The experts at Canyon Ranch resort and spa know what they're talking about when it comes to health and happiness. They make a living off their expertise, in fact. But they're not stingy when it comes to sharing their know-how, and on the Canyon Ranch website, they offer us all a chance to better our lives.

I promised in an earlier post to share more of what the Canyon Ranchers have to say -- so here are seven more healthy habits you just might want to embrace.

To Carb or Not to Carb

Canyon Ranch has watched "fad" diets come and go, never falling for their quick, easy-fix mentality and consistently advocating for balance, moderation and basic good nutrition. In recent years, some diets have forsaken whole grains for foods rich in protein and essentially free of carbohydrates. Whole grains, which are carbs, have always been a vital part of good nutrition. And while removing high-carbohydrate foods from your diet may initially help you lose weight faster, over time their absence can negatively influence your health.

Making Time for Time

People take classes to learn time management, they rely on the latest technologies to make the most of it and budget time as carefully as their money. Still, when it comes to health care, you may find yourself in a time crunch. Fortunately, Carl Pratt, managing director of the Canyon Ranch in Lenox, offers a timely solution: The 90-Minute Program. "It really only takes 90 minutes a week to stay focused on maintaining a healthy lifestyle. If you aren't willing to dedicate 90 minutes, you aren't willing to take care of yourself, and you need to accept that fact," says Carl. Carl breaks down the 90 minutes per week as follows:

• 15 minutes of planning for "mindful eating"
• 45 minutes of exercise (15 minutes, three days a week)
• 30 minutes of relaxation (five minutes, six days a week)
  

Commuting Bliss

When you change your mindset and treat commutes as a transition time for relaxation or education by listening to music or books on tape, your daily drive becomes a worthwhile experience. "We all see commutes as inconvenient, and we need to think of them as something valuable. Remember, the ultimate removal of commute time is not what people want. Otherwise, we would go directly from birth to death and skip everything in between. If you can't enjoy the commute -- and indeed, some are more difficult than others -- you are simply losing part of your life," says Robert Rhode, Ph.D., clinical psychologist at Canyon Ranch in Tucson.

Family Bonds Tied to Well-Being

Even painful family connections can be a significant part of personal growth. Learn to feel reverence toward yourself even as you feel pain. This connects you with your humanity and your ability to give and receive love. How to get comfortable with painful memories? Relax your body and allow yourself to feel emotions -- anger, pain, sadness -- while maintaining a positive attitude toward you.

An Attitude of Gratitude

Being thankful each day for the good things in your life and the ability to appreciate what you have rather than what you do not have is an important aspect of emotional health and well-being.

Think Big

One key to spiritual well-being is to get outside yourself with activities such as volunteering or contributing to worthy causes."Get involved with others and become committed to something greater than yourself. You start worrying about the greater good and you feel better about yourself," says Evan Kligman, M.D., at Canyon Ranch in Tucson.

Not a Morning Person? It's OK

Giving yourself a workout boost first thing is great for some, but an early morning workout may not be for everyone. Phil Eichling, M.D., sleep expert at Canyon Ranch in Tucson, encourages people with sleep problems to put off their workout for later. He says to enhance sleep, the best time to exercise is usually late afternoon. And people who have cardiovascular issues or certain other health concerns may also want to ease into the day before they strap on their running shoes or cross trainers.

I was driving down the highway today when I looked to my right and saw out of the corner of my eye a blue pick-up truck. The driver -- a man -- wore a cowboy hat and his passenger -- a woman -- wore a turban and a mask that covered her nose and mouth. It was similar to the yellow paper-like mask I wore during chemotherapy when low blood counts and fevers knocked my body all out of whack. So when I briefly glanced at this woman, I diagnosed her -- with cancer.

I guess my medical radar could be off, my diagnosis could be wrong -- but I suspect not. It was an all-too-familiar sight -- the bald head obviously disguised, the mask warding off germs and infection, the eyes the only visible marking of a face. Yet it was still a startling sight, a sad sight, a sight that never loses its power over me as I travel the highway of life.

I am thankful to still be on the highway -- to not have been tragically run off the road -- and the woman whose path I crossed today may be just fine after her journey with cancer runs its course. But it's such a dismal sight -- the ravages of cancer visibly displayed on the undeserving victims of a harsh disease.

