Small, Deeply Satisfying Portions

Some books are heavy and formal, veritable seven-course meals. Impossible to rush through, they demand long stretches of attention. This is not a criticism: such books ask a lot of a reader, but they give a lot in return.

Others are teasing little tasting menus, light bites good with a single bottle of wine. Pleasurable and relaxing, they’re easy and fun, and you get through them quickly. And pretty soon you're hungry again!

Then there are slim, surprising volumes with gem-like lines that stop you in your tracks. Whether you read a book like this in a day or two or savor it in tiny, disciplined sessions over a longer period of time, the reading makes a deep impression.

The novel, for a long time, 
has been over-furnished.

With this simple sentence Willa Cather begins her essay “The Novel Démeublé.” A few pages later she stopped me in my tracks again:

The novelist must learn to write, and then he must unlearn it; just as the modern painter learns to draw, and then learns when utterly to disregard his accomplishment, when to subordinate it to a higher and true effect.

Learn to write – and then unlearn. “How wonderful it would be,” Cather goes on, “if we could throw all the furniture out of the window....”

She rails not against the telling detail but the meaningless piling up of detail. Later, writing of the work of Stephen Crane, she applauds his Wounds in the Rain and Other Impressions of War, sketches from Cuba, noting that Crane

... didn’t follow the movement of troops there much more literally than he had in The Red Badge of Courage. He knew that the movement of troops was the officers’ business, not his. He was in Cuba to write about soldiers and soldiering....

Cather admonished writers not to let writing get in the way of their stories. Too much “furniture,” too many “realistic” details, too much stage-managing all detract from fiction as art.

Learn – and then unlearn. A diamond of advice.

Book Review: IF THE BUDDHA HAD KIDS

If the Buddha Had Kids: Raising Children to Create a More Peaceful World, by Charlotte Kasl, Ph.D.

Penguin Books

$14.00

paper

Be forewarned: As is the usual case with “Books in Northport,” my take on If the Buddha Had Kids leans in a personal direction, emphasizing what the book means to me. I suspect that it will have similar meaning for a lot of other readers, and this book certainly deserves wide readership.

When contacted by Penguin Books to see if I would review If the Buddha Had Kids on my blog, I agreed without imagining it would be directly relevant to my own life. After all, the next crying babies in our family will be great-grandchildren, and raising children—well, that chapter is closed for me, isn’t it? So on the one hand, thinking as a bookseller, I know parents of young children, and a number of them already find Buddhism a helpful spiritual path, so I thought the book would appeal to my customers. On the other hand, I thought, as for me, I am too attached to the world and too happy in my attachment (so went my thinking) to want to disengage, so the Buddhist way is not my way. Good thing I'm a bookseller and read the book, because it was full of important surprises.

My first error in thinking should be obvious to any parent: once a parent, always a parent! It never ends! How do I connect with and respond to my 42-year-old son? To my stepchildren, my nephews? To grandchildren of school age and beyond? Connection and dialogue with my mother and sisters is still and always will be family connection and dialogue.

The title sounded a trifle gimmicky, but this book stopped me in my tracks right at the prologue. There, before the first chapter, the author (a practicing psychotherapist for over 30 years) tells of her 33-year-old daughter’s final illness and death from pancreatic cancer. She tells of parenting this daughter from the time the girl was three years old and arrived from a foster home after having spent the first year and a half of her life in a dangerously violent home. Kasl says that her daughter “was attached to me by a thread so thin it barely held at times.” And now the daughter was dying. And leaving behind a six-year-old son for whom the grandmother had already felt strong concern. All the things Kasl wanted to say to her daughter she says in this book to other parents. Right away any reader must realize that the author is speaking out of deep personal experience, and the lessons she will share come out of that experience.

It goes beyond parenting, too, as is quickly apparent. If the Buddha had Kids is specifically aimed at parents, but the practical advice on how to listen to others and how to explore one’s own feelings applies to all human relationships. For example, Kasl gives a list of examples of “living out of the ego” that create problems for parents. Here are a couple of them:

4. Difficulty seeing the need beneath the surface of a behavior. You might react to a child’s behavior as irritating, a nuisance, or difficult without seeing the underlying need. The child may want attention or feel angry, hurt, hungry, tired, or lonely. 

5. Difficulty acknowledging your own part in the child’s behavior—that is, perhaps your inattention, control, intrusiveness, or volatility contributes to a child’s whining, rebelliousness, depression, or being explosive or unable to concentrate.

Now read those two points again, replacing “a child” or “the child” with “someone else” or “the other person.” Read this way, we are on an even wider path to peaceful living, in much the same ways recommended by William Ury in The Third Side: Why We Fight and How We Can Stop--also published by Penguin, I note and reviewed on this blog.

