Vodka and a Storm

This morning Tom and I drove to a hilltop nursery twenty minutes from our home. While we left the colors of spring in the valley, we encountered snow on the ground at 1700 feet and, brrr, a much colder temperature. Zipping our coats we tramped around examining tall skinny birches.

At one o'clock, as we four enjoyed our Meatballs in Vodka Sauce by the dining room's picture window, we noticed snow falling. Snow. It fell on the cherry blossoms, the hyacinth, the daffodils, and the new baby lawn. Considerable wind dramatically swayed trees. A bluebird landed in the bird feeder. Instead of eating he perched, confounded by the snow landing on his wings and head. He shook his robust body and flew away.

Into the Trooper the girls, Sammy, and I hopped. Opportunity didn't have to knock twice before we'd open our attention to it.

Various cloud formations played hide and seek for several hours with a bright friendly sun. Even as heavy gray snow clouds dominated one large area of the sky, rounded cumulus clouds allowed bright blue to blaze elsewhere.

Colorful new life applauded nature's glory undaunted by unseasonal, vivacious weather.





"Sunshine on the water makes me happy..."

Tame and tiny as it might seem, snow like this in late March in the foothills of our less than 500 feet above-sea-level valley is rare and worth saving in photo form.

Spring Break invigorates and relaxes.

These three birds joined several others for a bit of play - or so it seemed. They swooped and soared catching the updrafts of wind. Envy entered my heart.

Soaking it in.

Churning like some angry god's breath piled clouds dominated the northern sky.

We ended our journey with tiny snowflakes on our windshield and a little tub of Coldstone ice cream in a white bag for later.

Friday!

Nags Among Us

"James U. McNeal, a professor of marketing at Texas A&M University, is considered America's leading authority on marketing to children. In his book Kids As Customers (1992), McNeal provides marketers with a thorough analysis of 'children's requesting styles and appeals.' He classifies juvenile nagging tactics into seven major categories. A pleading nag is one accompanied by repetitions of words like 'please' or 'mom, mom, mom.' A persistent nag involves constant requests for the coveted product and may include the phrase 'I'm gonna ask just one more time.' Forceful nags are extremely pushy and may include subtle threats, like "Well, then, I'll go and ask Dad." Demonstrative nags are the most high-risk, often characterized by full-blown tantrums in public places, breath-holding, tears, a refusal to leave the store. Sugar-coated nags promise affection in return for a purchase and may rely on seemingly heartfelt declarations like "You're the best dad in the world." Threatening nags are youthful forms of blackmail, vows of eternal hatred and of running away if something isn't bought. Pity nags claim the child will be heartbroken, teased, or socially stunted if the parent refuses to buy a certain item. 'All of these appeals and styles may be used in combination,' McNeal's research has discovered, 'but kids tend to stick to one or two of each that prove most effective...for their own parents.'" ~~Eric Schlosser, Fast Food Nation

Why this quote you ask? Yes, my kids are pretty much beyond the nagging age. It never works too well on me, never did. Sometimes, yes, when I'm tired. But mostly nagging just annoys me into a snit which my kids know is not a good mood to be around. Because I seldom give in they give up. They've learned to find healthy, acceptable ways of procuring their wants and needs.

No, this quote didn't jump out at me because of my kids. It jumped out at me because of adults I know who follow these nagging styles and approaches. I tried to raise my kids contrary to this so that they would not abuse others with nagging as children and into adulthood.

Would that parents everywhere would consider the lessons taught when they give in to juvenile nagging tactics.

Alas there must have been many weak parents who have given in to the nag for sprinkled throughout society are childish, whiny adults who nag nag nag subjecting the rest of us to behavior unappealing, annoying, g r a t i n g.

Grow up, already!

There. Off my chest and into cyberspace.

Sorry 'bout that.

For What It's Worth

"You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong. You cannot help the wage-earner by pulling down the wage-payer. You cannot further the brotherhood of man by encouraging class hatred. You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich. You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than you earn. You cannot build character and courage by taking away a person's initiative and independence. You cannot help people permanently by doing for them what they could and should do for themselves." ~~ Abraham Lincoln, 1861

In an age when too many people are unashamed to show their outstretched palms expecting us to support their dreams and goals by handing over money we've earned by the sweat of our brows, money they don't want to take the time to earn as they are too busy being 'important' in their own eyes I wish we had more examples like Abraham Lincoln around, a man who understood the value and satisfaction of pulling one's own weight.

For all of you out there who 'know', my hat's off to you. Keep it up.

Beatles' Kids

Just a sweet little video for any of you who are, along with me, Beatles' fans. Enjoy!

And by the way....Happy Easter!!!

"Typical White Person"

This morning (Thursday 3/20/08) on WIP AM 610 Sports Radio in Philadelphia, host Angelo Cataldi interviewed Senator Obama. During the beginning of the segment (about 07:40 AM) Mr. Cataldi asked the Senator about his comments made during his speech on Tuesday regarding his “white” grandmother.

