Category: family

creativity, Easter, family, food

Leap: Easter Memories Around My Grandmother’s Dinner Table

Christa Avampato
From Pinterest member http://pinterest.com/katmckinnon/

When I was little, Easter was my favorite holiday. When I think of the happiest days of my childhood, they all revolve around that Easter dinner table at my grandmother’s house. I wish I had told my grandmother how much those days meant to me then and now I wish I had the chance to tell her that they mean even more to me now.

Easter was a special time in that home. The Sharon Rose bush outside would be in full bloom in the front yard. As we pulled into the driveway, my grandmother would be at the door waiting for us to arrive. We were the very best part of her life and she made sure we knew it every second that she was around us.

The kitchen was the first room we entered in her home and there was always a glorious, welcoming scent coming from the oven. On Easter, it was lamb – a dish I never had anywhere else and not at any time of year.It would be accompanied by potatoes, glazed carrots, and buttered peas. Everyone got their own individual salad in their own individual bowl which I always got such a kick out of. And then there would be the black olive game. My grandfather and I would put the black olives in our finger tips – the olives too big for my fingers and too small for his – and then we would wave at each other.

Once the dishes had been cleared and washed, my favorite part of the meal would start. My grandmother would make her way over to the fridge and use the step stool to grab a large, round Tupperware container. Inside would be her special cake that I always thought she made just for me. It was incredibly simple – a yellow cake made from a Duncan Hines mix topped with sliced cinnamon apples. It’s still my very favorite food in the world and I’ve never been able to re-create exactly as she made it. There was something special about that cake; I think it was all the love she put into it.

The coffee would start brewing, the walnuts and the nut cracker would come out, and then the stories would start spilling from everyone. Most of them were about people whom I’d never met, relatives who had passed on long before I was born, but through all of those stories I came to know them and love them as much as I loved all of the people around that table. I’d grab another slice of cake and hope that somehow that dinner could go on forever.

But of course, it couldn’t. It was only a snapshot in time; a day that would come and go like every other day. Long after the sun went down, we’d pile back into the car with leftovers in tow, and make the long drive back to our house. My grandmother would be at the door, waving good-bye and staring out into the darkness long after our car was out of view.

Though today I’m spending Easter in a much different way than I did all those years ago, my mind is traveling back in time to that table surrounded by those people. I’m so grateful that for a little while we all had the chance to be together.

change, family, gratitude, religion, writing

Leap: Ask, and Allow – More Life Advice from Author, Anne Lamott

Christa Avampato
From Pinterest member http://pinterest.com/dbockus/

Anne Lamott recently wrote a very personal piece in Reader’s Digest about the birth of her grandson to her teenage son and his girlfriend. Lamott is my favorite author because of her ability to be so raw, honest, and hilarious all in the same breath. Her voice is so unique and she doles out advice on writing and life with such generosity that sometimes I think she’s personally mentoring me through my own adventures on the page. This article about her grandson had all of her signature wit, charm, heartbreak, and hope.

Half way through the article she discusses the two slogans that kept her going in the anxious months leading up to the birth of her grandson – “Figure it out is not a good slogan” and “Ask, and allow – i.e., ask God, and allow grace in.” I love them both equally, though that second slogan rang so true for me at this moment.

A few days ago, I began reading the book The Wishing Year on recommendation from my friend, Katherine. The Wishing Year recounts a year in the life of a woman who consciously and passionately wishes for three changes in her life – a man to love, a house, and deep spiritual healing. The book also explore the science and art behind wishing and intention. It’s inspired me so much that I’m taking up its example in my own life. Why not wish, and then do in equal amounts.

Lamott’s advice dovetails perfectly with The Wishing Year. In many ways, she is saying the same thing, but with a very poignant nuance. We can wish, ask, and work toward a goal and a dream, but if we don’t allow grace in, if we don’t allow ourselves to then realize the opportunity that is then laid down in front of us, then the question and the wish will do no good.

If we ask nature, the Universe, God, to be on our side, to work with us, then we have to allow that work to happen. We have to be open to possibility, to a change in course, to a new way of thinking and being. And if we can go that, if we can allow change to enter our lives with grace, then we will truly begin to see the magic unfold in our lives and in the lives of those around us. We will realize our own potential, and it will be greater than we ever imagined.

dreams, family, passion

Beginning: The Consequence of Pursuing Passions

Christa Avampato

I believe in dreams, big and small. I believe that the only way to live, and I mean truly live not just exist, is to find a way to wake up every morning and have your first thought be, “Thank you for the opportunity of this day.”

