Un Père, Une Mère, C’est Élémentaire!” (“One father, One Mother: It’s Basic!”)

"Wish as you might, a mom and a dad are not interchangeable."  ~~ Anonymous

There is a mighty debate about whether gays should be allowed to marry and raise families. Passionate opinions on both sides.

For me, I cannot get past the idea that men and women are not interchangeable. Not at all. My sister, brother, and I were raised with my married-to-each-other mom and dad who were - besides personality differences - very different from one another because of their sexes. Different physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. They had different perspectives about life and I needed them both to understand the world - and its differences -  so that I could participate when adulthood found me. The synergy between a woman and a man cannot be duplicated in a same-sex union. It just can't. They are not interchangeable.

Children need a mom and a dad. They deserve the best shot at as good and healthy a life possible. 

As far as I can tell from my limited research, never in the history of the world has their been sanctioned gay marriage until now. Ever. It has always been believed to be a bad idea. Sure, homosexuality has existed. Ancient Greek and Roman soldiers participated in homosexuality. But then they went home to their wives and children. They valued their heterosexual family units because that is where legacy lives, where the family name is passed down, where culture and tradition are bestowed upon the next generation via a mother and a father. It was a no-brainer.

“Marriage exists to bring a man and a woman together as husband and wife to be father and mother to any children their union produces. Marriage is based on the biological fact that reproduction depends on a man and a woman, and on the social reality that children need a mother and a father.” ~~ Ryan Anderson

So, if marriage today is predominantly for family building, and if same-sex parents building families is not ideal for children, then why is it so hard for people to come to consensus about whether gay marriage is necessary or not?  

Because we are a different sort of people these days. We are selfish and morally adrift. In ignorance we have abdicated our responsibility and thus our power. We now sit down and expect the government to define the moral order for us, for we have lost our way. And we remain so at our peril.

"A people who allow government to redefine the moral order according to changing social standards or political expediency will not be able to resist tyranny because they no longer believe that right and wrong are universally based but rather man made and thus subject to decree. When the government can define right and wrong it will inevitably define its own actions as right by definition. It is not an accident that the decline in morals of the last generation also corresponds to the near death of the Bill of Rights. People who do not believe in Right, cannot stand up for rights. We have rights because justice is rooted in the Universal order. It is Right. Without a belief in a transcendent, absolute moral order, there is no Justice, no rights, only the whim of the state, our new god. Emperors and dictators have always sensed that moral decadence enhanced their own powers, and so it is today." ~~ Bill, from a comment forum

We find ourselves there, at the whim of the state, bickering, divided, the needle of our moral compass spinning.

In March of 2013, Chief Rabbi of France Gilles Bernheim wrote an interesting article entitled Homosexual Marriage, Parenting, and Adoption, the adapted version of which can be found here.

Another very relevant article, written by Doug Mainwaring (a gay man), pertaining to the importance of children having both a mother and a father plus the harm same-sex marriage does to humanity can be found here. It's entitled, "I'm Gay and Oppose Same-Sex Marriage." This article does a great job of answering some of the arguments my readers have left me in the comment forum of this post.

Fashioning a Life of Beauty

In youth one thinks in terms of discovery.

In the middle years one thinks in terms of accomplishing tasks, fulfilling roles inherent in creating a home, working a career, raising children, growing a marriage, and/or feeding the soul.

In later years one looks back - now and then, not constantly - to observe, to learn, and in so doing realizes beauty in both victory and defeat for they weave together to benefit the one who pays attention. Wisdom serves the willing. Wisdom gleaned gives life inspiration which - hopefully - flowers into a 'garland of beautiful deeds.'

Cultivating beauty is a choice eagerly planted in youth, tenderly nurtured in middle years, quietly matured when clarity, contemplation, and contentment replace necessary busyness.

'Fashion your life as a garland of beautiful deeds.' ~ Buddha

The blessing of age is the realization that within each of us remains the child, the efficient middle-ager, and the sage. To be blessed to reach what some refer to as 'The Third Act' is to step into a space of the synergistic fashioning of life. With all the tools in the toolbelt one takes hold of exploration and creativity, the peaceful and exciting moments where new depths of understanding are savored.