Finally, what about that attachment/detachment stuff, always the biggest hurdle between me and Buddhism? It isn’t simply that detaching is “too hard.” No, I didn’t want to give up attachment. I had (and still have) no desire to remove myself from the wonders of life or to observe the world as a bemused and distant spectator. So what a wondrous revelation to read Kasl’s chapter on pleasure in the natural world, entitled “Wow! I Climbed the Mountain,” with the statement that “there is mounting evidence that disconnection from nature affects our mental and emotional well-being in ways we do not fully comprehend.” Wow, indeed! This is more like it! Have I had Buddhism wrong all along, or is Kasl’s a departure from the classical version?

When a child loses his sensory capacity for connection with nature, he may also lose the capacity for contemplation, relaxation, and comfort with stillness. In general, when we can’t go deeply into the human experience, we turn instead to counterfeit stimulation—computer games, TV, the Internet, texting, tweeting, everything that is fast, and stimulating. We can’t sit still. The more we become dependent on constant stimulation the more quickly we feel boredom.... The hunger never abates.... The person feels increasingly helpless to feel satisfied and happy, as if he were losing control over his own life. This feeling also contributes to depression and anxiety.

In the frenzy that is August, I have fallen behind with my stillness project, but even having it on the back burner is a comforting thought. Kasl offers practical suggestions for things parents can do to get children “back to nature.” They are simple ideas, as is appropriate to the subject.

Related to the “back to nature” chapter for me, because it also relates to my stillness project, is the one called “The Amazing Sounds of Silence.” The author recalls her family’s tradition of setting aside an hour after lunch on family camping trips as quiet time. “We could sit in a camp chair or lie on a cot and read, embroider, carve, write, or sleep.” After my own father’s parents retired to Florida, our family traveled south every other year for a visit, and after lunch adults and children alike had “nap” time. Reading was allowed, but no talking, no radio, no TV or games. Shades were pulled down, and a peaceful quiet filled the house. I liked the feeling of being alone with my own thoughts and dreams during that time.

Happily, just as we are not required to detach from nature but to be present in it, we are not detaching from other people, either. The detachment is from our own egoistic preoccupations and from the ego’s insistence that other people should not be the way they are but should be some other way we think would be better. Again, the author’s focus is on the adult-child relationship, but I find it insightful across the board, helpful for all relationships,. The chapter “Deep Listening and Loving Speech” tells parents how to give empathy and understanding. The whole idea is to be fully present and open and to create connection rather than separation (and again I am put in mind of the William Ury book). Resistance and argument escalates anger. The idea is to defuse anger and prevent its escalation by giving the gift of peaceful, active listening.

My only quibbles with this book are very minor. I would have appreciated an index. The claim of 2-3% Cesarian sections in a nurse-midwife birthing center compared to 30% hospital rate did not take into account mothers’ ages or complications during pregnancy that would have influenced the choice of childbirth location. Absence of commas in compound sentences sent me back to the beginning of more than one sentence. As I say, all pretty minor points.

Most of what I have written here in praise of the book is either personal or general, with only a few direct quotes. The reality is that it is a wealth of ideas, examples, exercises and practical advice. Beyond the basics, the author covers topics such as education, sexuality, money, modern technology, and food. Exercises in various chapters offer the parent-reader (or nonparent adult) opportunities for self-reflection, but there are no scorecards attached: In going through an exercise and answering the questions posed, the parent is encouraged to practice with him- or herself the same loving kindness to be offered to the child.

--What I’m telling you is that you, parent or not, can read this book and learn from it without feeling scolded. So please do read it. It’s what the world needs now, and there is no one whose life does not have a corner in which to apply these ideas. One conversation at a time....

There is no way to peace. Peace is the way.

What to Expect When You Visit Northport

Just up Nagonaba Street from the marina is the Leelanau Township Library, and just past that (white building on left above) is the post office. It doesn't get much more convenient than that for boaters. For vacationers in cars, there is plenty of parking and lots of picnic tables and a playground by the beach. These beautiful flowers are maintained by volunteer gardeners. But instead of showing pictures of everything you'll see when you get here, I've put together a list of things that might surprise you in Northport. Be forewarned!

[For my attempt at translating this post into French, see the following post--and feel free to give me corrections.]

(1) People will smile at you. “Strangers” may even greet you on the sidewalk. Don’t freak out! They are not strangers, after all, are they? They live here, or at least they spend enough time here to realize that there are no strangers in Northport. So you needn’t wrack your brain trying to remember if you’ve met everyone who says “Good morning.” Just smile and say “Good morning” right back.

(2) People will smile and speak to your children. (This is especially true in line at the grocery store.) Don’t worry, we are not kidnappers. I, for instance, am not a “stranger" but the “bookstore lady.” We love kids here and keep an eye on them, and speaking to them directly is our way of recognizing them as human beings and neighbors.

(3) You’ll meet a lot of dogs. We love our dogs, and many of them come to work with us--not in the restaurants or the grocery store but in many other businesses, and we’re not about to change our ways in that regard. Love us, love our dogs. Or, if you don't, keep it under your hat.





(4) You won’t find crowds, except on dog parade day and the Fourth of July. This is a quiet, modest, laid-back kind of place. We don’t consider it boring, but you won’t find movies or comedy clubs here or anything big or anything glitzy.