My father passed away at a young age, long before he accomplished what he set out to do in life. In John Lennon’s beautiful words, he died with the music still in him. I learned a lot of lessons from his passing, and the most important is this: time waits for no one.

It took me longer to learn the unintended consequence of finding what you’re truly passionate about: once you know your passion, you have very little desire to do anything else. All of a sudden every moment you spend on something else begins to feel like time wasted, time that could have been spent more wisely and productively on your passion. It’s as if there’s a beautiful piano sitting in the corner, cased in glass. Lovely to look at, though not easily shared and certainly of little benefit to anyone else.

To sit down at that piano and play is to make use of your passion. And this is true too of the dream you have to start a company or program, to paint, to write, to serve a cause that’s important to you, to love. To be of real value, dreams must be brought into being, not just thought of and then shelved.

There is certainly the fear factor. It is frightening to say, “This is what I stand for, who I mean to be,” because there is no going back. Once you’ve actualized a dream, once you’ve defined it clearly for yourself, you must go do it or it literally chews you up. It haunts you, follows you around everywhere you go. There is no way to shake it loose except to grow numb. And numb is a frightening state in which to exist.

When my father passed away, he was numb on the outside and raging on the inside. He died a lonely, disappointed man. And the saddest part is that he had no one to blame in the end but himself. Yes, he faced horrendous and tremendously difficult obstacles. He struggled and somewhere along the way, long before I was around, I do believe that he tried very hard to bring the life he wanted to fruition. Then the light died; it went out of him and he became a person who lost his way.

I wish I could ask him how and why this happened, why he let the world beat him down. I wonder why he ultimately didn’t have the strength to keep going, to keep dreaming. I want to ask him why he couldn’t wake up until it was just too late.

It’s hard to live with these questions, ones that will never be answered, so instead I make meaning of his life by infusing meaning into mine. By living my passion of building and fostering healthy systems, I not only fulfill my dream for my own life; I also get the opportunity to fulfill my father’s, too. The other unintended and delightful consequence of living our passions is redemption.

family, feelings, forgiveness, growth

Beginning: A 19-year Old Lesson of Forgiveness and Healing Finds Its Way Home

Christa Avampato

“When you feel pain, question it. Why is it there and how can we heal it? The body wants to heal.” ~ Cheri Clampett

In the last few weeks, there has been an opening. A pain that’s been hidden, so deep for so long, refused to lay down any longer. It had to bubble up in me so that finally after far too long it could release. The pain asked to be looked at, considered, appreciated, and then, finally forgiven.

This reminded me of something Cheri Clampett said a few weeks ago in the therapeutic yoga teacher training at Integral Yoga Institute. Pain is our friend. It may not feel like it at first brush, but it is there to teach us. You can ignore it, medicate it, and try like heck to forget about it. It will not be dissuaded. Loyally, it will wait for you to be ready, to have the strength to meet it, sit with it, and understand it. That moment has finally arrived for me and my dad. We are ready to forgive, release, and move on.

I have known this pain a long time. In some odd and uncomfortable way, it has become a friend. It’s been my fallback and my excuse for certain circumstances in my life. “I can’t do this because my dad was like that.” And for a while that was true; it’s just not true anymore. I am healed. I am whole. And I can do anything, even if I my dad didn’t he could.

Yesterday, I wrote about my regret that I didn’t go say goodbye to my dad when he was dying. What I didn’t mention is that I was 16 at the time. I didn’t have the tools to look so much pain in the face and not crumble. I needed to grow up before that was possible, and at 16 I wasn’t grown up, not by a long shot, and I couldn’t possibly have been expected to be. It was my dad’s time to go but it wasn’t yet my time to let go. Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes our timing is just off, and in those moments we do the best we can with what we’ve got. We operate with imperfect information all the time.

In the post yesterday I spoke about yesterday lessons, the lessons that our past teaches us so that we can improve going forward. Another yesterday lesson that my father’s passing taught me had to do with forgiveness. That lesson appeared more slowly, over a very long period of time, and in fits and starts: if we’re truly sorry, then pure, true forgiveness will find us. The “I’m sorry” moment starts us down the road to healing of every kind. All we have to do is ask for it. Forgiveness is a life force in and of itself. It changes everything. And if we believe in learning, in growing, in constantly evolving, then we must believe in forgiveness, of others and even more importantly, of ourselves.

