Read an Excerpt
A Patchwork of Comforts
Small Pleasures for Peace of Mind
By Carol Wiseman Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC
Copyright © 2004 Carol Wiseman
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-57324-904-1
CHAPTER 1
Welcome
The word pleasure has such a gentle, smooth sound to it. It's a word that makes your mouth feel good when you say it, and the images it opens up always make you smile.
This was the first sentence I wrote in a paper on pleasure for my first writing class many years ago. It seemed like a fitting start to a book on comforts because the words pleasure and comfort lace together so gently, like the strands of soft yarn in a winter scarf.
From that first descriptive sentence my imagination took off. Just think how much different our lives would be—calmer, happier, healthier—if we spent more time nurturing ourselves and less time on the endless string of tasks we assign ourselves every day.
To broaden my point of view I asked everyone I knew, past and present, about their personal comforts by sending out a letter asking, "What comforts you the most?" and "How do you relieve your stress?" The results were a treasure trove of ideas. As replies trickled in, my excitement over every single one led my husband to speculate that I'd invented a new tactic for getting more mail, the kind with my name written on the envelope in real ink.
Surprisingly, this small sampling turned out to be a broad cross section of feelings and dozens of positive solutions to life's pressures ... plenty of fodder for my book. There was a commonness to comforts, a similarity of individual techniques. One thing is sure: it proved that we all share the need to be nurtured in some way.
My most memorable surprise was the night my husband's godfather called. He had recently lost his wife, and my request had prompted him to spend time thinking about their last year together. Writing out the details for me helped him to move forward in his life.
That night he called to thank me and to tell us how much better he was feeling. It was an unexpected turning point for me. This project now had new meaning.
With my letter in hand, people were forced to think about what comforts they had in their lives. Results were surprising. Some realized for the first time that they never paused long enough in the day to ever feel that relief. Three women confessed that thinking about what pleasured them actually eased an ongoing depression; thinking about any good times had stopped for them long ago.
Responses varied in detail but themes were common; a lot of you are either walking, reading, cuddling, eating, or daydreaming. My personal favorites: "The best thing about doing nothing is resting afterward" and "Taking off my bra at the end of the day." Dylan said, "Only eating Goldfish makes me feel better." (He was four and loved crackers.) My own favorite thing: Not being in a hurry.
The result of my survey letter is a personal book with a simple, lighthearted approach that's designed to ease your day and give you new ideas for dealing with stress and getting more pleasure out of life. There are no wordy explanations or dialogue that demands interpretation; just a collection of observations on what people think and the places they go—sometimes just in their own minds—when the details of their lives get them down.
Reading people's responses about what comforted them most allowed me to glimpse into secret worlds of relief. From their brief descriptions, I created two perspectives from which to view each comfort. The first is drawn from my own imagination and is written in a first-person voice that will pull you gently into each experience. The second is made up of my own thoughts on what makes each subject a source of such pleasure. Each different comfort will transport you to a respite from your everydayness. My fondest hope is that you'll get some good ideas to integrate into your own life. Reading about comforts, after all, should be comforting. Enjoy...
Alone Time: The only voice you hear is your own
Chris, from Grants Pass, Oregon, clears her head by escaping her work world on the weekend.
It's Saturday and I'm heading for the hills. Five long, noisy days of being surrounded by people—who kept talking and expected me to talk back—is over. By Friday night I felt like screaming, "Leave me alone, please!"
I've been labeled shy all my life, but I'm really not; it's that small talk I'm no good at. You know, the stuff people say just to fill the silence. The reason I love the mountains so much is that chipmunks and birds don't expect anything. They go about their eating business and leave you alone to listen to what's really important— buzzing ... chirping ... trickling.
* * *
Being alone gives us time to think more clearly, when we're not constantly reacting to warm bodies all around us. But balance is tricky. Working people who are surrounded all day crave more peoplelessness, while retired seniors who stay at home most of the time hunger for the opposite.
Alone time is merely a breather for socializers, who love that human connection, but it's vital for those of us who absorb the energy of people around us until it feels like electric current running through our bodies. At some point we're desperate to break away.
Alone is different from lonely, when we yearn for more company. And being "a loner" describes those who like it that way most of the time. We tend to label them antisocial or "too big for their britches" when they don't join in. Maybe it's just that their tolerance for chaos is low, or maybe they were celebrities in a previous life.
There are ways to insulate ourselves amid the hubbub without resorting to the mountains or a desert island. Putting a canopy over our bed creates the illusion of being in our own little world. It has a low roof that separates that space in our mind and designates it as special. We automatically sense its privacy and safety, and we feel cozy in our nest. A special sitting corner in our garden, a B&B out of town, or a bath before bed all designate "our own space" and our very own pint-sized R&R.
