cooking, brewing, and simply holding hot water. Their connection to the hearth, the fireplace considered to be the heart of the home, increases their symbolism throughout history. The Greek goddess Hestia was the symbol of the hearth and fire, the importance of domesticity, the family, the home. The Greeks believed Hestia helped to keep peace in the family that gathered around her hearth to share meals. Newborn babies were taken to the hearth as a token of respect and gratitude to Hestia. Because cauldrons on the hearth accompanied healing, they were also associated with good magic.

All early American fireplaces boasted a cast iron cauldron hung from spit dogs, long poles from which could be hung kettles or pots. The cast iron Dutch oven was also a typical container for cooking. The fire never went out. Embers might be covered by a brass or copper curfew and pushed to the back of the fireplace to be rekindled the next morning. Small piles of hot coals would be pushed to the front of the fireplace and smaller pots with covers would be set on them. Cauldrons had no cover. Instead stopping sides kept the liquid from boiling over. Dutch ovens were the first ovens used for baking. Coals would be placed on their flat lids as well as underneath.

Chuck wagons became necessary on cattle drives where food might have been scarce and hungry cowboys needed to eat. When a clever fella equipped a wagon with the necessary tools and supplies, a large cast iron vessel--perhaps a smaller cauldron, was an essential item. I doubt those cowboys would call what was in that pot magic, but the absence of a meal after a hard day's ride would have caused potent distress!

When my daughters were in Girl Scouts, I volunteered to be the camp-trained mom who would accompany their troop on numerous camping trips. My training happened to fall on a cold, rainy weekend in January. Needless to say, I shivered for two days, but cooking outdoors was great fun and  delicious relief. On the second day we dug a hole in the ground, arranged coals and made a fire, and placed a black cast iron Dutch oven filled with peach cobbler ingredients in it. We covered it with more coals and waited. May I tell you, dear friends, that this dessert will never be eclipsed by any other dessert. It's possible that the comfort of that cobbler may have had due influence, but after all these years I remember it as if it were yesterday, my cauldron cobbler, superseding that cold, miserable weather in my book of greatest memories.

My mother had a reputation for creating magic in her kitchen. Her black cast iron Dutch oven, passed down to me,  was the cauldron of her day. The shrimp and crab gumbo, beef stews, roast beef with roasted root vegetables, and vegetable soups she made in it cast a spell over her family. It might have been a food coma we all experienced at the end of one of her feasts, but the memory of the camaraderie and affection of that precious family time--and incredibly delicious food, too, will always remain magical in my heart.

Jungian analysts believe that breaking bread with others is reminiscent of the Eucharist, partaking of the body and blood of Christ. Whether or not you are Jungian, Episcopalian, or Anglican and accept this belief, I think you will agree that sharing communal food can be sacred as we give and receive that which brings newness of life to us all. As much as I love Harry Potter, I choose to think of a cauldron not in a mischievous or evil way, not even for my beloved Shakespeare and his Macbeth witches, but as a vessel of nurture and love.  

Ouroborus: My End Is My Beginning

For forty-six years I taught English, speech, and drama on the high school and middle school levels. For fourteen of those summers I served as a Master Teacher at Rice Summer School in Houston. After a long and fruitful career, I retired, determined to use the free time that was now available to me to write, to engage in creative endeavors, and to spend much more time with my family. Because I had worked for so many years, including summers, I didn't fully understand how this time that unfolded before me would change my life. The novel I had started writing years before suddenly took off, and by the end of that first year I was finished. Everything improved--my relationships with family and friends, the garden, my new book club, our house and its maintenance, and even my health. The end of a long teaching career was the beginning of a new life in unfathomable ways.

Teaching literature eventually led me to taking courses at the C.G. Jung Center in Houston for fourteen years, and the language of symbolism became an integral part of my classroom experience. The stages of life/death/rebirth could be identified in every hero journey story, and soon students could recognize this archetype in their own lives as well. One of the most powerful symbols of that journey is the ouroborus, the snake biting its tail and forming a never ending circle.

Ouroboros (pronounced aw ro bawr us) in Greek means "tail devourer." The original depiction was a snake biting its tail in a circle, but the snake is sometimes characterized as a dragon instead, and it isn't Greek in origin but Egyptian. The oldest depiction of it appears on a golden shrine in the tomb of Tutankhamen in 13th century BC. Generally it refers to cyclical time rather than linear, and the Egyptians understood this symbol through the yearly flooding of the Nile River as well as the sun's cyclical journey.

And so this archetypal symbol of renewal and regeneration reminds us all of the rebirth we implore. It's about do-overs and second chances, finally getting it right. On a simplistic but nevertheless important level, it includes recycling and repurposing, perhaps even replanting each spring, changing jobs, and renewing our lifestyle to accommodate the changes in our lives we must make. We love second chances, starting afresh with a new outlook and new possibilities. Many of us never keep our New Year's resolutions, but we make them anyway. Just the idea of a second chance is mesmerizing.

But then there are the more serious renewals: finding a more suitable partner after a failed relationship, renewal of wedding vows to strengthen a marriage that perhaps needed a shot in the arm, recovering from a serious accident or illness and learning how to live with new rules of the game.

Saying goodbye to the old life is rarely easy. Starting over can be scary and intimidating, maybe even painful, because not only do we all fear the unknown to one extent or another, but we liked the comfort of that old life.

When I lost my beloved Patrick, grief had to take a back seat to the responsibilities that coincide with this kind of loss. It was unexpected and yet putting the brakes on my grief gave me a chance to think and take care of myself slowly. As the necessary tasks came to an end, I suddenly realized how alone I was. I kept expecting him to walk into the kitchen or sit in his favorite chair to watch our lovely BBC series. I expected to look up and see him sitting at his computer or his drawing board. All along I knew I was beginning to carve out a new life for myself, not the one I wanted, but one where his spirit would feel clearly present to me in so many areas of my life that it was almost palpable. I began burning scented candles to create a new atmosphere, but it only added to the sacredness of the space we inhabited together.

I have no doubt that ancient Egyptians and Greeks also thought about rebirth in the context of death. The concreteness of their symbols, especially the ouroborus, belies their belief system about life and death, art transcending words. The end was a beginning for them as it is for us centuries later. As I traverse this journey of loss and renewal, the ouroborus certainly speaks of new beginnings for me.