From the tape of today's interview, here is Obama's answer:

"The point I was making was not that my grandmother harbors any racial animosity, she doesn't, but she is a typical white person who, uh, you know if she sees somebody on the street that she doesn't know, there's a reaction there that's been bred into our experiences that don't go away and that sometimes come out in the wrong way. And that's just the nature of race in our society. We have to break through it. And what makes me optimistic is we see each generation feeling a little bit less like that."

I turned the radio on this morning just in time to hear the short excerpt which included the above quotation. I hadn't heard anything about this morning's interview before; it was all brand new to me. I'd heard Obama's speech on Tuesday, thought it was good, rousing, quite inspirational though I was sort of off-put by the "white grandmother" remarks. I remembered hearing Jesse Jackson confess one time that when he could hear someone following him on the street he'd be relieved when, looking over his shoulder, he'd discover they were white. He was unhappy feeling that way, but said his own real-life experiences had taught him thus. On Tuesday I thought during Senator's Obama's speech that the reactions he attributes to his grandmother are not 'white only.' They are human. And so are the problems.

I'd put the Tuesday speech aside in my mind until I heard today's remarks by the Senator. "Typical white person"? Huh? "Bred into our experiences"? Bred?

I felt insulted when I heard the remarks in the first speech and the remarks today only intensify those feelings. It seems to me that remarks like this incite racism rather than illuminate it for the wrong-thinking that it is. Just as Senator Obama cringed at his grandmother's remarks, I'm cringing at his.

I find it difficult to think of voting for a man who obviously broadly sterotypes me. I'm beginning to sense that Senator Obama may be a wolf in sheep's clothing.

My choices are becoming clearer.

Victor from the Dark Domain

Of all the characters on the Star Trek television series I most relate to Counselor Troi, the Empath. She was a 'feeler' sometimes to the point of incapacitation.

Anyone who knows me knows I shy away from violence in the realms of both reality and fantasy. I just can't take it. And sobbing tear-jerk stories leave me wrung out. I'm a 'feeler.'

For me emotions are not stuffed but flow freely, rising from the deep places, hovering, saturating, speaking both rationally and irrationally. Not the gauge I depend on for truth but often the measure of revulsion, compassion, even understanding.

When my loved ones have pain in heart or body, I feel pain, too.

When the Twin Towers fell I struggled to breathe, couldn't function for days, reeled.

When the first men, women, and children began dying in the Iraq war - on both sides - so began my empathic mourning as a mom, wife, sister, friend.

When Bill Clinton squinted his eyes and pointed his long crooked finger at me through T.V. glass I cringed in embarrassment for my country.

When I study the past fifty years of Tibetan history, including current events, I feel defeated sadness, loss.

When a United States athlete receives an Olympic gold medal to a lifting flag and blaring anthem I cry in happiness for them, share their pride somehow.

When a baby is born to someone I love joy swells.

But empathize though I do it's not possible for me to fully grasp another's pain or joy for I am removed from it by degrees, it's not personally mine. I can only imagine or relate through similar recalled experiences.

There is personal empathizing, however, when I think about the events Jesus endured 2,000 years ago. His discomfort from harsh treatment at the hands of his accusers on the walk from garden to town frustrate and sadden me. The sickeningly unimaginable pain of whippings and beatings he later endured tear at my heart and mind, yet I don't know exactly what he physically felt. I've never undergone such treatment. The long stagger to the Place of the Skull is an event I resist reviewing; emotion screams at me, begging that I think about something else, anything else. Then torturous crucifixion nails puncturing flesh, huge thorns tearing delicate temples and brow, suffocation, thirst, muscle cramps, racking pain. These horrors I can only imagine or relate to on an infinitesimal scale. Jesus' pain and suffering leap far beyond my ability to grasp.

But the shame, oh, that is mine. No empathy necessary, this is truly felt. This is all me - and you. Here we are the cause. The pain of knowing this is sharp, unavoidable, and extremely unpleasant. I profoundly squirm over and over at each remembrance. Grief. Remorse. Humiliation. Disintegration.

Then like a salve the truth of the Resurrection comes to mind, not hiding Jesus' suffering but offering a reason, not erasing my innate despair but mercifully changing the outcome of it. Forgiveness. Hope.

Easter confronts. Easter wrenches. Easter relieves.

Easter requires examination.

In all of life we'll find no greater love than this.

Snow? Huh?

First day of Spring and it snows this evening. Here in the valley. It didn't stick down here but it did stick 100 feet higher. All three weather people say it will snow as we sleep though we may not have much to show for it in the morning.

And I've been talking about dead-heading my daffodils.

Will wonders never cease.

Surprising weather.

Grinning.

21 Accents

This is just fun. Enjoy!

Irish Food for Paddy's Day

Today we used our noon meal to honor St. Patrick's history in Ireland with Irish Stew made from lamb, fresh vegetables, and homegrown herbs.

It all started with cutting up fresh local lamb and chopping vegetables.

This is the before picture.

While the stew simmered I put together and baked Irish Soda bread made from fresh ingredients such as whole wheat, buttermilk, and oats. Tom discovered today that honey is a good topper.