"Alone" lovers: Escapees from the constant static of people and their expectations
Aromas: Trigger memories
Dena, from Grants Pass, Oregon, calms down when her favorite smell drifts by.
Wow, the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Halfway through my morning walk today I turned the corner to a wonderful surprise. The air was filled with honeysuckle. You can't see it, but your nose knows.
At about the second block I began to notice how tight my neck and shoulders were. My jaw was tight, and I was frowning. I was sure that if my neighbors drove by they'd think I was mad at them. This was supposed to be a time to unwind, but that mental list of the chores I had to do kept running 'round and 'round in my brain. By the time the honeysuckle was done with me, my face was relaxed. Same with my mood.
* * *
Smells hit unexpectedly. We could be typing a report or taking our morning walk when suddenly there's a familiar smell. First there's recognition, then reaction. The memory smell of Mom's chocolate cupcakes brings a smile, but the cologne an old boyfriend wore makes us squinch.
Most smells, good and bad, grab us just because they're familiar, like morning coffee, roses, puppy, seaweed on the beach, or outdated milk. Everyone agrees on the great smells like cinnamon rolls in the oven or lilacs in bloom, but some good smells can be bad, like the sweet fragrance of sweet peas to an allergy sufferer and the pungent smell of axle grease is heaven only to mechanics, and old car buffs.
The same nose that detects a gas leak in the house detects romance from roses in the room. And just imagine the inside of our cars and homes if we couldn't detect doggie-doo on our shoe.
Aroma: Silently alters your train of thought
Bath: Ahhh, alone at last
Carol, from Grants Pass, Oregon, depends on her hot bath to soothe her mind and body.
I am a bath addict. My world of comfort starts when warm water engulfs my body, where a small room of unspeakable pleasure brings relief from the angst of life, from cold toes and cluttered minds.
It's February and I'm chilled to the bone. A day of details is finally over. I head for the back of the house to fill the tub—nice and full, nice and hot. Not enough to scorch body parts, just warm enough to melt the day.
I light a candle to balance on the rim of the tub and put on music that's barely there. Pulling the curtain to wall off the rest of the room completes the stage for this daily renewal. I step in and sink down ... slowly. Ahhh, my eyes close automatically as the wonderfulness surrounds my body.
* * *
We're alone at last. This door can be locked, away from the phone, children, partner, obligations. With scented candles and soft music, relief is complete, magically transporting us to a little bit of Eden.
A hot soak slows body and brain to a crawl, winding a day of hassles down to zero. Warm water surrounds every muscle, as if Mother Nature herself were cuddling it and saying, "Relax, everything's all right now."
Ohhh, the pampering. At this moment we are the most important person in our very own sanctuary. It's a time to savor, since these do-nothing moments come rarely in an active life.
Bath: Liquid relief engulfs us.
Bed: Human nesting
Pan, from Wolf Creek, Oregon, turns to her bed as the ultimate healing place.
Dragging myself out of bed today is harder than usual. My throat burns and my joints ache, both signs that a cold is coming on. It doesn't seem bad enough to call in sick, but by noon I regret my morning decision. Coworkers are glad to see me—and my contaminating ways—leave early. As I hit the freeway to home, I begin to think about my bed, my wonderful, wonderful bed. Suddenly the car takes off on its own, as it heads "back to the barn." Clothes come off before I get to the bedroom, where I pause just long enough to take two aspirin. Bed is calling. I wrap myself up in the down comforter and scrunch it up under my chin. Tomorrow will be better.
* * *
Bed is where we want to be when our body's feeling lousy. Being swaddled in a fluffy comforter soothes us with a healing power all its own. It's why people take to their beds when they're depressed, or just sad for the day.
Beds feel safe. Lying in the dark and the quiet, listening to soft rainfall on the roof, feels snuggly, like the hugs we got when we were four. And if sprinkles turn to thunder, pulling the blankets up to hide our head makes us feel protected.
Personality quirks emerge at midnight with twitchers, snorters, talkers, walkers, and those who steal blankets every time they turn over. Gentle sleepers quietly spend the night in one position, as if their dreams were a good book.
Beds are magic carpets, taking us to places we want to revisit again and again. And sharing the details of a crazy dream before we get up starts off the day with a good laugh, although figuring them out can take a master's degree.
Bed = Nest = A place to dream, heal, hide, read, whisper, and make love
Birding: Finding flying treasure
For Sue, from Burlingame, California, spotting a new bird and adding it to her "life list" is very exciting.
