Praising the struggle, the beauty of ‘yet’

If parents want to give their children a gift, the best thing they can do is to teach their children to love challenges, be intrigued by mistakes, enjoy effort, and keep on learning. That way, their children don’t have to be slaves of praise. They will have a lifelong way to build and repair their own confidence.
– Carol Dweck, American professor of psychology and one of the world’s leading researchers in the field of motivation

Carol Dweck listens raptly to a parent's request for advice.

Carol Dweck hears out a parent’s request for advice.

Last Thursday at El Cerrito High School, Stanford professor and educator Carol Dweck told an audience comprising mainly parents and educators that we need to nurture our children and students, respectively, as learners who can grow and continue to grow as a result of our experiences with struggling, working through conflicts, and overcoming challenges. She warned that praising our children’s intelligence and ability doesn’t foster self-esteem; in fact, her research shows that such praise leads them to believe that they don’t have to work hard because they’ll get by on their smarts and natural ability. When faced with hardship, they flee or shut down because having to work hard will expose them as frauds – they’re not smart after all – in their minds and in the eyes of everyone around them. Studies show that fear of failure often trumps the desire to invest in the effort to overcome obstacles.

Dweck noted that the self-esteem movement, which instructed parents and teachers to praise kids and tell them how smart they are at every opportunity, is responsible for this “fixed mindset” mentality. Telling kids that they’re smart or they’re natural athletes also feeds into this mindset that your intelligence and skills are set for life. Research shows that they are far from set. When exposed to new stimuli, our brains reorganize neural pathways, making learning, struggles, and different experiences wonderful opportunities for our brains to grow. In order for new knowledge to be retained in memory, changes in the brain representing new knowledge must occur. In other words, you can’t grow unless you’re exposing yourself to different experiences, challenges, and struggles, and taking risks. That’s the thesis of Dweck’s book, Mindset: The New Psychology of Success, which was first published in 2006 to wide acclaim and embraced by preschools and schools across the country since its release.

The conclusion of a very inspirational talk at the El Cerrito High School Performing Arts Theater.

The conclusion of a very inspirational talk at the El Cerrito High School Performing Arts Theater.

Abandoning the non-learner mindset
While I constantly tell the kids that few things in life are easy and if they were life would surely be boring, I am guilty of this learner/non-learner mindset. Case in point: my daughter has loved animals since she was a toddler. Many people have commented through the years that Isabella’s calling ought to be as a veterinarian, given her compassion toward all animals and the solutions she seeks for protecting or rescuing animals in danger. I thought this would be her path, too, until David and I saw her struggle in the primary grades with math and science. I worried that either she had a learning disability or just didn’t have the knack for math because she would go over concepts time and again that seemed, at least to me, fairly easy to grasp for her age and abilities. I was alarmed when she was forgetting and relearning multiplying and dividing fractions throughout one academic year. I consoled myself with the fact that Jacob got the engineering side from David – he loves building and he excels in math and science – and Isabella got her creativity from me. She has a wonderful imagination, loves to tell and write stories, and is stronger academically in language arts. The trait that I love the most about her, however, is her compassion for all living things and her sense of stewardship of the earth. Oh well, I thought to myself, although she’s “weak” in math and science, she doesn’t have to be a vet to take care of animals.

Signing away....

Signing away….

Dweck would have smacked me for shutting the doors and closing the windows. For one thing, who knows if Isabella is even interested in pursuing such a career. But more importantly, I’ve just labeled her a non-learner with fixed intelligence and skills, incapable of taking difficult math and sciences classes required of pre-vet majors in undergraduate school and soldiering on. Again, Dweck pointed to research that supports the brain’s capacity to grow through challenges and hard work. While she noted that not everyone can be Einstein, even Einstein had to put in years of hard labor to become who he was. Dweck acknowledged that you can have a fixed mindset in one area and a growth mindset in another, but the bottom line is that you shouldn’t shut doors. You should encourage and support. You should validate that hard work pays off. Her advice to teachers to give to students – “I have complete faith in your ability to learn and grow, and we will work with you until that happens” – is a promise that parents can offer in the home.

Grades and working hard
Dweck would also point out that my emphasis on grades is wrong-headed. And I admit that she’s right. I didn’t use to nag about grades in elementary school or even middle school. I emphasized working hard, making learning fun and interesting, being your own advocate, and getting organized. But once Jacob entered high school, suddenly everything changed – with the changes coming from me. I warned him at the end of eighth grade that once he hit ninth grade, “grades mattered.” There was no turning back now. If he wants to get into one of the higher-ranking University of California schools – and I’m not even talking about the stratospherically-out-of-league Cal or UCLA campuses – he has to work for A’s. An 88 on a Spanish test, which he thought was pretty good, was not acceptable to me. I’ll admit that I was aghast that he accepted that score because to me it were beneath a good, conscientious student’s standards. What I really should have asked him was whether he learned something from studying and taking the test. Did he retain any of the Spanish words, phrases, sentences, or meanings? Did he learn how to prepare himself better for the next test?