Steaming Irish Stew after a few hours bubbling in the pot.

An ambience of candles, flowers, family, and a beagle chewing on lamb bones settled us right down. We savored - s l o w l y - prayed earnestly, and relaxed definitely.

We'll round out the day with a viewing of our favorite Irish movie, Waking Ned Devine.

But first...a nap.

In the wearing of the green may you never be pinched!

Erin Go Bragh! (Ireland forever!)

St. Patrick's Day

Sung by the Wailin' Jennys

Of all the money that I ere I spent
I spent it in good company
And all the harm I've ever done

Alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit

To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be to you all

Fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate'er befalls
Then gently rise and softly call
'Good night and joy be to you all.'

Of all the comrades that e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay.

Since it fell into my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I gently rise and softly call
'Good night and joy be to you all.'

But since it fell into my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I gently rise and softly call
'Good night and joy be to you all.'

So fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate'er befalls
Then gently rise and softly call
'Good night and joy be to you all.'

~~The Parting Glass

Tenuous Strand

"Life is a series of meetings and partings." ~~ Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

My words lie deep these days, not making themselves available as anything more than feelings, deep thoughts, emotions.

My mother and grandmother always said that death comes in threes. I'm not a superstitious person, yet I have often found this to be the case with death. Why it is, I do not know. 

Three deaths this past week. One. Two. Three. Like blows to people we love. Shocking. The blush of pulsing blood in cheeks one day and a week later the body is still, the heart beats no more, the lungs no longer lift for air. Spirit flies away.

In addition to the passings of this week, one son suffered the pain of kidney stones out of the blue. So hard to know that he is enduring such pain. Relieved to know the cause of the pain.

Next day, our eldest son calls from another city. Car wreck on the freeway, not his fault, could have killed him. The careless RV driver who ran him off the road kept speeding down the busy thoroughfare, leaving my son to pay all the damages. Insurance companies are cynical.

Thank you, God, that the boys are alive, that they can laugh.

Thank you, God, for good memories of the ones who left Earth this week.

A tenuous strand it is that holds us here together, walking the timeline in unison...for now.

Put to the Test

Carl Honore's book In Praise of Slowness finally found its way to my fingers last night. The kids in bed, my freshly washed hair in a towel, and the house fairly quiet - ahh. At last. I've been looking forward to this. Needing this. Reading, relaxing. Sinking into a concept that fits my outlook well. 

The book examines the raging Western lifestyle/mindset that declares time is money, and tardiness will slide you into Hell. Presenting a new mindset, one I partially describe in this post, Honore artfully opens the portals to a new, gardenesque way of living, one that honors life and beauty, health and relationships, nature and nurture even in the midst of the whirlwind we call 'everyday life'. 

Tom told me this morning, "I'll drive the girls to and from the tutor so you can have the morning off."

Delight.

I read some more. Feeling very good about it all. "It fits. This is what I want. A thoughtful life that is slow when need be and fast when necessary. Balance."

Feeling refreshed with two more chapters under my belt I decided that I'd do a little straightening up, get myself road ready - at a leisurely pace, mind you, for I was very relaxed - and I'd give the girls their lift home. Blue sky warmth beckoned and Tom was deep in a project. "Thanks for your kindness, but I'll get the girls. I want to." Kiss. Good-bye!

I smiled to myself while driving. "The girls and I can stop by our favorite market for fresh produce and bread for our noon meal. Yes, this will give them a chance to relax a little from their heavy studies." Our market is beautiful and uncrowded. 

In the market we stopped to smell colorful spring flowers, lifted a hand basket for our few listed items, and proceeded toward the produce aisle. My cell phone rang. We are staying close to the phone these days as there has been an ongoing family health emergency this week, one that matters quite a bit to us. Surprisingly, it was Tom on the phone, not my sister.

"Joe's been taken to the hospital. Come home." My twenty-three year old son was experiencing severe pain in his back, so extreme that his boss had driven him to the emergency room.

We replaced the hand basket and headed straight for the car and home posthaste.

Slowness, remember? Every single car in front of me drove at least five miles under the speed limit. People crowded in front of me. The lights changed to red just as I approached. I smiled at the irony. Here I was racing for the hospital when a moment ago I was the picture of soothing calm. 

"Hurry up! Why are you driving so slooow! My son needs me!!"

My crazed mind yielded to calmness at last. "I'll get there. Racing won't take but a few seconds off the time. He needs me to be sane when I arrive, not wild-eyed with road rage." 

It made a difference. I just needed balance. I drove my fastest, safest best while in my mind remembering that life unfolds at its own pace. Events will transpire as they ought. Before me was the choice to contribute to their unfolding in a natural way or to disturb, pulling others into a vortex of unnecessary speed.

Calmness chosen.

Joe is fine. Kidney stone. 

Over the intercom in Joe's hospital room we heard harp music around one o'clock. For about five seconds. Harp music in a speaker that had been silent except for paging of staff.

We found out later that the other family emergency had ended - around one o'clock.