Those in their third act may embrace a life of beauty, give freely from their wisdom, move forward in harvesting all that life has to offer.

As for the rest of us, we might consider revering the wise elderly, for in them is all of us.

The real voyage of discovery lies not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. ~~ Marcel Proust

'Sweet Land of Liberty'

"Subjection in minor affairs breaks out every day and is felt by the whole community indiscriminately. It does not drive men to resistance, but it crosses them at every turn, till they are led to surrender the exercise of their own will. Thus their spirit is gradually broken and their character enervated; whereas that obedience which is exacted on a few important but rare occasions only exhibits servitude at certain intervals and throws the burden of it upon a small number of men. It is in vain to summon a people who have been rendered so dependent on the central power to choose from time to time the representatives of that power; this rare and brief exercise of their free choice, however important it may be, will not prevent them from gradually losing the faculties of thinking, feeling, and acting for themselves, and thus gradually falling below the level of humanity." ~~ Alexis de Tocqueville, French thinker and philosopher who lived from 1805-1859, author of Democracy in America, from which this excerpt is taken

This line - "...will not prevent them from gradually losing the faculties of thinking, feeling, and acting for themselves, and thus gradually falling below the level of humanity" - always gets me. My stomach turns, my brain recognizes the described condition in my fellow man and myself, my heart fills with fear for I must acknowledge Tocqueville's warning has indeed unfolded in my beloved homeland.

"...will not prevent them from gradually losing the faculties of thinking, feeling, and acting for themselves,..." FDR's juggernaut legacy.

"...gradually falling below the level of humanity." Below.

Tragedy. All the way around.

Freedom in this last best hope on earth requires our grip to tighten and pull it back from the hands of those who hypnotize us into loosening our fingers as the rope of liberty slides effortlessly through them, while the enemies of freedom smirk and sneer.

'We are tired. We are weary. But we aren't worn out.'

Fight, countrymen, with whatever you have left inside of you, fight. Before the end of the rope bounces, dangles, and drops out of reach and this great experiment - the United States of America - sinks into slimy, altered textbooks as a failure.

'Unleashed Energy and Individual Genius'

Finding inspiration at Hearst Castle

"If we look to the answer as to why for so many years we achieved so much, prospered as no other people on earth, it is because here in this land we unleashed the energy and individual genius of man to a greater extent than has ever been done before. Freedom and the dignity of the individual have been more available and assured here than in any other place on earth. The price for this freedom at times has been high, but we have never been unwilling to pay that price. It is no coincidence that our present troubles parallel and are proportionate to the intervention and intrusion in our lives that result from unnecessary and excessive growth of government. It is time for us to realize that we are too great a nation to limit ourselves to small dreams. We're not, as some would have us believe, doomed to an inevitable decline. I do not believe in a fate that will fall on us no matter what we do. I do believe in a fate that will fall on us if we do nothing." ~~ Ronald Reagan, January 20, 1981, in his first inaugural address.

September Pause

Sweet Cherry Tomatoes

Fennel

Late Butter Lettuce

Roma Tomatoes

Waterdrops on Spider Web

Spider Web, the Sequel

It's my hope that you enjoy the season which surrounds you!

'Closed' to be Open

When I was a kid most stores were closed Sundays.

Until 7-11's came along. In their wake we, as consumers, learned that we had a safety net in case we forgot milk, eggs, or bread. The safety net caused our diligence to dull. One thing led to another and here we are, a plethora of open stores available every single day - and night - opportunities for shopping 'round the clock, which on its face doesn't seem like a bad thing, until we realize we traded rest for convenience.

Lately, nostalgia has crept into my soul. Sunday used to be a special day, and not just because my family and I are church participators. No, the whole country observed the notion of rest. As a child I didn't appreciate the cessation, the interruption of life's busyness. Today, I feel the loss.