In Buddhism there is a belief that every moment provides the exact teaching we need exactly when we need it. There’s no way at 16 that I could have known how deeply it would affect me to not say goodbye to my father. And in some strange, cosmically-correct way, I think the moment came and went exactly as it was supposed to be. I know so deeply that every moment comes to pass this way, and because of this belief, I have to forgive my dad and I have to forgive myself. We were two people who were doing the best we could with what we had. And even though we didn’t get a chance to meet in the middle this time around, in our own ways, in our own now separate worlds, we are both finding our way to forgiveness – of ourselves and of one another.

choices, decision-making, faith, family

Beginning: Your Yesterdays Will Rise Again; Act Accordingly

Christa Avampato

“If you want to understand today, you have to search yesterday.” ~ Pearl Buck

Searching yesterday is valuable, difficult work. I take it on every day because I believe so fully in the process of continuous improvement. I know and accept that I am not perfect, that I will never be perfect, and that there is always a way to do something better. This strong belief is helping me to make peace with yesterday and to lay down the heavy backpack of perfectionism. Perfection is a losing battle, and I hate losing even more than I hate imperfection.

Even with this strong belief in continuous improvement, some yesterdays have a way of gnawing at me even in my best moments. Not all yesterdays are created equal. I try to be thorough, thoughtful, and well-informed. I am the decision tree queen. I’d be willing to test my pro / con list speed and dexterity against anyone. I’ve been at this game of choice and decision-making for a very long time and for me, it’s an art.

My last yesterday with my father
So it’s sometimes especially difficult when I wish I had handled a situation from yesterday in a better way. I wish I had gone to the hospital and said good-bye to my father when I had the chance. I wish I could have swallowed my pride and my desire to be “right” – it might have saved me a lot of heartache in the aftermath. It’s not that I didn’t say good-bye to my father that bothers me so much; it’s that I made the free-willed choice to not say good-bye. I had good reasons for making that choice, though I wish I could have just laid them aside, whether they were right or wrong, and just been there with my mother to bear witness at the passing of a life that gave me life. It is my greatest and deepest regret, and with the finality of death it is something that I will never be able to do better. I can’t go back and say good-bye to my father in a better way, or for that matter, at all.

Keeping and living the lesson
The night my father died, I lost in a big way. His Holiness the Dalai Lama once said, “When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.” And in every day since my father passed I have tried to retain a very big yesterday lesson: when you walk away understand that you may not be able to retrace your steps.

Sometimes walking away is the best answer. Sometimes the only way you can really help someone heal is to remove yourself from the situation. Be very conscious of the downstream effects – for you and for that person – and understand that your decision in that moment has the ability to entirely alter your course going forward.

You will relive all of your yesterdays every day; act accordingly.

family, future, history, peace, story, writing

Beginning: Writing Out and Learning from the Ugly Parts of My Experience

Christa Avampato

From http://kichigaikikyokagome.deviantart.com
“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.” ~ Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love

We run from the imperfect. We want everything to be flawless. We praise beauty; we seek it out; we convince ourselves that we can’t live without it. Ruin is something we have come to dread. To feel ruined it to feel busted up, disappointed, and taken advantage of. We desperately cling to the perfect – in ourselves, in others, in a moment of time. We try to rush through ruin as quickly as possible, and with closed eyes. By running from ruin we are missing so many opportunities for growth and personal evolution.

Dancing with our disappointment
I know this dance well. I have been running from ruin and toward perfection for many, many years. Brian calls this my intricate skill of “maximize this, minimize that.” In other words, I make the most of the good things and try very hard to ignore the bad things, hoping that those bad things will just magically go away. For the record, they don’t. They accumulate until their collective voice is so loud that they must be reckoned with in one way or another.

We can learn a lot from sadness if we’re willing to sit with it
I received a lot of positive feedback from my last two posts – the first about how my dad taught me that the only advice we can take is our own and the second about how a chance encounter with an ex taught me about feeling and transcending anger. So much so, that I’ve decided to take my writing in a very personal direction. I’m at a point in my story where some previously disjointed pieces are starting to fit together in a very powerful way. Steve Jobs said that, “We can’t expect to understand our lives living forward, but only by looking back.” That’s why reflection is so important, why writing it all down and sharing it is critical to our own understanding. All burdens can be borne if we can put them into a story.

Some of the pieces of my story are jagged and uncomfortable and some of them are smoothly crafted. Somehow, they’re all finding a way to come together and co-exist side-by-side, not stealing the limelight from one another, but sharing in it equally. It’s quite a surprise, even though I’ve been working on this very hope for such a long time. I never thought I’d realize it, and certainly not so early on in my life. And while this surprise is of tremendous benefit to me, I want it to benefit you, too, because I want you to have the same experience of holding up a mirror to the parts of you, of others, and of your experience to see that the good, the bad, and the ugly are all extraordinary teachers.