I'm looking forward to my book at bedtime. It's been a weird yet contemplative day.

Maybe It's the Water

Thirty years ago my brother and I were discussing cancer's prevalence. He joked, "Someday they'll track the cause to something common, like tap water." We chuckled.

My son Ben sent me this e-mail today:

"Just when you think it's safe to drink the water!!!

This stuff is really getting out of hand."

He added this link.

Maybe this could be the answer to high-priced medicines? Skip the drugs, just drink the water?

Talk about recycling...

But be comforted. "We recognize it is a growing concern, and we're taking it very seriously," Benjamin H. Grumbles, the EPA's assistant administrator for water, said of the drugs' presence. 

Worries begone. They're taking it seriously.

Hmm....

A Foot in An Acre

A long-time friend popped in yesterday just as I was setting a hot lunch to the table. His welcomed presence at our meal was illumi-nating to me, a slow learner.

See, he's very conservative. Listens to all the conservative talk radio available, reads right-wing periodicals. He's very intelligent and worth listening to. We did the Il Dolce Far Niente thing by lingering long after the food was gone, so riveting was the discussion.

"Interesting," I said to Tom this morning. "My very liberal friends have the same opinion of the government and big corporations as this, our very conservative friend. They say basically the same things. Distrust. Frustration. Confusion. All over the same stuff.

"And yet, liberals and conservatives behave as arch enemies. Most of the time these really avid 'wingers' - left or right - have no room for kindness toward one another. Bickering. Name-calling. Anger.

"They basically agree on most subjects yet have hissy fits over a few. I think it's the government's way of keeping us at odds with one another so that we won't wake up to realizing how much we have in common. I mean, if we did, we'd be standing shoulder to shoulder, picking up rocks, turning to face the real enemies, hurling and knocking them out of the way."

One square foot of disagreement in an acre of commonality.

We need to celebrate our agreements, focus our energy on the real matters at hand, stop letting the powers that be manipulate us with fear, and talk radio, and babbling news shows, and constantly pointing out our few differences, stoking those feelings of helplessness, even hopelessness.

Who knows? Maybe if we common, everyday citizens learned to work together to wrestle power from the hands of the elite few, then set about to restore our freedoms, well, just maybe we'd find that the one square foot of differences becomes reconcilable.

DST - A Drag

Clock shifts reduce sleep duration and efficiency, particularly for late-risers after clocks spring forward. Effects on circadian rhythm are severe and can last for weeks.The government of Kazakhstan cited health complications due to clock shifts as a primary reason for abolishing DST in 2005.

Clock shifts correlate with decreased economic efficiency. In 2000 the daylight-saving effect implied an estimated one-day loss of $31 billion on U.S. stock exchanges. Clock shifts and DST rule changes have a direct economic cost, since they entail extra work to support remote meetings, computer applications and the like. For example, a 2007 North American rule change cost an estimated $500 million to $1 billion. ~~Wikipedia

There. Health and money. If you don't care about one you're likely to care about the other.

I dislike Daylight Savings Time. We are a swing shift family. I likes my sleep.

I may be cranky for the next six months until the clocks change back.

Please, bear with me...

Giddy

Honey-scented blossom breezes. Sprouting vegetational variety. Trekking across our spongy lawn I am hopeful, curious. Surprises greet me as I visit my once asleep friends. "Who made it through winter?" They all did! Bursting buds between tired leaves, color bedecked shrubs, or up from the soil bulb leaves poke - hello! - and I'm there. Hello!













Discarding winter's inwardness my spirit delights to climb up, stretch toward the sun, the eternal sky, the warmth, just as do nature's spring beauties. Outwardness. A clean slate. Forgiveness and forgetting. Like a new bud, or a burst of heather I am renewed. Alive. Pulsing with thawed energy.

Sighing invigoration.

Hmm...I Wonder Who Will Win?

The Russians are voting today.

"Medvedev is a wonderful, young, handsome energetic man who will continue Putin's work and be a shining example to our children," said Tamara Razumova, who works in a polling station in Moscow."*

Wonderful. Young. Handsome. Energetic. Yeah, that'll get the job done. What more do you need? (I've actually heard my fellow citizens using these same adjectives to explain why they're voting for Obama.)

"Polling stations offered food and office supplies at a discount. In Medvedev's native St. Petersburg, some voters quaffed bargain beer at their polling place. Others showed up for the goods - but didn't bother to vote."

Bargain beer. An idea whose time has come? I imagine the vote would increase among certain U.S. constituents if amber liquid beckoned at polling places. If I weren't already a faithful voter the office supplies would tempt me.

But the Russian election is no laughing matter. No matter how unhappy I am with McCain, Obama, and Clinton at least I have a certain amount of voice. Plus I can choose whether or not to vote at all without jeopardizing my livelihood.

"Government-paid teachers and doctors across the country complained that they were being pressured to vote at their workplace under the gaze of their superiors, to ensure a convincing win and a high turnout for Medvedev. Golos, an election monitoring group, reported similar accounts.

Sofia, 25, a history teacher in southwestern Moscow, said the principal required her and colleagues to cast ballots at a polling station set up on the school premises.

