This episode of “I WANT” brought to you by a person listening to rock music and the letter “I”

Then I talked to my genius mom:

Me: How’d you do it?

Mom: It helps to look in the mirror at first. When I first started trying to wiggle my ears…

And then I stopped her because, although I knew she could wiggle her ears, it had never occurred to me that at one point she couldn’t wiggle her ears, had wanted to wiggle ears, had made it a goal to do so, and had practiced until she succeeded. !

Me: Wait, wait, WHY did you want to learn how to wiggle your ears?!

Mom: Hmmm… I don’t remember now… but at first I could only just barely see them moving. You know when you move your head out and back like you are an Egyptian?

Me: Yeah

Mom: Well, try and move the front of your face out front while you try and hold the back of your head in place.

Me: Wait… this feels really weird…

And then, wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, I could squeeze my back scalp muscles together and wiggle my ears.

“Walk like an Egyptian!!”

If you ever need to giggle, try a little wiggle. We were talking on skype and I was very seriously showing her my progress, while she was wiggling her ears too, “Look, look, did you see my ear wiggle!” Then we both started laughing.

The funniest part about this, to me, is imagining my mom looking in the mirror and trying to wiggle her ears, and going about it with the hard working dedication that she applies to most everything. Ahhhh…. funny.

Update 4/15/08: It really works! After just a day of doing the scalp exercise, the horizontal lines in my forehead are significantly reduced! I got those lines young due to my face actually freezing in that expression. :) I hadn’t been able to relax my face consistently enough or do anything else to get rid of them. WOW. This is a truly amazing result, especially after just one day.

Then I said I had to go because I had an improv class. She said, “What, you can’t even prioritize talking to me on the *phone*?” “No!” I said. Then we both said, “Bye, I love you.” Because neither of us wants to leave with bad words in case one of us dies before we talk again.

Oooh I was irritated all the way to improv class. I needn’t have worried, because it’s easy to be happy in improv and tonight was especially funny. The theme of the night was “Yes, AND…” There are all kinds of “Yes, and” games. The idea is that someone throws out an idea, and WHATEVER it is, you agree with it and add information. (It’s very much like dancing.)

Say you have a scene where you are in a bank and your partner says, “I love that ballarina outfit you’re wearing!” You don’t say, “I’m in a bank, why would I be wearing a ballerina outfit?” You say… anything that agrees with their reality. “Oh thank you! I love the tights, but do you think the tutu is too much?” Or…”Yes, darling, it’s intermission at Swan Lake and I have just enough time to cash my latest honorarium if you wouldn’t mind letting me just tip toe ahead of you in line.”

You even “yes and” offerings that you find sort of repulsive. “Didn’t you used to date George Bush?” “Yep, we went out for a couple months. We met in rehab.”

It was an especially funny night, I was glowing from the laughter, and as I was driving home my mind turned back to the argument. I imagined answering some improv friend’s questions about my fight with my mom: “Yeah, I think that if she had just said. ‘Yes! That’s a great idea! It would be so awesome to get together with all of our family! I love that idea. We could even rent a boat or something!’ Then I would have been happy. Then we could talk about ways to make it happen and find out if it might or might not work….”

“Yeah, good point, I could have yes-anded her too. ‘Yeah, you’re worried that it’s just not going to happen and you want me to be happy about whatever amount of time I do get. Yeah, I hear you, you don’t want me to be disappointed.’ True, I could have said something like that. And I often do, when I’m in a more mature mode. Plus I know I toss out what sound like wild ideas to my sometimes cautious mother and I have empathy for where she is at and her concerns for me. But, come on, I wanted one month a year, so I’d already brought my suggestion down to what I thought was crazy reasonable before I said it!”

My imaginary improv friends lost interest at this point. Rude.

Now you know how to respond to me when I tell you an outrageous idea.

Just tell me that you like my tutu and leave it at that.