Pleased to find this Sabbath Manifesto whose goal is to encourage us to slow down in an increasingly hectic world. I've printed up their Ten Principles for later perusal. I've taken The Pledge.  From sunset Friday, March 23, to sunset Saturday, March 24, I intend to unplug, to allow my soul the space to calmly realize who I am and what I need and want, to allow my mind a breather from the constant input of this technological age, and to allow my heart the opportunity to give wherever there may be need which I can meet.

We'll see how it goes.

For me, unplugging means the cell phone - which I only turn on when I'm away from home in case the kids or husband need to contact me - stays off. The computer can get along without me for a day. The television - and Netflix (that will be the hard one) can save electricity by remaining off for me. (It may be difficult if others in the household find my Pledge uncompelling, but this house has many rooms.) Avoiding commerce, easy. Getting outside, lighting candles, eating bread, yes! Connecting with loved ones shall mean more than asking them to 'throw another log on the fire'. No, it will be a pleasure to listen, share, seek mutual understanding, perhaps invite some friends over. Drink wine? Probably not. The effects of alcoholism in the lives of loved ones has slashed too much of my heart lately so this is best avoided for now. But a nice Draper Valley Juice would add much. Nurturing my health sounds like bliss - a brisk walk, eating real food, a warm bath, a clean bed, meditation in a dimly lit room. Giving back, yes. I eagerly look for God's guidance in this. Finding silence, not easy in a house full of adult children, a hyperactive husband, and a beagle. But I shall find it nonetheless, perhaps in the quiet morning hours while sleep restores bodies, or on a solitary walk.

This Challenge takes place on Saturday, and I will engage thusly. Sunday, however, is the day I intend to rescue from then on out. Sunday, a day of rest. A day to remember the resurrected Savior, to remember me, to remember you, and to remember the relationship which gently cradles the three.

'Closed' seems negative. 'Open' positive. However, in this case closed means freedom to be open. And I am eager for it!