'This is terrible, they are not leaving us any choice,' said Sofia, who declined to give her last name out of fear of losing her job. She said she destroyed her ballot in protest."'

Keeping Russian elections in mind, I will curtail my sniveling about the madness of a U.S. election year. I will be grateful for what I have, vote the best I can, and consider that the strength of our country lies within each of its citizens. If we don't like it, we need to work for our desired changes. While holding onto good we can work for better.

(And if anyone bribes your vote at the polling station have the class to sell it for premium brew only. Your vote it worth more than a Bud Light.)

* All quotes from the Associated Press

Sugar Overdose, Anyone?

"Ahoy Mateys! Set Sail with a Cap'n Crunch Milkshake!!"

Yes, it really said that on the reader board of a local fast food restaurant.

May as well just shoot ourselves in the head.

Near the Center of a Well-Lived Life

"We had it tested and it was so full of steroids that we never could have given it to athletes. They all would have tested positive." ~~ Frank Puleo, a caterer working for the united States Olympic Committee, after testing a 14-inch chicken breast purchased at a supermarket in Beijing, host of this years' summer Olympics

As shocking as the toxicity of Beijing poultry is, do we really know what's in our food these days? In the rush to conform do we sacrifice years of good health - even life - by eating dangerous food products which our great great grandmothers would not even recognize as food? Do we have the respect we should for the cycle of life, the importance of food - whole food - and the soils from which they are born? What roles do corporations and governments play in determining what's on the shelves of our grocery stores and what's in the stuff that is placed there? Who's minding the store? Who's minding our choices? Who cares?

Way too big a topic to cover in a simple blog post. But I am thinking about certain aspects of food and eating and health and choices. Many options remain available, if only we snoop around a bit. I believe there is a better way to approach the fueling of our bodies. I believe it can be done with panache or simplicity or both. I believe it can take a prominent place in the fabric of our daily lives, to our betterment. And I think it's about time.

Michael Pollan writes in his book, In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto: "For most people for most of history, gathering and preparing food has been an occupation at the very heart of daily life. Traditionally people have allocated a far greater proportion of their income to food - as they still do in several of the countries where people eat better than we do and as a consequence are healthier than we are. Here, then, is one way in which we would do well to go a little native: backward, or perhaps it is forward, to a time and place where the gathering and preparing and enjoying of food were closer to the center of a well-lived life."

"Compared to the 9.9 percent of their income Americans spend on food, the Italians spend 14.9 percent, the French 14.9 percent, and the Spanish 17.1 percent." ~~In Defense of Food, by Michael Pollan

Pollan continues, "In order to eat well we need to invest more time, effort, and resources in providing for our sustenance, to dust off a word, than most of us do today. A hallmark of the Western diet is food that is fast, cheap, and easy. Americans spend less than 10 percent of their income on food; they also spend less than a half hour a day preparing meals and little more than an hour enjoying them."

"In 1995 Americans spent twenty-seven minutes preparing meals and four minutes cleaning up after them; in 1965 the figure was forty-four minutes of preparation and twenty-one minutes of cleanup...all of which suggests a trend toward prepackaged meals."~~David M. Cutler, Journal of Economic Perspectives

Pollan again: "Medicine is learning how to keep alive the people whom the Western diet is making sick. Doctors have gotten really good at keeping people with heart disease alive, and now they're hard at work on obesity and diabetes. Much more so than the human body, capitalism is marvelously adaptive, able to turn the problems it creates into new business opportunities; diet pills, heart bypass operations, insulin pumps, bariatric surgery. But though fast food [here again, food that is fast, cheap, and easy] may be good business for the health care industry, the cost to society - an estimated $250 billion a year in diet-related health care costs and rising rapidly - cannot be sustained indefinitely. An American born in 2000 has a 1 in 3 chance of developing diabetes in his lifetime...A diagnosis of diabetes subtracts roughly twelve years from one's life and living with the condition incurs medical costs of $13,000 a year (compared with $2,500 for someone without diabetes.)...Diabetes is well on its way to becoming normalized in the West - recognized as a whole new demographic and so a major marketing opportunity. Apparently it is easier, or at least a lot more profitable, to change a disease of civilization into a lifestyle than it is to change the way that civilization eats."

We have the choice to educate ourselves about our food supply and eating customs. We have the choice to take our health seriously, taking the matter into our own hands, to stop trusting those who profit off our ignorance.

Ultimately, I suppose, it comes down to what truly matters to us, for that is where choices are born.

I relish life. I really do. I enjoy finding full-flavored whole foods in my garden or community. I love to savor the sight and smell of each piece when I unload it from my shopping bag. Then, to cook it up with love for my family and friends, to present beautiful, life-sustaining foods, to savor the deliciousness of the meal along with the joy and laughter from those whose knees tuck under my table, whose hands are poised to participate in the mystery, knowing that I have done no harm, but provided goodness. Such is near the 'center of a well-lived life'.

Il Dolce Far Niente

Upon returning from Italy my friend shared an Italian philosophy he'd come to embrace, il dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing.