On my way to an educational evening.

On my way to an educational evening sporting a ruffled bolero, boyfriend jeans, and vintage purse.

Since he entered high school this past fall, I’ve struggled internally over putting too much emphasis on grades. I sincerely want him first and foremost to be a critical thinker, writer, and reader because ultimately these are the skills that will serve all college students well, no matter what they major in, and all adults in their working world and for the rest of their lives. I don’t hesitate to point out to him how his English papers can be written more clearly, logically, succinctly, and thoughtfully. I must be making headway in this area because he shocked me by thanking me for my help on his last essay for his cultural geography class. I mark up the usual grammatical errors and words that spellcheck missed. But I also ask questions about some of his statements, which force him to think more deeply about what he had written, what he unwittingly had left out, and what he was trying to say. Dweck pointed out that if you focus on working hard and overcoming challenges, you appreciate your accomplishments more, it inspires you to continue on that path of persistence, you gain more confidence in your abilities, your brain’s neural pathways light up like firecrackers (my words, not hers), and you end up earning good grades as a by-product.

When I was in college, I cared about grades, but I cared more about loving what I was doing in my classes and soaking it all in – reading great and minor works of literature, analyzing these works through literary criticism, writing short stories and poems and sharing and critiquing the original works of my classmates, and discovering Asian-American history within our country’s history. I truly loved learning for the sake of learning. I couldn’t imagine majoring in anything but English; if I had gone into nursing or business, which were areas of study my mother had gently pushed for, I would have been miserable. So I followed my passion and that’s what I tell my kids to do.

Chocolate and brass: vintage purse (Feathers, Austin, TX), ruffled platform peep-toe pumps, Sundance belt, Laura Lombardi necklace and hoops (Eskell, Chicago), and reclaimed vintage bracelets by M.L. Moore (Green & Gorgeous, Berkeley, CA).

Chocolate and brass: 1940s vintage purse (Feathers, Austin, TX), Anthropologie ruffled platform peep-toe pumps, Sundance belt, Laura Lombardi necklace and hoops (Eskell, Chicago), and reclaimed vintage bracelets by M.E. Moore (Green & Gorgeous, Berkeley, CA).

Despite my lapses in parental judgment regarding grades, I have been sharing with my kids my stories of working hard and struggling with the hope that they’ll appreciate how I learned and grew from these experiences and apply perseverance in their own lives. For example, it took me 17 years to write my first novel and not abandon it when so many things, such as my job and other obligations, kept me from writing. When I sent out a version of my novel back in 2005, I was crushed by the tens of rejections from literary agents, and I let the rejections shut me down for several years. But my passion wouldn’t allow me to remain silent, and nearly three years after the last rejection letter of not writing or reading fiction, I picked myself up off the shoulder of the road and started writing again. And in those years, in those struggles and dark days, I became a better writer – better than when I started on the novel in 1998 and when I sent out the manuscript in 2005. These are the stories I need to remember to keep telling when my first thought is to ask Jacob about his grades when we talk about school at the dinner table.

A great combo: chocolate and brass.

A great combo: chocolate and brass.

The Beauty and promise of ‘yet’
One of the things I appreciated from Dweck’s talk was the beauty of “yet.” Instead of looking at a low grade on a test as a failure, we should view it as a concept or a subject matter that they haven’t learned yet. Instead of saying, “I’m not a math person,” we should say, “I’m not a math person yet.” Last night, Jacob told me that math hasn’t been fun since seventh grade, which I had noticed but tried to ignore. He complained that concepts were becoming more difficult for him to grasp and by the time he understands them, the test has already been administered. I quickly thought of Dweck. I dutifully told him that when he comes to understand the concept and solve the math equation, he’ll appreciate the victory more and feel a greater sense of pride because he struggled and pushed through to the other side. Persistence won over apathy. And then, breaking the spell of that revelation, that epiphany, David piped in that opening up the textbook doesn’t hurt, either.

As for Isabella, who knows if going to vet school is something she will want to pursue when she’s 18 years old? It might be the furthest thing on her mind when she’s filling out college applications six years down the road. I just want to make sure that the reason she doesn’t want to go – especially if it’s her passion – isn’t because the path is too hard. That’s where mindset parenting needs to step up: embrace the struggle and believe in the promise of and the journey to “yet.” And know that we parents, who are also continuing to learn and grow, are supporting our kids – all the way to the moon and back.

Adding stack of rings (Kate Peterson Designs, El Cerrito CA) and Anthropologie chocolate bolero jacket.

Adding stack of rings (Kate Peterson Designs, El Cerrito CA) and Anthropologie chocolate brown bolero jacket to this ensemble photo.