Choose One's Own Way

We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.

~~~Victor Frankl

Before a Fall

Proverbs 16:18

I had it coming.

Long overdue.

"Now that my family and I only eat good food and bla bla bla........we are never sick."

Haughty spirit.

It didn't begin that way, nope. Just unfortunately evolved from the joy of feeling better.

Will there ever be a time when I simply learn a lesson, tuck away its message, and move on?

Why, upon the upliftment of blessing, do I so often look around, compare myself to others, stick my nose in the air, and condescend? Simple graciousness would be a much better response.

Three years of not being sick. Three years of opportunity to practice gratitude.

But no. Instead, three years of arrogantly patting myself on the back, as though I'd achieved the feat on my own.

So, here comes a nasty head cold. A ten day doozy. "Well, I deserve this."

But it doesn't stop there. Nope, this comeuppance is only getting started.

Under lowered immunity pneumonia creeps in. Weakness, cough, aches, fever, chills, harder cough, sleeplessness, fatigue, more fever, swimming head, shakes, sweats, more chills, worsening cough. Entire family in various stages of the same illness. Meals become harder to come by. The less weak compromise their recovery to make grocery runs, prepare food. The weak become stronger. The strong-ish resume weakness.

I've been sick for a month. I can't adequately care for my family. I can barely do anything. But cough. And sweat. And pray.

And get a clue.

Nose no longer raised. Nose being blown. Lungs thrashed. Sleep eludes.

Crabby.

Exhausted.

Defeated.

Pride goes before destruction.

A haughty spirit before a fall.

Just facts.

Got it.

For now.

Hope the lesson sticks this time.

I am never so weak as when I think I am strong.

January Sky

Anyone who lives in the Pacific Northwest knows that the winters can be soul crushing. It's not the rain that gets to a person, it's the gray. Sometimes blue sky isn't seen for weeks. It's like living under a soggy blanket, driving cheer away.

But this winter we in Western Oregon are enjoying Eastern Oregon weather, minus the snow. Blue skies during the daytime and freezing fogs that leave a white winterland for early risers to savor. A few good rain storms have come and gone with more expected on the way. But for a change the wet is the exception rather than the norm. I like it!

In addition to clear skies, last week we had a vibrant, breathtaking sunset that caused many to run for cameras. Including me. My humble point-and-click attempt doesn't do the pastels justice, but the photos give my memory a jolt. Magnificent!

Moments later the eastern sky displayed a large glowing moon in a just-after-sunset hover.

I don't know what the rest of winter will bring, and I know we need snow in the mountains. We may have a drought this summer, or a soggy spring and summer. Who can know these things.

May as well live in the moment and enjoy the gifts of January. Color, beauty, and cheer. Lots of cheer.

Could Not Contain the Joy

Raised in a musically-inclined, church-going family has placed me amidst Christmas music and Christmas Services my entire life. I've experienced it all. From tiny church programs as full of sincerity as they were short on talent, to huge extravaganzas full of talent and seemingly full of pride as well, and everything in-between. I've enjoyed most of them, some very very much. There are many ways to tell the Story of Christmas.

But last night, ah, last night I experienced something different for me, something deep, true, transcendent.

Was it helping to festively decorate the rented church where our little band of Jesus Followers meets?

Was it new and old friends dressed in Christmas cheer, relaxed, happy, together?

Was it sweet children at the microphone perfectly reciting Bible passages?

Was it the small but excellent adult choir, short on practice time but, oh, so long on beautiful talent, precision, volume, and heart? A cappella! Better than any big-church choir - with or without full orchestra - I've ever heard! Perfect and goose-bump producing. Heart-massaging music. Bravo!

Was it Jack Crabtree's insightful reflections on the Christmas Season, resonating with my own heart, giving me not only affirmation of thoughts recently mulled, but more wisdom and truth to ponder? How I love to ponder the things of God, especially during this pensive time of year!

Was it Andrew Robinson leading congregational Christmas Carols with his enthusiastically strong/mellow voice and confident guitar playing, accompanied by Kris Campbell's smooth violin?

Was it the well-prepared - and adorable! - Children's Choir imploring us to Go, Tell It On the Mountain, and asking us to stand and join the chorus at the very end?

Was it Bob Blanchard's eagerness as he invited all to the Fellowship Hall for the Soup and Bread meal provided afterwards?

Was it overflowing joy in the form of salty tears sending me to the Ladies' Room in order to 'gather myself' before dining, only to find two other women similarly teary-eyed and 'gathering'? Hugs!!