*

I grew up with a hoarder and I couldn’t stand it! I was always embarrassed to have my friends over. I wasn’t allowed to throw popsicle sticks or plastic spoons away. Not only couldn’t we throw spoons away, my mom would actually bring home her used plastic spoons from restaurants. We had a whole drawer full of plastic spoons. We had 5 boxes full of rock salt filled with rabbit pelts that my mom was going to make into mittens someday.

I carried those 5 50 pound boxes in two different moves. I was opposed to them killing the rabbits I raised, opposed to saving ridiculous things we were never going to use, and opposed to the hard, meaningless labor of carrying the boxes. Grrr… (Hey, I just thought of something I could say in groups when the leader says to introduce yourself and tell people a fact about yourself that would surprise them!) We had a whole bunch of USED toothbrushes. I threw some of these away once and my mom got very upset with me.

If I lived in my childhood home now it would be fun to do a photo journal of all the strange stuff that we had. Very out of date medicine, old jars of canned tomatoes, piles of fabric, boxes of old game and puzzle pieces, closets full of old clothes, corners crammed with dead relatives furniture, one room just FULL of paper- literally piled to the ceiling with paper, including piles of charity solicitations with free address labels. My mom would keep all the paper work in case she wanted to use the free address labels or free cards they sent. Then she would send them money before she used them.

When I lived with my mom for a couple years as an adult, I made a deal with her that I wouldn’t touch the basement if the upstairs could stay clean. When I got particularly frustrated, I would throw everything that I thought was clutter over the banister down the stairs. (Don’t try this at home.)

I’ve read that hoarding is a reaction to loss and the hoarders in my family did have a lot of loss. It adds credence to the theory that when my mom got remarried she got rid of at least 2/3 of her stuff. It was amazing. It was like she was coming alive again and breaking out of some old tomb and throwing off the shackles of the paper and the unmatched game pieces! In reverse, my auntie, who I love, has become more and more ensconced in things since her husband died.

I love getting rid of things if I know they’ll have a good home. I take car loads and car loads of things to thrift stores. (I don’t shop much so I don’t know how I end up with carloads of things to get rid of.) I live in an apartment without much storage space, so when I decorated for Christmas, I just bought strings of lights at a thrift store for 50 cents and took them back after the holidays! And I love that no new things have to be manufactured when I buy them from a thrift store.

I keep things that are beautiful, useful, and/or happily sentimental. I love that I have distilled the objects around me so that everything I see in my room is something I love. (My roommate is a minimalist and probably thinks I’m a hoarder, so it’s somewhat relative.)

I did learn some good things from my mom’s hoarding behavior. I learned that random bits of junk can be useful in art projects. I think that thriftiness and ecology was tied into my mom’s hoarding behavior. She wanted to use everything and everything has a possible use. It’s like recycling. It’s important to me to recycle. I love composting although I don’t compost right now. (no yard).

I also would never throw useful things in the garbage that someone else could use. I’ve seen other people throw perfectly good CLOTHES into the garbage. GASP! No way. Someone could use that!! So, maybe the basic premise of the hoarder has been passed onto me, I just don’t feel the need to store the objects in my space when there are perfectly good libraries and thrift stores to do that job for me.

* Some of the flowers I bought myself with the flower money my mom sent me this Valentine’s Day with probably my favorite collage I’ve made n the background. Made at my mother’s house it is comprised of a bottle of glue I was going to use as glue, it was dried out though, so I cut it open and taped the glue and glue bottle to the collage, which I put in an old frame we had lying around.

Tags: hoarding, mom, family, thrift, recycling, grief

Tags: dogs, books

One answer I’ve heard from my mom:

Whenever her husband is going somewhere and she asks, “Can I come along?” He says, “Of course! I always like it when you are there.”

When asked about growing older, he said that he’s mostly a story teller not a philosopher, but he has had fleeting impressions about age, a few of which he still remembers. Once he thought suddenly, “I don’t want to leave the party.”