Lost, found, and forever kept: sisterhood and cousinhood

Jo’s face was a study next day, for the secret rather weighed upon her, and she found it hard not to look mysterious and important. Meg observed it, but did not trouble herself to make inquiries, for she had learned that the best way to manage Jo was by the law of contraries, so she felt sure of being told everything if she did not ask.
– Louisa May Alcott, American novelist, from Little Women

Celebrating Jacob's 5th birthday and my mom's 80th birthday, with Joshua and Isabella, June 2005.

Celebrating Jacob’s 5th birthday and my mom’s 80th birthday, with Joshua and Isabella in Folsom, June 2005.

When the kids were younger, I used to take them on weekend trips to my sister’s home in Folsom, about an hour-and-a-half drive from the Bay Area. My mom had been living with my middle sister Joyce and her husband when my nephew, Joshua, was born almost 18 years ago. Jacob was born 3.5 years later. When Isabella came along 2.5 years after Jacob, and David was working a lot of overtime hours, I sought refuge, relief, and motherhood support in Folsom. There, my mom doted over her three grandkids and I hung out, exhausted on the family room sofa, enjoying the cozy retreat. Oftentimes, I had to bring work, but I always carved out time for catching my breath, flipping through Joyce’s stack of People magazines late at night, and gabbing around the kitchen table.

The grandkids and Nellie at my mom's grave site in Folsom, Christmas Day 2014.

The grandkids and Nellie at my mom’s grave site in Folsom, Christmas Day 2014.

We visited a lot, and my kids really loved spending time with their cousin and their “lola,” my mom. Once Jacob started playing youth baseball, my work encroached beyond the 50-hour work week, and the three-hour roundtrip became too onerous, we didn’t visit as much. Joshua didn’t want February birthday parties anymore, so we didn’t come that month, and soon, we only came at Easter, my mom’s birthday in June, and Christmastime, then just June and December. I harbored feelings of regret, which got eaten whole, by everyone’s schedule and the resulting exhaustion. The kids complained about not visiting as often, and after my mom passed away three years ago, it was difficult when we did visit. Somehow, Jacob and Isabella became aware of the fact that when kids graduate from high school, they “go away from the house” afterwards, whether it be for college or work.

Their oldest cousin, Nick, on David’s side of the family, Joshua, and my college roommate’s son Grant are all seniors this year. In Jacob’s and Isabella’s eyes, they were going to be leaving their homes and that meant the two of them wouldn’t be able to see them easily anymore. Last year, they started lobbying for me to set up the next dinner with my college roommates so they could get together again with Grant and his younger brother Michael. They wanted to stay longer in Stockton, where David’s parents live, during the holidays to visit with Nick and their other cousins. And they especially bugged me about going to Folsom more – like old times – so they could hang out with Joshua. I’m glad they infused me with their urgency, which ignited my own urgency, which had been smothered by my to-do list and other obligations.

Ready for the short road trip to Folsom in comfortable clothes.

Ready for the short road trip to Folsom in comfortable clothes.

Though I didn’t have Martin Luther King, Jr. Day off, the kids had a three-day weekend, Jacob finished his semester so he didn’t have any weekend homework, and we had no sports commitment on Saturday. Seize the day, I told myself. Go to Folsom. The kids were ecstatic. And even I looked forward to relaxing a bit, which I wasn’t able to do this past Christmas in Folsom. I even looked forward to driving, listening to mellow music, letting my mind drift, enjoying the gray skies and the landscape bathed in a sheath of fog. I caught myself getting excited to see mom, who used to always answer the door when we arrived. When Joyce answered the door this time, however, I was overcome by that old home-away-from-home feeling, which took my hand and led me in.

Textures again: scarf (Personal Pizazz, Berkeley, CA), stack of rings (Kate Peterson Designs, El Cerrito, CA), Laura Lombardi hoops, jeans, eyelash sweater (H&M), and my own vintage Talbots crossbody bag from the early 90s.

Textures again: scarf (Personal Pizazz, Berkeley, CA), stack of rings (Kate Peterson Designs, El Cerrito, CA), Laura Lombardi hoops, jeans, eyelash sweater (H&M), and my own vintage Talbots crossbody bag in mint condition from the early 90s.

Laura Lombardi spheres hoops and Kate Peterson Designs stack of rings.

Laura Lombardi spheres and hoops earrings and Kate Peterson Designs stack of rings.

Joyce made spaghetti sauce and pasta for lunch for us. Now that she’s retired, she’s cooking, which is saying a lot for someone who had a framed saying that declared “I’d cook if I could find the can opener.” She informed me that she had “ceremoniously dumped it [the framed picture] last month.” I brought our thick binder of favorite recipes, and I marked with stick-it notes the recipes I thought she would like – easy ones with few ingredients – though she requested recipes that didn’t call for exotic ingredients that can’t be found in a regular grocery store. I’m thrilled that she’s cooking healthful meals and not eating a lot of processed frozen foods, which were her staple during her long days of teaching. It was fun to share recipes with her. And I was surprised and delighted to hear that she bought a ukulele and would take up an instrument that she had longed to play for a while. As she talked, I was content to see her finally relaxed because much of her working life was filled with deadlines, stress, report cards, and difficult students and parents. I was happy for her.