Maybe my approach is all wrong. Perhaps it would be better if my vision today prompted thoughts of a spirited warrior bravely battling a fierce opponent with victory the likely outcome. But instead I saw sickness and sadness. Because this is how I felt -- sick and sad -- when my appearance was marked by a hat and a mask.

But now I am healthy and happy. And I am confident I will one day see my co-survivors in a more hopeful light. There is hope, after all, for each of us diagnosed with this life-threatening disease.

Perhaps after I've been on the road to recovery for a while longer, dismal will turn to dazzle. Perhaps then I will see as much shine in those wearing cancer on their sleeves as I saw today in the blue paint of the truck that passed me on the highway.

In 1998, former Beatles Sir Paul McCartney lost his beloved wife Linda to breast cancer. At the time, she had been helping him work on his fourth classical album Ecce Cor Meum (Behold My Heart). When Linda died, Paul says in his grief the music stopped and he could not work for a year.

Ecce Cor Meum is an orchestral work in four movements. Interlude is Paul's tribute to Linda. BBC News has quoted Paul as saying, "There is an interlude in the middle of Ecce Cor Meum which is a very sad piece of music. My colleague and I remember actually sitting at the keyboard just weeping when we were doing this piece. It does it to me every time. It was a very, very emotional, very sad time for me, obviously, losing Linda."

Last Sunday was Linda's birthday. The album Ecce Cor Meum, recorded at Abbey Road Studios in London, was released on Monday. For Paul, the timing of the release of this work is meaningful. If you plan to be in London on November 4, Ecce Cor Meum will be performed live at the Royal Albert Hall.

Ecce Cor Meum is available for sale at Amazon, with short audio samplings of Spiritus; Gratia; Interlude (Lament); Musica and Ecce Cor Meum. Some of the pieces have a delicate haunting sadness and an exquisitely beautiful emotional quality that makes the music superb. Ecce Cor Meum is a moving tribute of love and remembrance.

I have had a hard time keeping my counseling appointments lately. Life keeps getting in the way, and counseling keeps getting pushed to the side. The last time I called my counselor to cancel -- due to an emergency room trip with my three-year-old -- I mentioned that my inability to keep up with sessions was perhaps a precursor to an eventual termination of our counseling relationship. My counselor -- Lindsay -- said this was maybe an accurate assessment, that we should discuss the possibility of an ending point. We haven't yet discussed it, though, because I have not made the time to contact her. I have continued to leave counseling on the back burner.

But today Lindsay sent me an e-mail to check in. She wrote that I am probably going to be okay on my own now -- in the aftermath of cancer -- and that we should have one final session to reflect on my progress over the past 16 months. I have not replied to Lindsay -- not because I am busy with other things but simply because her words made me cry. They still make me cry, hours later. I'm not exactly sure why. And I'm not exactly sure how I will follow up on scheduling my very last session.

I assume my tears -- my sadness -- are part of the healing process, part of the separation anxiety I feel each time a part of my treatment ends and a part of my life moves on. I assume I am sad at the prospect of leaving a vital part of my recovery behind, about leaving the comfort of my counseling chair, about leaving Lindsay. The possibilities are endless. And I suppose we will cover all possibilities when Lindsay and I sit down for our last, final, concluding session -- when we recall how much I have grown since the day we first met, when I could barely mutter a word about cancer without weeping uncontrollably, when I could barely manage to find pleasure in my days, when I could barely imagine that life could -- and would -- offer me peace and happiness.

Today, life is good. And it's clear that counseling is no longer necessary for my survival. But that doesn't make it any easier to make my final appointment. To contemplate saying my last goodbye. To tackle life completely on my own. Which is what I will do -- in time -- so I can continue moving on, away from breast cancer.

Australian pop star and breast cancer survivor Kylie Minogue has lost her close friend and chauffeur Nigel McCarroll to cancer. McCarroll supported Minogue through her cancer struggles into cancer survivorship. Attending the funeral, she laid a wreath in the shape of his favourite Audi car at the crematorium service, according to Movie & Entertainment News provided by World Entertainment News Network.

A friend is quoted as saying, "Kylie was devastated that the disease Nigel helped her fight took his life."

Being a cancer survivor is bittersweet, when some of those you are close to, or become close to during cancer treatments and recovery, do not make it with you. There is always a lining of sadness to the celebrations of being alive, of beating cancer, of knowing you survived cancer. You do not forget the ones who are lost to cancer.