That is the exact thought I had when I was trying to figure out what I have against death. At the core of it, it’s that I don’t want to leave the party.

I never told you that I had a horrible, horrible experience this summer. A quiet but chilling experience that brought the reality of death to me. Not the reality of dying exactly, but the reality of the possibility of annihilation. I didn’t want to say it out loud in case it was catching.

It’s been quite a journey since then. At first I felt intense sob-producing fear. Then I felt various amounts of anxiety. Even during my recent trip to Tahoe, there was the cold reality of death nearby to come to mind whenever I wasn’t engaged in something else. While I was in Tahoe I thought, “I just wish I could forget about death!” Not forget that death exists, but to feel immortal like I used to, despite the evidence.

When I got home and was going through my mail I saw a promise from Shambhala magazine that they could teach me to be happier. Of course I read it. It said there were four basic teachings:

1. “Maintain an awareness of the preciousness of human life.” (Check.)

2. “Be aware of the reality that life ends; death comes for everyone. Life is very brief. If you realize that you don’t have that many more years to live and if you live your life as if you actually had only a day left, then the sense of impermanence heightens that feeling of preciousness and gratitude.” (check, ..um hmm?)

I haven’t laughed so hard since I’ve had a heightened sense of impermanence! I can promise that there are other responses besides gratitude to the keen awareness of the reality of death! I don’t know if anyone can relate to this making them laugh. Ahhh… It did make me feel better somehow. Like instead of mistakenly stumbling onto a horrible awareness, I am on some kind of path?? That could lead me to being happier? :)

The other thing that has made me feel better are the videos I found of my family. I watched a series of videos that my aunt put together with footage of my grandma. It was so good to see her. My mom called at 1 in the morning her time to say hi. I told her what I was watching. “That’s appropriate.” she said. “Grandma died 17 years ago today.” It was so nice to see my grandma. It made me realize how important relationships are- even though people die. They are still worth getting to know.

Maybe, like William Maxwell said, and unlike those goofy folks at Shambhala, there isn’t only the present moment. Maybe the past still exists in some way too, and all the love we have given and have been given is still here.

The other video I watched was of a party I had when I was 16. My friends were soooo beautiful! I’ve lost touch with many of them. I don’t know. Something about that video made me feel better. Maybe it made me realize that I’m not dying. I’m living. I’m still keenly aware that I will have to leave some day, but right now I’m still at the party! and I’m glad to be here.

You can download and print out the goal workbook here: www.tonyrobbins.com/pdfs/Momentum2006.pdf

What are your Christmas stories? I don’t even know if I have Christmas stories… let’s see…
About 8 years old: Some one rings the bell. We open the door, there is a big box almost as tall as my head in wrapping paper! The top is open! 4 kids jumping up and down and screaming! I pull out a cheerleader barbie doll from the box. Pure excitement. Our moms are embarrassed.  They look at each other. I don’t care. What food is in there?!!

About 6 years old? A man knocks on the door. I answer. I’m in my pink nightgown and robe. The man asks in a strained voice if my dad is home. He is wearing a dark jacket. He has dark hair. I am innocent. I walk up to my parent’s bedroom to tell my dad that someone is at the door for him. I am first startled when I turn around and find that the man has followed me up the stares and is standing behind me in the hall. Uh oh, maybe I should have shut the door. He yells at my dad. They move into the living room. He knocks my dad into the Christmas tree. He knocks our Christmas tree down. Hey! You knocked our Christmas tree down! I think someone calls the police. Later, I feel somewhat sorry for that man. He looked so sad.

Vancouver Island reminded me of Denmark because of all the people riding the bus, riding their bikes, and wearing rain gear. I miss bike paths.

Here are some of the pictures I took on our ferry ride back to Vancouver to board the cruise:

Finally a vista: what I had been longing for in my little urban life.

I was sick as a dog on the second day of our trip, but hey, look at the view!

Pulling into the dock.