Three sisters at Christmastime in our old house, me with my baby doll, middle sister Joyce with Chatty Cathy, and oldest sister, Heidi.

Three sisters at Christmastime in our old house in Terra Bella, with me and my baby doll, Joyce with Chatty Cathy, and oldest sister, Heidi. Check out the encyclopedia dinosaurs!

The Enrado women, sans Mom, Christmas in Folsom, 2014.

The Enrado women, sans Mom, Christmas in Folsom, 2014.

We ran errands, with Isabella tagging along. We checked out the premium outlets. We Enrado women have a history of shopping, a tradition of shopping the day after Thanksgiving to get our Christmas gifts bought and out of the way and the day after Christmas to spend the $100 my mom gave each of us for Christmas. We would get up early and she’d drive us to the malls in either Bakersfield or Visalia. Of course, we would make our dollar stretch and buy clothes and accessories on sale and on clearance. When Joyce and I came home from the Folsom shops, Joshua was sprawled across the family room sofa, his pillow leaning against Isabella, while Jacob was spread out across the other sofa. Aside from the fact that they were watching the dreaded show, Walking Dead, a sense of contentment was draped around me at the sight of the three of them hanging out, if only for a very short weekend.

Joyce and me in our Auntie Leonora's house, our old house, 1972.

Joyce and me in our Auntie Leonora’s house, our old house in Terra Bella, 1972.

After dinner, Joyce suggested we spend the evening watching the movie Bridesmaids, which I hadn’t seen but she did see when her old high school friends were in town a few years ago. I’d always wanted to see it, having heard good reviews, but never got around to doing it, which seems to be a constant theme in my life. The movie was funny, and it was actually heartwarming for me to watch this chick-flick with my sister. At points during the movie, I was conscious of the fact that we hadn’t sat down and watched a movie like this – outside of a few distracted times with kids zipping in and out of the family room – since I was an undergraduate at UC Davis, spending the day or weekend with Joyce, who had recently graduated from Cal State Sacramento and was working and living in Sacramento, about 15 minutes from my campus. Those were the truly endless days when nothing seemed pressing, and it was so easy to pop over and hang out.

Hawk in a tree on our neighborhood walk.

Hawk in a tree on our neighborhood walk in Folsom.

Sunday morning, with the kids in charge of steering Nellie, the family dog, Joyce and I chatted while walking to the park and pond and around the neighborhood. It was cool and foggy, a perfect January day. She wanted me to walk with her because she felt she needed to exercise. I told her it was important to do some sort of exercise every day, how she ought to walk Nellie daily – both she and dog would benefit and she’d get some fresh air. I told her to keep moving. I told her about sleep studies that recommend women going to bed by 10PM. Knowing that she goes to bed late and sleeps in late, I told her she ought to push back her sleep pattern a few hours and her health would improve. I was always worried for her when she was teaching and only getting two to three hours of sleep a night.

Dad (his shadow) taking a photograph of us three sisters at our home in Los Angeles, February 1964.

Dad (his shadow) taking a photograph of us three sisters at our home in Los Angeles, February 1964.

After the walk she made soggy French toast, which we all ate not because we felt forced to, but because of gratitude. She had taken the time to make it. I was really proud of her. Not in a condescending way because David makes really wonderful meals and I’ve been cooking regularly for years, but proud that she was proud of her cooking. The kids took off for Joshua’s room soon after eating half of their French toast. Since we had to leave midday to make it back in time for Jacob’s hitting lesson, and I had precious few hours left that Sunday morning, I decided to wait until I got home to take my shower. I wanted to hang out at the kitchen table and keep talking, just talking. We caught up on old classmates and family and relatives. I felt like we weren’t almost 53 and nearly 55. We were in our 20s in Joyce’s Sacramento apartment. We were teenagers in her Ford Pinto coming home from high school the next town over, fearful of the blanket of hot-white fog on Old Highway 65. We were 7 and 9, playing our homemade version of the Mystery Date Game, laughing at the dud guy behind the white board game door, in the cramped screened-in porch in the back of our house, on an endless summer Sunday afternoon.

Joyce and me in front of our first house in Terra Bella, 1967.

Joyce and me and one of the many dogs in our childhood, in front of our first house in Terra Bella, 1967.

Don’t let the b@st@rds get you down

Those who don’t know how to suffer are the worst off. There are times when the only correct thing we can do is to bear out troubles until a better day.
– Deng Ming-Dao, Chinese-American author, artist, philosopher, teacher, and martial artist

My New Year's Eve outfit - faux fur jacket, vintage pin, velvet burnout trousers, and pumps.