For a long time I vilified my dad, and many of those reasons were justifiable. What I shunned for too long were all of the lessons he taught me, albeit in a manner that I would never wish on anyone else. He was a cold, austere, sad man, and my family bore the brunt of that for a long time. What I didn’t know as a teenager, what there was no way for me to know, was that his behaviors and his personal history that caused those behaviors, would give me the tools I need to do the work I was meant to do with Compass Yoga.

This is about honoring our whole self, not about making lemonade
And this is not some pathetic attempt by a hopeful gal to make lemonade out of lemons, to make the most of what she’s got even if that isn’t much at all. It’s about honoring every part of our past; it’s about recognizing that in every moment, in every experience, there is a very deliberate, necessary teaching that sets us up to live our dharma, our path. We need the painful, sad parts of our past just as much as we need the joy and light. And I would argue that we need them in equal measure. The poetic Dolly Parton is famous for saying, “The way I see it, if you want rainbows then you gotta put up with the rain.” Truer words were never spoken.

So here in my promise to you: you will learn about my own personal story, layer by layer, piece by piece, even the ugly parts. Especially the ugly parts. It will be revealed in as thoughtful and sacred a manner as I can muster, and you will eventually see the complete picture. None of it will be gratuitous and all of it is intended so that you can benefit from these two learnings:

1.) where and what we come from has every bit to do with who we eventually become

and even more importantly,

2.) the depth of our roots does not determine the spread of our wings. We can fly as high as we choose to fly regardless of how far down we find ourselves at any point in time. It’s all based on our will to find our way. And I intend to find mine.

family, forgiveness, relationships

Beginning: A Lesson From My Dad – The Only Advice You Can Really Take Is Your Own

Christa Avampato

In the last few months, I’ve been thinking about my father a lot. I had a very poor relationship with him and he passed away in a very unfortunate manner before I ever had the chance to build a better one with him. That was 19 years ago.

All this time later, I am still trying to make sense of it all – his own path and how it has influenced mine. The pieces are starting to come together as I make my way forward with Compass Yoga, but we have a long way to go and because he’s no longer here, I am left to figure it out on my own. Someday when it makes sense in my own mind I’ll tell you about it – why our short and sad story unfolded the way that it did and all the good that came from the hard lessons I learned along the way. Until then, I have just one lesson he taught me that plays over and over again in my mind: the only advice you can really take is your own.

People are opinionated by nature, some of us voice our opinions louder and more clearly than others. We all have the ability to judge, and we exercise that ability often. Whenever you tell someone about an idea you have or the plans you’re making, there is bound to be someone who tells you that it just isn’t possible to do what you want. And to that, my father would certainly answer those skeptics with, “I know better than you because I’m the one who’s living my life.” For a long time, I thought this was a very pompous point-of-view. Now as an adult it makes so much sense to me. Our greatest wisdom comes from within and so we are our own best coach.

Certainly we can and should listen to the advice of others, whether we want it or not, if for no other reason than the voices of the skeptics will actually help us to refine our own opinions. What my father would caution us against is allowing someone’s opinion about our choices to become our truths. The only truth you can live authentically is your own. It comes from your heart and your gut. It is prajna, that knowing beyond knowing. It can’t be articulated or justified through logic, only felt. It is calm, collected, and without end. In Sanskrit we pay tribute to it with the mantra Om Tat Sat – all that is the truth. We access it by getting quiet, and allowing it to have its wise and thoughtful say.

So on this Father’s Day, I’m not missing my father but rather working on feeling grateful for what he had to teach me for the short time I knew him. All these years later, we are still a work in progress, he and I, and slowly I am beginning to find the great value that lies hidden even within our toughest experiences. I’m working on making them mean something, and not just for me, but for the world, too.

family, risk

Beginning: Honor Your Ancestors, Pick Up Your Head, and Go Out On a Limb

Christa Avampato

Aftermath.com
“Don’t be afraid to go out on a limb. That’s where the fruit is.” ~ H. Jackson Browne via Tiny Buddha

Our vibrancy as a nation is an unsung casualty in this latest economic downturn. I’ve seen too many people hiding their well-founded opinions, particularly if they aren’t “aligned” with senior management, for fear that they’ll be candidates for the pink slip and cardboard box line. I completely understand the fear. Over the past 3 years I’ve watched a lot of truly phenomenal friends and colleagues walk out the door, and not by their own choosing. Good people who put their hearts into their jobs and made enormous sacrifices of their own personal time for the sake of what was best for the companies that employed them. And then they had to suffer through the company talking about their release as a cost savings. It was de-humanizing to say the least, and I want us to productively use our anger over the situation to rise above our fear.

