Carol Damoth

Carol — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 16:57:19 +0000

“We could never have guessed, we were already blessed where we were.”

-James Taylor

No matter our path, the color or grain of our days, no matter the stitch in our side, the catch of breath, the wondering why, we awaken what has been sleeping, free the heart, which beats most strong and true to the rhythm of Thank You.

Carol — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 21:46:59 +0000

“The happiest people I know are the people who don’t even think about being happy. They just think about being good neighbors, good people. And then happiness sort of sneaks in the back window while they are busy doing good”.

-Rabbi Harold Kushner

Carol — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 15:35:07 +0000

“But I actually knew a few true things; I had figured out that truth and freedom were pretty much the same. And that almost everyone is struggling to wake up, to be loved, and not feel so afraid all the time.”

-Anne Lamott, Grace (Eventually)

Yoga of Finance Workshop

Carol — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 16:39:37 +0000

Please consider joining us for a two hour interactive workshop for couples that incorporates a couple’s yoga class, principles of interpersonal insight oriented psychology and financial planning as a means to enhance the couple’s connection and address the complex financial issues that exist within a partnership.

Individuals at all levels of yoga are welcome.

Presented by Carol Damoth, a Psychotherapist and Certified Natural Health Professional and Rebecca Bayes, a Financial Consultant and Registered Yoga Teacher.

Date: February 11 at 10.00
Location: The Social Ballroom, 26092 John R, Madison H

RSVP 248.390.6227

On the Occassion of her 13th Year

Carol — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 12:05:43 +0000

My “baby” is 13 years old today. Her name is Jesse. She named herself many years ago in a dream, during the years in which I waited for her. She took her time. She arrived in the midst of a blizzard, several days early, on what happens to be my birthday as well. Her name means “a gift”. Indeed. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever known. Still is. When I grow up, I hope to be like her.

Happy, happy birthday, dear Bean.

Love,
Mom

The Other Side

Carol — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 14:50:37 +0000

Just for today, I wish that I drove a vintage, red Thunderbird – one that always had a Frank Sinatra song on the radio, at least once an hour. I would open the windows and drive down Woodward Ave. – fast, but not too fast.

I don’t have a red Thunderbird. I have a red Subaru Forester. I’m gonna drive it today – fast, but not too fast, up Woodward Ave. and I’ll play Marc Cohen, Silver Thunderbird on the CD player on the way to The Original Pancake House. They don’t have bunny pancakes there, but the 49 ers are pretty darn good and we’ll share a Big Apple. I usually order it light on the brown sugar glaze, but not today. I think that I may even save room for some “really good chocolate” and think about how the iris will bloom in the Spring.

Shine on, Daddy.

On Faith

Carol — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 20:40:29 +0000

We plant our willful intentions, like rocks in the stream. But then we leave them behind in what amounts to an act of faith – faith in the power, or the energy, or the love that bears everything along.

C.D.

On an Abundant Life

Carol — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 15:36:27 +0000

“If I could give you one key, and one key only to more abundant life, I would give you a sense of your own worth, an unshakable sense of your own dignity as one grounded in the source of the cosmic dance, as one who plays a unique part in the unfolding of the story of the world…”

-Greta Crosby

I would. Yes I would.

Carol — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 22:46:51 +0000

“May you unfold willingly. May you be truly nourished. May peace be in your every step. May gratitude fill you. May you reach others with your radiant heart.”

-Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy

I wish that I had written this, yet nevertheless, I wish it for you.

P.S. Thank you, Sara

The Stocking Conundrum

Carol — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 20:08:05 +0000

I have been anticipating this day and not necessarily in a completely good way. I admit it; I have a long-standing habit of being what I call a boo-boo toucher. If you ask me, there are two kinds of people, the ones that keep touching their wounds to see if they still hurt and the ones who put several band-aids over the wound and do their best to pretend that it isn’t there. I’m the first kind, a toucher. I’m not making a value judgement here, I’m just saying how it is.

In this particular case the “boo-boo” is the death of my Dad, which occurred last January. Yep, still hurts. He spent last Christmas in the hospital and my son, Aaron (Papa’s Pal), spent the better part of last Christmas Eve alone with my Dad in his hospital room, having smuggled in a good bottle of Zinfandel (Papa’s favorite) and some really good chocolate. But that’s another story. On Christmas day, we all packed into the hospital room to hang out, pretend to feel festive and to give my Dad his Christmas stocking. Stockings are big in my family. Can I just say last year’s Christmas stocking for my Dad was a bit of a challenge. Given that my Dad’s primary complaint at the time was the distressing nature of hospital food, his stocking contained reading material, chocolate and various spices and sauces which he would use to attempt to improve his dining experience while “incarcerated” (his word). When Christmas passed, I packed all the stockings back up in in the designated box, the “Papa” stocking nestled next to the “Grandma” stocking until next year. This is next year. Yep, still hurts.

We put our tree up yesterday. Tonight we will eat pasta and popcorn and decorate said tree. Here’s the thing: I miss my Daddy. I have spent the past several weeks anticipating this night, especially touching the boo-boo that is the opening of the Christmas stocking box. As good of a toucher as I am, I really don’t want to open that box, mostly because I really don’t know what to do about that Papa stocking. Hang it? Don’t hang it? I can’t figure this out. It is a conundrum.

Yep, still hurts. Then I remind myself of what I have said countless times to other people, ‘Some things can’t be figured out in your head. Some things just need to be lived’. So that’s what I’ll do tonight. I will share this time with the people I love most in the world. We will try to find some Burl Ives (his favorite) on the Sounds of the Season channel, decorate the tree, eat popcorn, some really good chocolate and I will, for the umpteenth time, tell the story of one Christmas Eve when I was a little girl preparing a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa. In the midst of my preparations my Dad said, “You know, Sweetheart, Santa loves cookies, but a guy can only drink so much milk in one night, so maybe Santa would like a nice glass of brandy to go with those cookies, you know, just for a change of pace.” Sure enough, on Christmas morning I was pleased to see that Santa had enjoyed his special treat. I had the note from him to prove it. And we’ll laugh because that is so vintage Papa, and yep, it still hurts, but maybe not quite so much having come out on the other side of the Christmas stocking box.