Was it the aroma of fresh bread and three flavors of hot soup, of chilled raw veggies, and steaming hot pots of coffee? Was it the endless stretch of colorful desserts prepared and shared by our families?

Was it the merriment at the long tables decorated with white-cloths, evergreen garlands, berries, sugar-pine cones, and flickering crystal votives? The laughter, the conversations, the heartfelt sharing of harder parts of life, the understanding, consoling, cheer, sympathy, and empathy?

Was it verbal and physical hugs from friends old and new?

Was it the soft touch and fresh, clean smell of three-month old baby twins' heads?

Was it promises to get together to 'just chill' after holidays greeted with YES!?

Was it satisfied afterglow chattings while clean-up was underway?

Was it the invitations to friends to continue discussions at our home, the friends who followed us to stand before our tall Christmas Tree and pick out a candy cane before more hilarity as well as deep talks ensued, the kids in one room for a Christmas movie and energetic companionship, the adults in another room, palms around hot mugs of Jasmine tea, reflecting on Jack's words and more?

It was all of those things for each and all are simply...

...Love.

While love has been experienced at other Christmas church services, last night was purer, somehow. Maybe my heart is more tender after a difficult year. Maybe it's my effort to make new friends rather than wait for them to come to me. Maybe it's the old and new combined, making a richer tapestry. Maybe it's spiritual growth, absorbing more meaning than before. Probably it is all of these. Definitely the experience was needed and is received with gratitude.

May our God - who is Love - make Himself known to you in small and large ways, and may your Home be a Safe and Trusting place now and in the future.

Merry Christmas!

Blindly Rushing Past Beauty

‎"In Washington DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule. 

About 4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theatre in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the DC Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.

This experiment raised several questions:

*In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?

*If so, do we stop to appreciate it?

*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made . . ...

How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?"


~~from Dr. Caroline Leaf's Facebook Page

Whispering Shout

Vibrant and outstandingly different from the colors surrounding it, this leaf rubber-necked my attention just now.

To have that sort of influence, what a gift. To capture attention. To invigorate. To dispel the dull and ordinary with beauty and boldness. To surprise, quietly, with loveliness.

To such an existence I aspire. Not that I want attention for attention sake, no, but to be a vessel of awakening in this tired, worn-out culture with its gray background and forlorn heart.

Willing, I am.

Capable? Time will tell.

Free the Little Children

"Alarmingly, recess is vanishing in many primary schools. Kinder-garteners are expected to acquire 'prelearning skills' before they even get to primary school. In Sweden they have a very different approach. There, preschool children are encouraged to play and relax without any structured learning for the first six years of their lives. They go for nature walks every day, even in the bitter Scandinavian winter. They are not taught to read until they are seven years of age, yet by the age of ten, Swedish children consistently lead European literacy rankings." From 10 Mindful Minutes, by Goldie Hawn 

When I first began to homeschool my firstborn, twenty-five years ago, I enlisted the wisdom of my grandmother, a long-time teacher and remedial reading tutor. She encouraged me, "Late is better than early. The ones who start school later - even as late as eight years old - catch up and often surpass those who began 'on time.' The kids who begin at four or five burn out by the time they reach middle school. Those who begin later - at seven or eight - go the distance without burnout."

I wonder what Grandma would say to the early-age starters of today? Kids are in pre-school at two and three years old! It boggles the mind.

I thank God for Grandma's wisdom which has proven itself over time.

Please, if you have little ones, let them be little. Let them walk the garden, explore, breathe, relax, play. Far more is learned in this way than in the confines of a flat-walled room full of artificial smells, shapes, and colors. Nothing beats the wind on the face, sunshine, mist, warmth and chill, and all the living overhead and underfoot that life offers to fresh little beings.

Nothing.

And when they are not in the garden or park let them relax, follow you around, help you carry their socks to their rooms, nap, sit on your lap to listen to your voice as you read to them or sing little songs.

Simplify your life.

For the children's sake.

Points to Ponder from the Dalai Lama

Summer's Over, Face the Music