When our neighbor moved he didn't want to haul the concrete fountain in his backyard to his new house. He hadn't filled it in three years anyway, so he offered it to us. Actually, it looked like a giant birdbath, so we filled it, and then waited. I thought it was too deep for birds to use, and wanted to put a big rock in the bottom for them to stand on, but my husband said to wait.
Three weeks went by—nothing. Then tonight, as we sat on the deck in the pitch dark, we heard splashing. We knew birds don't bathe at night, so I ran in to get the flashlight. We couldn't believe it. A pair of small owls, maybe 8 inches tall, sat on the edge together, taking turns swimming across the bowl. I guess they were bathing, but we will be telling our friends they were swimming.
The bright light in their eyes didn't faze them at first, but 30 seconds is all we got. We'll be out there again tomorrow night ... waiting.
* * *
Catching nature off guard peaks our wonder. Most of us are too busy earning a living, commuting, parenting, or doing household chores to notice that we lost the automatic curiosity of our youth years ago. The closest we get to interacting with fauna is when we head for the toilet carrying our latest conquest, a mashed spider in a tissue.
Backyard birders arrange their furniture in front of windows so they can keep track of local visitors, while serious seekers, searching for eagles in the wetlands, politely argue over species. Each side finally decides—in their own heads—that they are right.
Auduboners are a special breed. They flock to field trips, where enthusiasts are decked out with the essential binocs and ID book. Bird watching to them is more than just relaxing; it's a game that demands 100 percent of their attention. Can I find a new one before it finds me? And when I do will it perch long enough for me to remember specifics? The challenge of spotting a "new bird for them" is to be quick, identifying as many body parts as possible before flight. Substituting a camera for binoculars assures that their friends will believe their find this time.
Creeping is essential, whether it's sneaking through backyard grass or in a car-train of birders. As they inch in as close as they dare, they alert each other over walkie-talkies. It's when telescopes are set up to look them in the eye—for the big ones that linger—that begs the question, "Who's watching whom?"
Country livers have lots of opportunities, but even they are often too busy to pause and appreciate the giant, redheaded woodpecker on the old snag at the edge of their property, or a male mourning dove watching out for his sweetie down below.
Audubon marriage: Never having to argue about where to go on vacation
Breathing: More than just oxygen to your brain
Blake, from Sunny Valley, Oregon, induces calm by taking deep breaths.
Until today I thought breathing was what I did naturally. After all, I'd been doing it since I was born and never once had to think about it, except for the time when I was learning to snorkel and had to hold it longer than I thought I could. True, I knew it was harder to breathe hiking up a slope, but I also knew that breathing faster happened without even thinking.
I went to the bookstore to check out the blue book value of my car and got distracted. There's a whole shelf of books on breathing. I'm too curious to not notice so I pulled one out and sat down to read. How could you write a whole book about breathing? What more is there than "in out, in out, in out"?
Turns out there are different kinds of breathing, and since there was no one in the aisle to see me, I tried one out. Inhale through the nose fast, hold, and then exhale slowly through the mouth. It was true, I felt more relaxed after doing it five times, as if I had just exhaled all my worries. Well, not all of them; I'm still trying to decide whether to trade in my car or sell it myself through the classifieds.
* * *
Isn't this why we call it the autonomic system? Our bodies are built to breathe automatically for us. Why should we spend our time thinking about it?
The drill goes something like this: Stress makes us tense our stomach muscles. We revert to shallow chest breathing, which increases fatigue and tension. Deep abdominal breaths help turn off anxiety by stretching and relaxing the diaphragm, giving us more air. Our brain then signals our whole body to release tension.
Smokers know. That first deep inhale is so relaxing that eyes automatically close in ecstasy. But the American Lung Association says it's the deep breaths, not the nicotine, that does it.
Camping: Leaving cement behind
Elizabeth, from Rogue River, Oregon, finds peace camping in the woods by herself.
The key to my weekend was not hearing a single phone ring. Actually, there was no noise at all except some water, owls, and our own footsteps as we walked through the woods.
My wife and I set up camp as fast as we could. We pitched the tent and set up our nest inside it, organized the food for the next two days, and decided where the "rest room" would be. Then we set up two cots side by side outside the tent, threw pillows on one end, and flopped down to look up into the trees. We were free to do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted to, for two whole days.
After an hour, we got up to investigate where the sound of water was coming from. We wound in and out of the trees, avoiding clumps of poison oak, until we came to a small creek with a log-bridge across it. We walked to the center and straddled the trunk, dangling our feet 6 inches from the water. As it flowed over some large boulders, I closed my eyes and could almost hear the sound of my grandfather laughing but trying not to. This chuckling should put us to sleep just fine tonight.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A Patchwork of Comforts by Carol Wiseman. Copyright © 2004 Carol Wiseman. Excerpted by permission of Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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