In honoring the memory of those who walked with you, you do not allow yourself to forget. And in those times, when you lose someone close who journeyed along side you in the fight to live, being a survivor holds little in triumphant feelings when you know that someone else fighting the same disease did not make it. You question the fairness of life -- and realize it is not fair at all.

Every time I hear about someone who has died from cancer, it knocks me down a notch. It makes me sad for the person, for the family, for the friends, for me -- because I know I am not guaranteed survival from cancer and while I mostly live each day as if I am immune to this tragic outcome, the knowledge that people do really die from this disease that I am trying to beat is overwhelmingly sobering. And what shakes me most is the fact that these people who die from cancer must have had the same outlook as me at some point in their journey -- the outlook of promise and hope and continued survival. And then something happens that jolts this hope from their grasp. It could happen to me -- and my family and my friends. And that scares me.

Sometime last year, my husband told me about a woman in one of his graduate classes whose husband was fighting melanoma that had spread to his brain. He was in year number eight of constant treatment -- both traditional and alternative -- and with each day, his hope for survival was fading. His wife and my husband talked at times about his journey -- and they talked about my journey with breast cancer. And after the class ended, both spouses periodically checked on each other. Today, my husband asked this woman in an e-mail about her husband. She replied and shared that he died last October. She wrote that he could not fight any longer -- that the last chemotherapy he tried to endure was too hard on him. He died with dignity. And she is proud of him. And I can't stop crying.

My tears will dry. And sadness will drift from my every thought. And I will return to my usual enthusiastic approach to surviving my own dreaded disease. But in the back of my mind, where I have saved every sad story about cancer and death, my sorrow will linger. And I suppose it should. So I can keep my sights on the possibility that surrounds me -- death -- and so I can continue living with every fiber of my being. Because living is not a guarantee. Ever.

When Someone You Love Is Being Treated for Cancer is a book of tips and insight from caregivers for caregivers when it comes to the needs and issues of being a caregiver for a loved one diagnosed with cancer. Published online by The National Cancer Institute, the introduction states, "The purpose of this book is to focus on you and your needs."

In reviewing it, I found it to be a valuable and realistic resource for family members who find themselves in the role of caregiver because a loved one has been diagnosed with cancer.

Cancer go away.

The news is not good today. When someone is diagnosed with cancer, and there seem to be so many of us now, it does not diminish the initial response when you find out someone else has cancer. The news is still a shock to the spirit, a moment where the breath catches and pauses out of rythmn, and the heart drops into another pool of sadness. As a cancer survivor, you know what is to come for the newly diagnosed, not just the physical, but the mental, the emotional and the spiritual effects for the cancer patient and those who love them.

Cancer. I hate this disease.

You have just learned you have cancer, and I am surviving cancer. With all my heart, I want you to survive cancer too. I walk back through my mind, retracing my footsteps from the day of my cancer diagnosis to this, remembering all the things I did that might have tipped the scales in favor of my living and not dying. I cannot say I know the one thing that it might have been, or the combination of things I might have done, so I want to remember it all. I want to share all of it with you. I want you to be able to tip the scales in favor of life and not death too.

Here is how I approached my diagnosis of cancer, these are the perspectives I held and the steps I took during my cancer treatments and healing. Maybe there is something in all of it that matters, that made a difference, that if you know too, will help you in your healing too.

A diagnosis of cancer can bring on a wide range of emotional feelings and moods; disbelief, denial, despair, anxiety, anger, fear, loss, grief, and sadness. In addition, recent research has shown physical changes in the body, such as those that occur from radiation and chemotherapy treatments, can create brain chemistry changes leading to depression. Medically, one of the illnesses known to be associated with depression is cancer.

Not all cancer patients will suffer depression, but up to 25 percent of cancer patients, and anyone who is close to, and cares for the cancer patient, will suffer depression. It is important to be able to recognize what the signs of depression are, so that treatment can be sought. Depression can slow the recovery time of a cancer patient if left untreated.

Some of the symptoms of depression are: persistent sad, anxious, or empty moods; feelings of hopelessness, or pessimism; feelings of guilt, worthlessness, or helplessness; loss of interest or pleasure in hobbies and activities that were once enjoyed; restlessness, or irritability; persistent physical symptoms that do not respond to treatment, such as headaches, digestive disorders, and chronic pain. If you suspect you, or someone you know, is suffering from depression, speak with your physician about possible treatment options for depression. Depression is not something a cancer patient needs to accept as a way of life, and it can have a negative impact on the healing process.