My New Year’s Eve outfit – faux fur jacket, vintage brooch, velvet burnout trousers, and pumps.

Jacqui Naylor, San Francisco jazz-pop vocalist and songwriter, wrote a song called “Don’t let the bastard get you down,” which she released on her 2005 CD, Live East/West: Birdland/Yoshi’s. It’s a song about lovers and totally unrelated to my here and now, but when I started thinking through this particular blog topic, the catchy refrain stuck in my head.

I had a bad day at work this past Friday. It’s not really important to recap what happened. Suffice to say that an unexpected event occurred on a morning in which I was already exhausted from a chaotic week. It was the proverbial last straw that broke the camel’s back. But the silver lining was that it had happened on a Friday. As the day played out, I realized that I was going to need a mini vacation from work the moment the clock struck 5. I texted David: “Let’s watch Selma tonight.” Before he had left for work that morning, he brought up catching the Civil Rights historical movie, which was opening that day, about Martin Luther King, Jr.’s 1965 march from Selma to Montgomery, AL, to support blacks’ right to vote. I wanted to see it anyway, but I thought it timely to see it Friday evening. We took the kids. All four of us thought it was a great movie, and we appreciated its theme of equality and justice for all.

Texture in every piece of this outfit: velvet burnout, bejeweled and pintucked blouse, vintage Weiss brooch, metal sequins and beads purse, glossy pumps, and faux fur.

Texture in every piece of this outfit: velvet burnout trousers trimmed in satin, bejeweled and pintucked blouse, vintage Weiss brooch, metal sequins and beads purse, glossy pumps, and faux fur.

But it was important for me to see this movie on the heels of my crappy day because it put everything into perspective. People were getting severely beaten up. People lost their lives over a right that many of us take for granted today. My problem and my work day shrunk as each scene in the movie played out. By the time I came out of the theatre, I saw my work-related problem as a miniscule issue that will get resolved one way or another. On this I was clear: It wasn’t worth exerting another tear or another moment of weakness or anxiety.

Alexis Berger Glassworks chandelier earrings (Castle in the Air, Berkeley), vintage Weiss brooch (eBay), Sundance stack of rings, and sterling silver shell ring (Eskell, Chicago).

Alexis Berger Glassworks chandelier earrings (Castle in the Air, Berkeley), vintage Weiss brooch (eBay), Sundance stack of rings, and sterling silver shell ring (Eskell, Chicago).

What a cure, I thought to myself, as I went to bed that night. But it didn’t stop there. On Saturday, we took down the Christmas decorations. We all agreed that we felt sad to say goodbye to a what seemed like an extremely short holiday season. The house is so bountiful and festive when decked out. It always looks so stark and empty come January. At the same time, I enjoy having my clean, decluttered house back. I brought up Pandora radio on my mobile phone and hooked it up to the speaker. I chose my Peter, Paul, and Mary station, and was immediately immersed in folk music of the 1960s, much to my son’s chagrin, who took to his earplugs and listened to his own music. For me, I was in heaven. “Blowin’ in the Wind.” “If I Had a Hammer.” Crosby, Stills & Nash’s “Teach Your Children Well.” Every song by Simon and Garfunkel. Arlo Guthrie’s “City of New Orleans.” Songs I sang as a kid. Songs that were rooted in the turbulent era of the 1960s. Songs that took me back to my childhood.

Close-up of Alexis Berger's amazing glass-blown chandelier earrings, David's Christmas present to me.

Close-up of local artist Alexis Berger’s amazing glass-blown chandelier earrings, David’s Christmas present to me.

Choosing this station Saturday morning was an extension of watching the movie Selma the night before. I was in the moment. I was mindful. Life was full of vibrancy. I was in an exuberant, hopeful mood as I put away the Christmas ornaments, the Santa and snowman collection, the Department 56 Christmas in the City village settings. While boxing everything up was a sad chore, the promise of the New Year lay before me. A clean house, which translates to a cleared mind and head, allows me to focus and move forward. I also snuck in some Zen weeding in the front yard on Sunday after I took down the outdoor garland on our railings, which also made me feel cleansed.

Another close-up.

Another close-up.

I told the kids Friday evening that I’d had a bad day and it was something I had to get over, like a bump in the road. I gave them hugs. I told them I was grateful to have them in my lives because they are far more important than a lot of little things that trip me up in life. David allowed me to vent. He listened patiently. He made a point of clearing off the remaining obstacles on my road this past weekend. Gratitude is a wonderful thing to feel. It makes you buoyant. It makes those other problems shrink to the size and weight of gnats – ones you can smote with a flick of your finger. When you have a mindful weekend and are surrounded by supportive family and friends, you are ready for Monday. You breathe om with inner peace. And you say, “I won’t let the b@st@rds get me down this week.” Bring it on, Monday.

Ready for Monday. In. Style.

Ready for Monday. In. Style.