My family and I stalled as long as we could before we lit the first fire. One evening last week when Caroline and I were home alone, we looked at each other and knew. It was time.

"It's so cold."

"Yep."

Tom and I had everything ready for the first fire of autumn. Kindling, firewood, ashes cleaned out of the stove.

Once we had a fire going, well, it felt really really good.

Haven't needed one again for a few days. When we do, it will nice then, too, and less traumatic.

Hard to let summer go, you know.

Summer's End

I think today was the last real day of summer for our fair valley. Eighty-four degrees, blue sky.

Caroline Weeds

I told my family I was going to spend the day outside. And I did. Herbs were harvested along with tomatoes, green beans, and the last of the sugar snap peas. Then the beans and pea plants were uprooted, their short, wire protectors removed. The tomato/lettuce garden was relieved of weeds thanks to daughter, Caroline.

Then, I watered my flowers, wondering if it was for the last time. There was a lot of love there, in that gesture.

Not wanting to let go of the last blue-sky-golden-sun day I grabbed the cushion from the chaise, dropped it to the freshly cut lawn, slid sunglasses over my eyes, and stretched out to receive the nourishing rays. Glory! Above me green maple leaves gently swayed on graceful branches catching the afternoon breeze, lulling.  Fuzzy honey bees dipped, and floated.

Half an hour into my reverie I rolled over onto my stomach and began running my fingers through the grass. Thin blades thickly gathered, soften my steps, delight my senses. Hard to believe the days of plopping down to sunbathe have reached their end. Soon the lawn will be soggy, the sky gray, the air cold.

Lamentations rocked back and forth in my head. I don't want summer to end. I've had such fun this year! I'm not ready, not ready, not ready.

Sigh. Deep, long, loud, sigh.

Could it be, I muse, that summer was fun because of something inside of me? A thing that remains? A little attitude, perchance, that may infuse itself into my autumn as well? Yes, that's entirely possible. 

In that case, here's to autumn, to possibility, to keeping myself open to discovery!

Greetings, Autumn! What will you teach me?

Pick a Salad, Any Salad

Grabbing my basket from atop the refrigerator I head through the house and out the side door where lettuce, tomatoes, strawberries, peas, beans, blueberries, pumpkins, and herbs grow. I realize I'm smiling.

"I LOVE picking salads from the soil!" I exclaim to no one at all. Bending low to the ground I slide my hand into ruffled greens; a thumbnail gently severs first one leaf, then another. Into the basket they go. Today raindrops from a night's quiet drizzle crisped the four varieties of lettuce where they stood. "Perfect!" Peering through sheltering vines I spy three perfectly ripened tomatoes, easily pluck them, add them to my heaping container of greens. Plus basil, chives, and peas. Delicious!

Realization that this garden grows and feeds us because my family and I plant and work it amazes me, makes me happy.

An explanation for my joy is found in my friend, James', recent Facebook post:

‎"Getting your hands dirty in the garden can increase your serotonin levels – contact with soil and a specific soil bacteria, Mycobacterium vaccae, triggers the release of serotonin in our brain according to research. Serotonin is a happy chemical, a natural anti-depressant and strengthens the immune system. Lack of serotonin in the brain causes depression."

While I never knew the scientific reason for my sustained garden happiness, I have always known there is something good and magical out there, in the dirt.

A Filling

Fragile human beings. Overloaded and under energized. Sometimes life beats us up. Badly. But the faithful keep going in the face of darkness, through the gloom. Belief in change and eventual relief sustain until a finger points to God restoring balance and deep breath. "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me."

Dispirited shuffling around a corner, eyes on carpet, mind foggy. "Lift your head."

From beyond just washed windows, rising in black sky above a sharply pitched neighboring roof glows - almost loudly - a crater-shadowed, intensely orange full moon. Huge.

Instant clarity and focus. A mind swimming in fear, doubt, and pain suddenly remembers purpose, beauty, realness. And God.

Who is always there.

Especially when situations seem hopeless.

He reminds me that hope remains, along with love. My love for Him. His love for me. Through it all and forever.

Strength enough. For right now.

All in that golden glow that affirms for me that there is something much much larger than my little problems.

My Old Friend, This Blog

One season passed since I've posted.

Family, friends, vegetables, flowers, kayaking, hiking, canoeing, swimming in lakes, bike riding, tennis, festivals, food, and laughing. So much good laughing. Good crying, too, shared and bubbled up from hearts grown warm with love in moments tender.