He went on to explain that his time spent in the Mediterranean has, among other things, changed the way he approaches eating. Apparently on weekdays the Italians give themselves two or more hours for lunch. Cooking together, savoring the meal with one another, lingering with life, in the moment, fueling body and soul. Then, back to work for a few more hours.

In addition, the shops in Italy are not open long hours seven days a week as they are here. Family and friends are valued over ambition and material wealth. People take the time to live, to know, to enjoy.

In the United States where money is king and material possessions the measure of success there is no time for il dolce far niente. Well, for most people. Some of us seem to have the notion of savoring hard-wired into us, though that doesn't mean we live it. We just long for it.
Some of us thrive on the 'go go go', 'earn earn earn', 'buy buy buy' mentality. I wonder if for these the idea of switching to a more mindful - heartful - philosophy might seem like laziness. The Greatest Generation certainly values hard work, working hard, and hard work. Understandable given what they've been through.

I suppose there is a happy medium somewhere. I like to think Tom and I have found it - at least most of the time. It's easy to become caught up in the competing rush, to lose sight of our true treasure, to run with the frantic throng of the busy. But who's leading the pack?

Certainly not the Italians.

"Do not follow the ideas of others, but learn to listen to the voice within yourself." ~~Zen Master Dogen

Sick. Sick. Sick.

FINAL UPDATE: For you who have wondered...We are well!! Tom's back at work and nearly cough-free, Cassie is back to normal, so is Caroline, and I feel better than I have in a long long while. School is back on track, so are meals, the house is coming together. We are vital and grateful. Thanks everyone!
UPDATE, FRIDAY:: Good news for some of us! I woke up with some energy - what is this? - and it's wonderful. I'll be careful where I spend it. :) Tom's fever is gone, his coughing and lungs are unhappy, but he's feeling much perkier. (Though he's not going to work, he, being Tom, wants to do all sorts of things he doesn't have the strength to do. He gets up, moves around, then crashes.) Caroline is doing much better. Cassie is not doing well at all, but she has all of us doing what we can, and empathizing totally. In addition to Joe's pot of soup, which is almost gone, two kind, generous ladies brought us food yesterday and we were lifted by it. So good. We have enough for today as well. It's surprising the difference a good, hot meal - and lovingkindness - makes. Thanks to you both. You have our hearts. I will be posting a fresh post one of these days, something I've read during my 'down time.' (Oy.) Be well and thanks for the support both physical and virtual. You remain the BEST.

UPDATE: Tom has a low-grade fever but is making some headway. So tired, though. Caroline is coughing less, getting better. But, Cassie is getting headaches and is becoming lethargic and so am I. We're hoping we are just tired and strained and not getting sick. Being the healthiest at this point, she and I had to run errands today - kind of funny. Just putting our shoes on seemed like a big deal. Got the meds at the pharmacy and felt tuckered out by the time I got to the car. I look pretty bad, I think, judging from the looks I got. Again, sorta funny. I'm careful to keep any germs I may carry to myself as best I can. Our wonderful son, Joe, made a huge pot of chicken soup from scratch and brought it over with some hearty bread. I about cried. The soup tasted like love and perked us all up quite a bit. (Thank you so much, Joe. It was delicious!!) Thanks for all your encouraging words! We cherish each and every one! They really do lighten the load and help us feel less alone here in our isolated world of yuck.
~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~

Tom is hacking and snorting and tired on the couch.

Caroline is tired and using lots of tissues and on the futon.

Cassie is exhausted from being the well one for weeks and doing the brunt of the work. She's exhausted from lack of sleep having to share a room with a noisy-sleeping Caroline.

Me? I think I'm having a relapse, but I don't dare succumb. Cassie needs me. I've been making soup, cutting orange and apple slices, cleaning, sanitizing, shopping, making trays of foods for my two sickest, and dragging my tired self around. The concrete limbs are returning.

I remember our life in Myrtle Creek all those years ago. Tom and I spent our first seven years as a married couple there, with family nearby. Tom's mom would bring us her homemade soups when we fell ill. My mom would double the meals she made for Dad and herself and bring the leftovers to Tom, the kids, and me. Both moms brought flowers, and cookies, and games for Benny and Joey. Sweet friends and tiny ladies from church would bring us their time-tested nourishing foods.

The kindness and compassion lifted our spirits. I swear it helped us recover quicker.

When we first moved here, a place we've lived for over twenty years, we had a home-school support group. We made many great friends. When I had my first miscarriage the ladies outdid themselves bringing us complete meals for two weeks. Full meals of roasted turkey, enchiladas, pork chops, soups, chicken and rice and so much more. They brought entire meals setting them out for us on our kitchen table. Such humility we felt as we savored the work of these kind families, a different family each night. Invariably there'd be a lovely get well card presented along with hugs and kind words.

A second miscarriage, a vicious bout of pneumonia, and two healthy births replayed the scene over and over and over. I was pleased to know giving people such as these. Pleased to do the same for them when they needed help.