Brave the weather: shop Small Business Saturday

When you shop small, it can lead to big things.
– Small Business Saturday tagline

Having a navy moment: eyelash sweater, vegan pencil skirt, and gray booties.

Having a navy moment: eyelash sweater, vegan pencil skirt, and gray booties.

In 2010, American Express created the Small Business Saturday to encourage people to support the small businesses in their community. Okay, yes, its roots are not completely altruistic, but I’ll give Am Ex props for rewarding small businesses and customers who shop local and small.

If you have an Am Ex card, you can register it here and when you spend $10 at a store you get a $10 credit on your next monthly statement. You can get up to $30 in credit. More importantly, you support your local entrepreneurs and your community, which is the message I want to highlight.

Be a neighborhood champion. Take a break from decking the halls and brave the weather in your area, run into your neighbors, and catch up with your local women entrepreneurs. For those of you local to the East Bay Area, here are a few of my favorite small shops:

Jenny K carries a wide variety of jewelry designers.

Jenny K (6921 Stockton Avenue, El Cerrito, CA 94530, 510.528.5350)carries a wide variety of jewelry designers.

Purple walls provide a vibrant backdrop to highlight the luxurious clothing and accessories.

Purple walls provide a vibrant backdrop to highlight the luxurious clothing and accessories at Personal Pizazz (3048 College Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94705, 510.420.0704).

Lava 9 jewelry to drool over.

Lava 9 (1797 Solano Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94707, 510.528.5336) jewelry to drool over.

A colorful storefront display greets visitors to Gorgeous and Green.

A colorful storefront display greets visitors to Gorgeous and Green (2946 College Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94705, 510.665.7974).

Vintage crystal against a cozy and soft eyelash sweater (H&M).

Vintage crystal against a cozy and soft eyelash sweater (H&M).

Reclaimed vintage chandelier necklace (End of Century, NYC), crystal drop earrings, statement ring, Tribe Hill sterling silver bracelet (Se Vende Imports, Portland, ME), and Rachel Comey booties.

Reclaimed vintage chandelier necklace (End of Century, NYC), crystal drop earrings, statement ring, Tribe Hill sterling silver bracelet (Se Vende Imports, Portland, ME), and Rachel Comey booties.

 

 

 

Tolstoy’s three questions: a timeless parable

The hero of my tale, whom I love with all the power of my soul, whom I have tried to portray in all his beauty, who has been, is, and will be beautiful, is Truth.
– Leo Tolstoy, from Sevastopol in May, 1855

Leo Tolstoy, photograph by Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky, 1908.

Leo Tolstoy, a wonderful and rare color photograph by Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky, 1908.

One of the chores my kids have to finish before David’s family descends upon our home for Thanksgiving is to clean their rooms, particularly clearing off their floors so that their cousins have a place to set up their air beds. While cleaning his room over the weekend, my son, Jacob, brought to me a children’s book that we used to read when the kids were much younger: “Remember this book, Mom?” he said with a smile. My face lit up! We read this picture book every evening during one magical stretch of time. We three loved it – for its beautiful watercolor illustrations and its big-hearted message, which was intuitively grasped by my kids, evidenced by the wonder in their eyes and their requests to have it read again and again.

The Three Questions, based on a story by Leo Tolstoy, was written and illustrated by Jon J Muth and published in 2002. The children’s book took its cue from a short story Tolstoy published in 1885 as part of his collection What Men Live By, and other tales. Tolstoy’s parable involves a king who believed that if he knew the answers to three questions he would be successful at anything he attempted. His questions were: When is the right time to do the right thing, or when is the best time to do each thing? Who are the people I most need, and to whom, therefore, should I pay more attention to than the rest, or who are the most important people to work with? What affairs are the most important and need my attention first, or what is the most important thing to do at all times?

Tolstoy’s king announces a reward to anyone who can come up with the right answers, but he is besieged by myriad responses from learned men across his kingdom. Confused and dissatisfied, the king seeks out a hermit who is known for his wisdom. Because the hermit only sees common folk and never leaves the woods, the king dresses as a peasant and leaves his bodyguard and horse at a certain point in the woods on his journey to the hermit’s dwelling. He finds the frail hermit digging in his yard. The king poses his questions, but the hermit keeps digging. Finally, the king realizes that the hermit is exhausted from digging and offers to dig for the hermit. The king digs two beds and again poses the questions to the hermit. The hermit merely responds by telling the king to take a break. The king refuses and keeps digging until the sun begins to set. Irritated, the king sets down the spade and declares that if the hermit is not going to respond the king will return home.

At that moment, the hermit spies a man running toward them who is bleeding heavily from a stomach wound. The king tends to the man, stanching the flow of blood, until his situation stabilizes after several hours. Exhausted and with night descending, the king falls asleep in the hermit’s home. In the morning, the wounded man admits to the king that he knows the king’s identity and in fact was on a mission to assassinate him, laying in wait for his return to the woods, because the king had his brother executed and his property confiscated. After impatiently waiting and no sign of the king, the man had come out from hiding, only to be attacked by the king’s bodyguard. The man was able to run away, but was bleeding to death. Now with his life having been saved, the man swears his and his sons’ allegiance to the king.