(5) You can expect to be questioned. People in Northport will ask where you’re from, where you’re staying, if you’ve been here before, what you do for a living, etc. This can feel like friendliness or like an invasion of privacy, but it’s almost always intended as friendliness, so before you take it the wrong way, stop and reflect on all the times you’ve asked folks in some town you’re visiting, “So, have you always lived here? Are you from here? Where did you live before?” etc.

(6) We have a few little bad habits. That’s the very general, generic “we,” because it’s not all of us who, for instance, never signal turns at intersections, but look out and err on the side of caution. (Hint to the wise: Signaling turns is always a good idea, as is respecting speed limits and watching out for kids and dogs and elderly people and everyone else.)

(7) We’re proud of our little village, and we love it and are happy to share it with visitors. There are only a few ways to get our goat, and one is to ask, “What’s the matter with Northport?” or to speculate mournfully on whether or not Northport can be “saved.” If you don’t like us the way we are, you can probably find someplace you like better. (We’re not perfect, but you probably aren’t, either.) Another way to offend is to assume that clerks, waitresses, lawn maintenance people, etc. belong to some servant class beneath your notice. That’s not how it is here. We all know each other, and we address each other courteously, regardless of job title or lack thereof.

That’s how we are. If you don’t like democracy, you won’t like Northport. But I hope you will, because it's a great little place!

Letter to My Sister About a Book

Dear Deborah,

Good morning! It isn’t even 7 o’clock yet, I haven’t been outdoors to water the garden, but I just finished reading The Mighty Queens of Freeville: A Story of Surprising Second Chances. Thank you so much for getting and sending me three signed copies of the book that arrived in yesterday’s mail (I’ll keep the one inscribed “For Dog Ears Books”), and if you’re still in touch with the author, please tell her how thoroughly I enjoyed her story. You told me she is a very down-to-earth person, and that quality shines through her writing.

So Amy Dickinson replaced Ann Landers, eh? Now I’m curious to read her column and see what kind of advice she dispenses within the confines of “Ask Amy.” She is very forthright in the book about how often advice to her as a single mother, on finding an appropriate man, fell short of the mark.

...I have spent years looking, not looking, expecting, not expecting, being proactive, making phone calls, admitting to crushes, denying attraction, and leaving it all up to the Universe. None of this works.

Then her next sentence says: “But it all works.” And throughout the book, during all those years (17) that she was raising her daughter without a mate of her own, it’s clear that Amy was never alone. She had the “mighty queens,” as her daughter named them—her mother, sisters, aunts and cousins, with only one uncle and a couple of male cousins in the lot, and she had the comfort and security and familiarity of her small town, in addition to big city life, first in Washington, D.C., and then in Chicago. Her family was a constant, and her small town was a constant.

Deborah, you are so right! Freeville, New York, is a lot like Northport, Michigan! The winter population of Northport isn’t much more than Freeville’s 400-some. (I’m too lazy to look back for the exact number she gives.) You and I didn’t grow up in that kind of place, but you’ve heard enough from me in recent years about Northport. Freeville’s one church is next door to its school; Northport’s school is across the street from two of the four church buildings (five congregations) in town.


The creek? You know we have a creek, too! Outside our village, cherry orchards rather than dairy herds are the rule. And no “private” family event is too small for neighbors to share:

In small towns, everybody knows where the bodies are buried—literally. Our town cemetery contains headstones bearing the names of local families, and I know the intimate details and familial backstories of many of them. Of course the downside to knowing your neighbors’ stories is that they know yours too.

Late in the book this theme recurs:

I’m surrounded by people who are not impressed with me. They don’t care that my syndicated column has twenty-two million readers, that I’ve been on the Today show—that I’ve locked horns with Bill O’Reilly, or that my name was once used as a clue on Jeopardy! They remember what a doofus I was in high school.

It’s true, there is no place to hide in a small town, where people see you both all dressed up—for weddings and funerals, graduation and concerts—and in your old dirty work clothes much of the rest of the time, Northport has its share of single mothers and of kids who grow up but can't tear themselves away or can't stay away permanently. It's a good thing that young people want to be here, isn't it? Not long ago a new resident of Northport told me how much she loved the town and how great it could be if this and that were done. Now I’m thinking that people in a small town are a lot like the town itself: we have plenty of room for improvement, but the point of love, it seems, is not to lose sight of the good all around you. Though she couldn’t wait to “get away” and actually got as far as “London, England” (the way her mother always said it), Amy Dickinson came home again, and she describes her little hometown lovingly. The way she wrote about Halloween, for instance...

Her father—what a trip! Don’t want to give that away, though, since I have those couple of signed copies to sell today at Dog Ears Books. And I haven't touched in this letter on the mother-daughter relationship, which is really the core of the book. I’m happy the story ended where it did and in the way it did. Did you have tears in your eyes at the end? I’ll bet you did, sister! We are related, after all! Thank you again so much!

Today is Cars in the Park and, at 11 a.m., the Blessing of the Pets. It's a beautiful day in Northport. Wish you were here!

Love always,
Pamela