But people move on. Only a couple of these friends remain in our lives and they are so busy.

We've never found a church that embraced us. We've never fit in.

I miss the niceties. I miss the nourishing. I miss my mom. And Tom's mom. I miss the care.

I miss my health.

I am sad that we are all ill. Sad to see my kids suffering so. I am tired, not able to care for them as I'd like. I feel inadequate. And alone.

But this will pass. We'll be well again.

And when energy returns I'm going to send beautiful, sincere cards to our moms and thank them again for their compassion for us all those years ago. Then I'll get on my knees and thank God for the family and friends who showed me what being human is all about.

And I'll thank him for the contrast he has sent my way.

And I'll ponder these things in my heart.

You

"Love your neighbor as yourself is part of the great commandment. The other way to say it is, Love yourself as your neighbor. Love yourself not in some egocentric, self-serving sense but love yourself the way you would love your friend in the sense of taking care of yourself, nourishing yourself, trying to understand, comfort, strengthen yourself...."Mind your own business" means butt out of other people's lives because in the long run they must live their lives for themselves, but it also means pay mind to your own life, your own health and wholeness, both for your own sake and ultimately for the sake of those you love, too. Take care of yourself so you can take care of them. A bleeding heart is of no help to anybody if it bleeds to death." ~~ Frederick Buechner

Wrapping up the Week...

Caroline has had a full week.

Monday: To the doctor for a recurring rash on her pretty little hands which has Caroline paranoid. Ointment, assurances. Severely chapped, sensitive skin. She won't die from it. While running errands after the doctor visit, with Cassie at the wheel (driving like a pro, I might add), we three were nearly hit six different times, by six different stupid drivers. Cassie reacted perfectly, averting disaster every time. Divine testing, perhaps?

Tuesday: To a noon-time symphony at the Hult Center. Beautiful, wonderful! When we called Daddy to pick us up his phone didn't work. A dozen tries later we got through. In the meantime, we'd walked to the Mac Store, a good pick-up spot. What did we see while waiting? Disheveled, sleepy-eyed kids and adults dressed Goth-like in black or Medieval attire, back-packs sagging from shoulders, all filing toward a vague entrance as though beckoned by some Ancient Being. Before entering the building they silently, respectfully tamped out cigarettes, meeting our eyes with shy smiles. We smiled and nodded in return. After twenty or thirty people slipped up the dark stairway we decided they must have been Role Players. Gotta love this town. Caroline dubbed the mysterious glass door which swallowed them up, "The Weird Door of Oddness." (We have many role playing family and friends, so we did not judge, merely assessed in kindness. We simply found it odd in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, in the middle of town.)

Wednesday: To the orthodontist. Will the braces come off? Is that last 12-year molar moving in? Braces still on. Molar about to erupt. Almost there. Patience. More patience. Good-hearted girl. Happily we had the tea party adventure afterwards - see previous post.

Thursday: To the optometrist for her first big-time eye exam. 20/20 vision, healthy eyes. The effects from the dilation of her pupils was "cool." The brightness of the day required funky-fun, plastic eye protection for the drive home. Seemed like an upbeat end to a long week of the ordinary and the unusual. But it didn't end there. Nope. Headache. Body aches. Yes, and a fever that rose a degree an hour until it peaked at 102 degrees. Caroline came down with my flu. I hate sharing bad stuff.

Friday: Her fever is broken, but she is weak. She is bummed. She missed all her tutored classes this week. She requests her favorite meal. Pasta. Things are looking up.

Tomorrow: On what note will Brave Caroline's week expire? We harbor great hope.

Valentine's Day

Why love, if losing hurts so much? We love to know that we are not alone. ~~C.S. Lewis

We don't like to be told what to do around here. Though life doesn't always afford our way, sometimes we get it anyhow. Because a blue sky day greeted us this morning, we declared today Valentine's Day.

I am like a falling star who has finally found her place next to another in a lovely constellation, where we will sparkle in the heavens forever. ~~Amy Tan

Moisture puffing along in the sky gave variation to the clear blue. It was a sign to expect the unexpected.

Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction. ~~Antoine De Saint-Exupery

Choosing to forego the usual chocolates or chalky conversation hearts - 'U R 4 Me!' 'IM Me!' 'B Mine!' 'Hot Stuff!' Phooey! - I landed on a bright idea. To the whimsical tea house the girls and I would go after an orthodontist appointment. I'd been to the tea house with Pam and her mom, but was saving such an adventure for the girls until the perfect opportunity presented itself. Today would be the day. I wanted to give each daughter a Valentine to remember.

While I enjoyed a cozied pot of vanilla chai tea, the girls delighted in hot cocoa. Delicious, freshly-made tomato basil soup nourished already joyous spirits.Dessert? Morning-baked scones...

Love is the expansion of two natures in such fashion that each includes the other, each is enriched by the other. ~~ Felix Adler

...dolloped with Devonshire Cream...

Love doesn't make the world go 'round; love is what makes the ride worthwhile. ~~ Franklin P. Jones

...smothered in Oregon Berry jam. Oh my.