Painting of Leo Tolstoy by Ilya Repin, 1891.

Painting of Leo Tolstoy by Ilya Repin, 1891.

Shocked, the king is nevertheless relieved to have made a friend out of an enemy and pledges to have his physician look after the man. He then seeks out the hermit, who is sowing seeds in the plowed beds, and again poses his questions, requesting answers for the last time. The hermit replies that the king’s questions have already been answered: If the king hadn’t helped the hermit dig the soil, he would have gone back into the woods and been killed by his assassin. “So the most important time was when you were digging the beds; and I was the most important man; and to do me good was your most important business,” the hermit responds.

“Afterwards when that man ran to us, the most important time was when you were attending to him, for if you had not bound up his wounds he would have died without having made peace with you. So he was the most important man, and what you did for him was your most important business,” the hermit goes on.

“Remember then: there is only one time that is important – Now! It is the most important time because it is the only time when we have any power. The most necessary man is he with whom you are, for no man knows whether he will ever have dealings with any one else: and the most important affair is, to do him good, because for that purpose alone was man sent into this life,” the hermit concludes.

Close-up of painting of Leo Tolstoy by Ilya Repin, 1901.

Close-up of painting of Leo Tolstoy by Ilya Repin, 1901.

Jon Muth’s beautifully illustrated tale posed these questions: When is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do? The protagonist, the king, is recast as a boy named Nikolai, who hangs out with three friends, all of whom have distinct personalities  – a heron named Sonya, a dog named Pushkin, and a monkey named Gogol, who was a memorable character for Jacob because he was playful and carefree. The three friends try to help Nikolai come up with answers, answers that matched their animal personalities. Nikolai decides to seek counsel from Leo, the wise old turtle who lives in the mountains. Instead of an assassin, as in Tolstoy’s tale, Nikolai attends to a momma panda whose leg is injured when a fierce storm fells nearby trees, and later rescues her baby, who was lost in the forest.

Muth once said, “I think children are intuitively capable of grasping wisdom as readily as adults are.” So true. He effortlessly combined his studies of Zen with his ode to Tolstoy to bring to children the importance of compassion and living in the moment. Leo the old turtle tells Nikolai: “Remember then that there is only one important time, and that time is now. The most important one is always the one you are with. And the most important thing is to do good for the one who is standing at your side. For these, my dear boy, are the answers to what is most important in this world. This is why we are here.”

After Jacob let me borrow his book, I researched the Tolstoy story and reread Muth’s book. The wonder returned. The deeper story resonated deep within me, just as it did for me and Jacob and Isabella: That’s why we are here.

Drowning in emails

No late messages: It is proper netiquette to send messages within an appropriate timeframe.
– David Chiles, internet guru and author, from The Principles of Netiquette

It's still mild weather in northern California heading into mid-November. I'm having a neutral palette moment with a feminine pleated sheer blouse and faux leather pencil skirt.

Northern California weather is still mild heading into mid-November. I’m having a neutral palette moment with a feminine pleated sheer blouse and faux leather pencil skirt.

I used to be good about responding to email messages within the day and keeping my inbox tight and tidy. I’d spend at least once a week deleting old messages and expired e-tail advertisements, responding to messages that required more than a few minutes of time, and moving other emails to one of 59 folders I’ve created as both a cleaning-house mechanism and a way to save important or interesting information of which more than two-thirds I’ll never read. My goal after the purge was to have no more than 50 e-mails left in my inbox that were still timely, needed action, or needed more thought for a response.

This system worked well for many years – even as I started getting more emails and I got busier with work and life in general. I realized that I needed to add to my purging strategy. So I unsubscribed from daily e-newsletters I was receiving. If I wasn’t going to read them within the next couple of days, I wasn’t going to read them period. This exercise in unsubscribing also removed the slight anxiety I experienced when the daily e-newsletters piled up and I felt like the mythical Sisyphus. Why bother encouraging carpal tunnel syndrome with the finger constantly hitting the delete button? Interestingly enough, I didn’t miss those e-newsletters (okay, it’s because I’m too busy to remember I used to get them and read them every day). I delete the political and charitable solicitations – well, most of them.

When your blouse has all the details, your accessories should be few and subtle: Carmela Rose earrings (Jenny K, El Cerrito, CA) and statement ring (Lava 9, Berkeley, CA).

When your blouse has all the details, you only need a few accessories: Carmela Rose earrings (Jenny K, El Cerrito, CA) and statement ring (Lava 9, Berkeley, CA).

Next up was deleting forwarded articles or videos from family and friends that I knew – even if I wanted to read/see them – would just sit in my inbox. If I didn’t read that article or watch that video within two weeks, it either went into the Bermuda Triangle set of folders to be viewed in my dreams or it went to trash.