Renewed I pick up where June left off. Caroline and I embrace fresh studies together. Just as my shoulders surged with power while pulling and pushing a canoe oar through summer waters clear and deep, my mind rises to the challenge of new ideas, words, phrases, and disciplines. Trigonometry, government, economics, physics, the history of painting lure me into worlds vast and different. Desire to dig into and move through places unexplored energizes me.

French language resumption finds an elastic mind snapping back, recalling a language unused for a quarter of a year. Muscle memory. Feels good, powerful, natural. Challenging.

Refreshment removes tension's blockage, allows freedom of thought, the ability to concentrate, embrace, enjoy.

Experiences varied and vast awaken thought to analogy, metaphor, simile.

Summer behind, autumn, winter, and spring ahead to capture observation, color, sound, texture, temperature, taste, and spirit.

It's good to be back here, dancing with you, old friend.

Languages

I am in love with languages, particularly English, Italian, and French.

My goal is to reach fluency in at least Italian or French before I die. Preferably both. I am a long long way from my goal.

Indeed, the journey is most enjoyable. I am in no hurry. My pleasure spurs me on.

Just now I have completed the Rosetta Stone French Course, Level One. Tingly with excitement, as though I've won a gold medal.

Achievement.

My Completion certificate for French, Level One joins my Italian, Level One certificate earned this spring.

On to French, Level Two.

The training begins!

Enthusiasm!!

May Sunrise

Golden sunbeams finger into the yard outside my bedroom window illuminating flowers, shrubs, trees, glinting sparkles off a window-silled, petite jar of three-year old lavender long-since carefully plucked and dried from my garden. Flowing white sheer curtains lift and billow in the gentle breeze. I push them aside, view the lovingly planted yard beyond my window. Birch trees to remind of Colorado. An azalea from Tom's dad's funeral. Poppies Cassie planted for their silky orange petals. A peony from Grandma's Idaho home. The tawny fence Tom built.

Lifting the lavender bottle in my fingers I carefully uncork it. Old, faded lavender buds quickly release delicious fragrance as pure and potent as new plump, vivid purple buds. Eyes shut, lips curve into relaxed smile.

Comparison. Just as elderly people lose the bloom of youth, fading into tiny, wrinkled, stiff beings so do aged lavender buds appear less potent, less useful. But therein lies deception. For aged lavender and human beings hold powerful gifts. Magic. Just as dried lavender's aroma remains strong, soothing, and sensual, the wisdom of our beloved elders releases into our lives offerings plentiful, aid comforting, encouragement and insight matured from when youth's dew smoothed now crinkly skin.

Lavender buds spill onto my sheets. Each breath reminds of bygone summers, of summer fast approaching. The past reaches out timelessly, infusing the present with its lovely glory, pointing gracefully to a not-quite budding future.

Beloved aged-ones come to mind, their gentleness and quiet strength pulse rhythmically, caressing my heart though they are far away. May my life's late years offer perfumes of experience, wisdom, and beauty, fingers of hope wafting through time, gifts offered from gifts received.

Delicious Breeze

Slow Revisited

"In this media-drenched, data-rich, channel-surfing, computer-gaming age, we have lost the art of doing nothing, of shutting out the background noise and distractions, of slowing down and simply being alone with our thoughts. Boredom - the word itself hardly existed 150 years ago - is a modern invention. Remove all stimulation, and we fidget, panic and look for something, anything, to do to make use of the time. When did you last see someone just gazing out the window on a train? Everyone is too busy reading the paper, playing video games, listening to iPods, working on the laptop, yammering into mobile phones. [Add texting, Facebook, and Twitter here.]

Instead of thinking deeply, or letting an idea simmer in the back of the mind, our instinct now is to reach for the nearest sound bite. In modern warfare, correspondents in the field and pundits in the studio spew out instant analyses of events as they occur. Often their insights turn out to be wrong. But that hardly matters nowadays; in the land of speed, the man with the instant response is king. With satellite feeds and twenty-four-hour news channels, the electronic media is dominated by what one French sociologist dubbed 'le fast thinker' - a person who can, without skipping a beat, summon up a glib answer to any question.

The anecdotal evidence is everywhere. In Los Angeles, a man starts a fire at a supermarket checkout because the customer ahead of him is taking too long to pack his groceries. A woman scratches the paintwork of a car that beats her to a parking spot in London. A company executive tears into a flight attendant when his plane is forced to spend an extra twenty minutes circling Heathrow airport before landing. 'I want to land now!' he shouts, like a spoiled child. 'Now, now, now!' ~~Carl Honoré, In Praise of Slowness, Challenging the Cult of Speed