You are my beloved and you are my friend. ~~ Song of Solomon

Don't feel sorry for Tom. On our homecoming he was presented a bowl of hot soup, a large cup of tea, a special gift from me, and the scone you see in the photos. He smiled. Really big!

Love does not die easily. It is a living thing. It thrives in the face of all of life's hazards, save one -- neglect. ~~ James D. Bryden

Spring birds chirping, higher sun beaming, new grass growing. Love all around. Mushy, sappy, grinning love.

It's Bitter, Man! (A 60 Second Post)

True confession.

I feel the need to purge myself of this secret.

I hate coffee.

I've always hated the taste of it. It's bitter.

It stains teeth.

I do not drink it Sam I Am. Here or There. Anywhere.

Nasty.

There.

I said it.

I admitted it.

Stone me.

(Just, please, don't make me drink the stuff.)

Peeking Spring

Good news from the doctor today, warm shirt-sleeve weather, greenery perking up all around, fresh-faced flowers waking up their sleepy little heads, honking geese in overhead V's, buds on trees and bushes, the sun a little higher in the sky hangs around a tad longer each day, and I am coming out of my wintery hibernation.

I think I'm going to make it.

Yippee!

Rainy Thursday

"A mother is not a person to lean on, but a person to make leaning unnecessary." ~~ Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Case in Point

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers at Half Time: A Class Act

Unbelievably fantastic though the game between the Giants and the Patriots was - and it was the best Super Bowl I've ever seen - the halftime was my place of joy. If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time you have figured out that I 'am a fan' of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. The music fits my world. So does the integrity.

I knew they'd deliver the goods on Sunday and sure enough, it was a class act all the way.

The meanest, nastiest flu I can recall hit me late last week, knocking me out of this world into that weird, head-swimming, delirious world of aches, pains, disorientation, sweat, chills, worry about my family not eating well and what's not getting done (bills to pay, school to teach, the tub needs cleaning, the dog smells houndy, Joe's car's been totalled - does he need help? - and wondering when my arms and legs turned to concrete.) My daughters are the best nurses ever, Joe a most attentive son, and my Tom does the best he can to hold it together. Still, the flu left me looking and feeling like I've spent a week dancing at the Zombie Zoo. Today I saw my reflection in the mirror, making the sight even worse by grimacing in shock.

All this about me to say that even though I had to be escorted to the living room couch with my small cups of gingerale and water along with the saltines that currently follow me everywhere, I was not about to miss Tom Petty in any way shape or form. Silence ensued at half time while two eager generations gathered around the tube to hear Tom and the boys do what they do so well. Fantastic! Flawless! Fun! The best half time in a long long while. No freaks jumping around, rising suddenly amidst smoke from here, sinking into oblivion there, no weird camera angles, no ridiculous pyrotechnics, no lousy music.

Quite the contrary. The boys were decked out beautifully, all handsome, talented, professional, exciting, energized, quietly confident, youthful eyes twinkling, and those smiles! How Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers can sing and play! And create fun. Honed by a decades-long wild ride these men know what works and how to bring it. They did.

Classy in that it felt like they did it for us instead of for themselves.

Tom seemed to be having as much fun as he did all those years ago when it was brand new. There seemed to be an amazed, boyish hint of, "Hey, man, I'm playing for the Super Bowl!" excitement in his eyes. How cool is that.

The arrogant younger stuff might wisely take notes from Sir Petty and his Royal Heartbreakers.


(In case you're wondering, my body is depleted of energy now that I've used what little I had this morning to post this entry - sheepish, foolish, pathetic smile - and I have a ways to go before I am me again. But I've got a few songs in my heart sitting with the worries of the 'undone', and the encouragement to listen to my little nurses: "Get back to bed!!" I'm going. I'm going...)

"Cool Runnings"

The climactic ending of the film, Cool Runnings, always chokes me up.

Four Jamaican bob-sledders experience equipment malfunction which causes a tremendous crash. Emergency crews rush to them, but slide to a stop on the ice when the team appears to be getting up. Picking up their bobsled, the four athletes, shaken and battered from the crash, lift and carry their inoperable sled over slippery ice to the finish line.

"We have to finish the race," says Derice, the one who is the heart and soul of the team.

It's all the more moving because of a quiet, conversational scene earlier in the movie, before the last bobsled race of the 1988 Olympics. Derice knows his coach was a U.S bob-sledder, an Olympian who'd won medals, and had two medals stripped away for cheating, for attaching weights to the front of his teams' sled for increased speed. He wants to know the reasons why...

Coach, pensively: "Why did I cheat? It's quite simple really. I had to win. You see, Derice, I'd made winning my whole life, and when you make winning your whole life, you have to keep on winning no matter what. You understand that?"

Derice, shaking his head slowly: "No. I don't understand, Coach. You had two gold medals. You had it all."

Coach: "A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without it, you'll never be enough with it."

Derice: "Coach, how will I know if I'm enough?"

Coach: "When you cross that finish line you'll know."

Integrity intact, crossing the finish line, Derice knows. He is enough.