But then the elections came and a group of us parents began a couple of e-mail threads that became unwieldy. Okay, I admit that I was an active participant in this thread. Lunafest planning has started, so that thread is active and growing. I’m a member of the high school’s Investing in Academic Excellence, so I get those emails. I try to skim the emails of the high school and elementary school weekly updates for events I need to attend or pertinent information I need to act on.

I file e-bill receipts and schedule e-payments upon receiving the e-reminders, keep track of the kids’ and my health-related appointments and test results, and file monthly updates on the various memberships I belong to, such as airlines, hotels, beauty, and fashion. I have to keep up with the band, soccer, baseball notices, the horseback riding lesson back-and-forth correspondences nailing down the monthly dates, the drama rehearsal and performances dates, and the flamenco lesson reminders, which I need! I want to congratulate a colleague on a promotion when LinkedIn alerts me, but then I have to find the sheet that tells me what my login is for LinkedIn. Since I donate to causes, suddenly I’m getting daily updates from many worthy organizations. On their own, I’m touched to read the latest good news. Collectively, it’s overwhelming. I only need the New Yorker Store once a year to order my desk calendar, but then if I unsubscribe I’ll miss out on that discount that they send out in November. I tried unsubscribing to another site, but since I have a membership, the site refuses my request. Now that we’re Oakland A’s season ticket holders for next year, I get daily e-mails for daily specials. I’ve gotten into the habit of deleting all these emails when they come in, but clearly I haven’t done it on the spot, as my inbox hit 600 emails and climbing this past week.

Details, details.

Details, details.

I made feeble attempts to carve out time to go through my inbox, but after 15 minutes in and what felt at first like progress, I only deleted or filed 100 of those emails. I stopped that futile exercise because it was too demoralizing. Serious purging with real results requires a long night or part of a weekend. It would not be tonight.

One of the email time-suck problems I’ve come across is courtesy of Yahoo. I’d like to survey people who have Yahoo email accounts to find out who likes the “new” system of automatically linking emails from the same thread. Somebody thought it was brilliant to do that for us. But all it does is confuse users on so many levels. One of the reasons I don’t like the automatic threading of emails is that you can delete the whole thread – all 69 emails – and when someone responds, you’ve got 70 emails back in your inbox. Maddening. If you cut and paste from that email thread and start a new message to another person, Yahoo throws it into the same thread. Try going back to that one message in the thread of 70 and responding to that one message; the system seemingly randomly sends you to the original email or one of the emails from the original thread. It’s like being in email purgatory. I just want to respond to this person and this message, you scream at your laptop.

To winterize this outfit, slip on an ivory jacket (tuxedo or moto style) and either cream-colored booties or heeled boots. I'd throw on a light brown or ivory faux fur scarf to complete the neutral palette.

To winterize this outfit, slip on an ivory jacket (tuxedo or moto style) and either cream-colored booties or heeled boots. I’d throw on a light brown or ivory faux fur scarf to complete the neutral palette. Think winter white!

Or sometimes you think you sent the email and it’s sitting in your draft box. I had entered a fiction contest at the end of October and forgot to include a one-sentence description of my novel. The administrator kindly sent me an email telling me to send the missing one-liner with a header identifying the number of my submission ASAP. However, when I respond to the message, yahoo would not allow me to change the subject header. I created about four different emails via cutting and pasting before finally being able to send it off. This was last week. Today, I found it in my draft box. Horrified that I had not only bungled my submission but rudely never responded, never sent what was asked of me, I reached out to the administrator, thinking in the back of my head that I was sure I had sent successfully and she had thanked me. But I could not find that email in the thread. Two weeks past the deadline, I sent another email with the right information and subject header, and she responded within hours that she got it. Got it as in I got it last week and all was well, so why are you bothering me again? She didn’t say anything beyond “got it.” I couldn’t help but clog up her inbox by sending another email saying that I apologized for being so yahoo.

Yes, I realize that I’m part of the problem, thanks, Yahoo. Email is a great tool for communicating with such immediacy (I won’t even touch texting here) and automatically receiving valuable information. Yes, I do want to continue hearing from family and friends; it’s the personal correspondence I look forward to. But I’m not alone in suffering from a nervous breakdown over the amount of email that fills my inbox – ads, solicitations, surveys, newsletters, et al. Purge, unsubscribe, file away. Do them all. But the key is you have to carve out more than an hour to keep up and not feel overwhelmed by email. Put on your favorite Pandora radio station and have at it. Email is a reality of our modern life. Now if only Yahoo would return to its old ways… And by the way, it is e-mail or email?

While the weather's still mild, you can get away with a sturdy platform with peep toe. Keeping to a similar shade as your skin color elongates short legs.

While the weather’s still mild, you can get away with a sturdy platform with peep toe. Keeping to a similar shade as your skin color elongates short legs.