Are we becoming a nation full of people who keep their heads down? What an enormous step backwards. Take a trip over to Ellis Island and it’s easy to see (and feel!) that our nation was founded by some serious risk takers – people who came here with few possessions beyond the clothes on their backs and unable to speak the language. They had no employment, no place to live, and many of them didn’t know a single soul here. How frightening that must have been, and yet they persisted. I’m here because of that persistence. We all are.

To honor their legacy, the legacy of people who risked it all for our sake, we have to take up that same spirit. Start small. Take one tiny step out of your comfort zone. Attempt some audacious project that seems just a bit too big for you. Look around you for the most beautiful dream you can find, gather up your courage, and go out on that limb to get it. It’s waiting for you, and you’ll be better off for throwing the dice to see what happens. We all will be.

cooking, family, food, grandmother, memory

Beginning: May 20th, pizzelle cookies, and my Grandmother, Sadie

Christa Avampato

Pizzelle cookies, an Italian classic
May 20th is a date that has a lot of significance for me. It’s the date that I graduated from college and from business school, two enormous milestones in my life. More importantly, May 20th was my Grammy’s birthday. She passed away 11 years ago, 2 weeks before my birthday, and every day since she has been with me. Never far from my mind, and easily found in my regular activities.

She loved to find a good bargain while shopping. She was a relentless coupon clipper. My favorite of her finds was a pair of pink jeans that I loved when I was a kid. She bought them for me for $0.99 and I remember how brightly she smiled at that price tag. I think my sister, Weez, got a pair, too, though that detail is more fuzzy in my mind than Grammy’s smile. She would turn 92 today.

There are also certain foods that I always associate with her. She was a simple cook, though there are unmistakable flavors that always remind me of her. Finely chopped carrots and green peppers in meatballs, an apple cake that was my favorite, cheese ravioli, blueberry muffins, Salada tea with sugar and milk, and pizzelle cookies that her friend, Theresa, always used to make when she knew my mom and her gaggle of kids would be visiting.

I was wandering through Whole Foods this weekend doing my weekly shopping. They had a huge display of pizzelle cookies. They weren’t as beautiful as the ones I remember from Grammy’s house, though they were available in a bunch of different flavors, which I thought Grammy would have gotten a kick out of. Then I turned over the package and saw the $4.99 price. I’m sure Grammy would have been disgusted to see such a high price. I bought them any way.

As I rounded the corner with the pizzelles in hand, I could have sworn I felt a small tap on my shoulder. I turned around but no one was there. No one was physically there any way, but I felt a very warm glow and my eyes started to tear up. I’d like to think she was there with me, right next to me winding through the aisles as I filled up my cart. I made sure everything else I put into my cart was indeed a bargain by her standards.

It’s funny what food can do. How it can sneak its way into your heart through your taste buds; how it can help you keep a warm and happy memory alive even when it’s pouring buckets of rain outside; how it can bring someone to your dinner table even though she hasn’t been with you for so many years. I went home, had one of my too-expensive pizzelle cookies, a cup of tea, and tossed up a prayer of gratitude for the opportunity to have had someone in my life as special as my Grammy.

cooking, eating, family, food, friendship

Beginning: The Healing Story of Eating

Christa Avampato

The Reagan dinner table from the CBS hit show Blue Bloods. The dinner table scenes have been hailed as the best part of the show.
“People are at their best when they eat together.” ~ Matthew Sanford

I heard Matthew Sanford speak at the Yoga Journal Conference in New York this past weekend. I recently finished up his book Waking, about the car accident that left him paralyzed at age 13 and his yogic path that truly created his healing process. Matthew talks about how much he wanted to eat and how much he missed the act of eating in the early days of his physical recovery after the accident. His simple statement above really touched me so deeply – togetherness is the very best part of cooking, eating, and food in general.

In the past few months, I’ve started to cook more often. Every week, I take a few simple recipes, make my list, and take myself over to my local Whole Foods to gather the key ingredients. I’ve also had more people over to my tiny apartment to share a meal. My friends feel so grateful though they all always say, “You don’t need to go to any trouble for me.” It’s actually no trouble at all. It’s a joy for me to cook for them. In Matthew Sanford’s words, “It is a healing story.”

Food brings us together, and together, all healing is possible. Bon appetit! Mangia! Enjoy!