I come back to Carl's book again and again as the Cult of Speed rudely, vulgarly tries to stick its nose into my life.

In my neighborhood park, on a wooden bench, under a tall decorative walkway lamp, in the last remaining light of the evening sat a thirty-something woman. Smartly dressed, posture straight yet comfortable, her thumb between the pages of a closed book in her hand, she pondered. Right there in the park, surrounded by flowers, evergreens, expansive lawn, sunset's first glow, and amidst people she sat thinking, mulling, lost in thought. Her face relaxed, pleasant. I smiled at her, she smiled and nodded at me. She seemed at peace yet somehow out of place as the world scurried. At the same time she was the most in-place, sensible, real part of the landscape. Engaged in life as opposed to driven by it.

I think of her often and am encouraged. The Cult of Speed lost that day. The woman won.

And so did I.

Sunny Tuesday

After a cold - for us - night with temps in the low 30's, today dawned azure and misty. The mist surrendered to the blue. Our closet rattled. The tennis rackets and balls wanted out, to play.

Yippee!

I have to say, I do feel sorry for people who have to work inside on days like today. A cubicle, office, or any building must seem like a prison when the sun bathes a perfect spring day. Flowering trees, bushes, and bulbs in yards and parks. Delicious air, ebullient scenery.

Exuberance! Tom and I on the court whooping when we slice an excellent return, chuckling when we goof. Across the park that way a group of young men similarly whoop and laugh, breaking into impulsive back-slapping and noogie-giving. Over the other way another group of kids laugh on the baseball diamond, suddenly, energetically wrestling each other to the ground, legs and arms sticking out from a mass of joyful grunts and victorious proclamations. More impulsive back-slapping.

Leisure spent with neighbors in the pursuit of pleasant sports lifts spirits and calms bodies. Friendliness, sweat, courtesy, fun.

Afterwards, my tennis partner and I share a bistro lunch together, then off to work, Tom to his job, I to mine. Both of us thoroughly enjoy our occupations. Most of the time.

Today, my work consists of tutoring my youngest in geometry, then allowing her the pleasure of tutoring me in French. Outside. On the sun porch. Amidst awakening strawberry plants, California poppies, oregano, lavender, sage, and chrysanthemums.

Below is a photo of my tutor. While cradling our French text, Caroline enjoys a grissini (Italian crispy breadstick) from the school-restaurant where Cassie learns her culinary arts. She and I ate there yesterday, in the Renaissance Room, with Cassie as our waitress.





I hope where ever you are that you make time for fun with those you love, that you open yourself up to serendipity, that life gives you a special and good surprise today.

Common Art

Taking the jar off the frozen tomatoes from my freezer exposed this little ice sculpture. Fascinating. Stopping, stooping to get a closer look, marveling at the intricacy and beauty, all this left a question in my mind. Do other people stop and ponder life's seemingly ordinary occurrences the way I do? I wonder. So many lovely things, right under my nose, right in my hands. Like the bubbles in the sink as I wash dishes, silky, tickling, popping, each bubble displaying a rainbow of color.


Like sharp, cold, glistening ice crystals forming above frozen tomatoes.

Simple things. Beautiful things. Everyday things.

Fabulous!

Please click on the photos to see the ice crystals more clearly. They are so pretty, and amazing.

Tennis, Anyone?

My Aunt Joyce never stops learning. She never stops, at all. After she turned forty she learned to fly an airplane. She also took up golf, and tennis. And those are just the hobbies I know about. Forever my role model, I think of dear Auntie Joyce every time I pick up my tennis racket.

Every. Single. Time.

Naturally I thought of her this morning when Tom and I gathered our rackets and two bags of tennis balls from the closet. We practiced serving today and even had a few good volleys going by the time we were ready to stop.

We've played on and off, mostly off. Things get in the way, you know. Kids. Jobs. Yardwork. Housework. Oregon rain. Life.

But we decided this will be the summer of tennis! Perhaps we'll even work up to playing a game someday.

Like any discipline - whether work or play - practice is the key. I have to practice baking to learn to get it right, and cooking, and teaching. And tennis.

Tom and I had a blast today. At one point, after a good volley, Tom said, "That was good practice." I responded with, "It's all practice. And it's all fun." We laughed.

Life is full of delights. Pick a few. Like Aunt Joyce.

And practice.

(Incidentally, my aunt played tennis for nearly forty years. In her mid-80's her doctor recommended she stop after a fall on the tennis court. She groused about it but didn't want to risk becoming hurt and gumming up the good life she carries on with Uncle Floyd. Wise move, Auntie. She's still learning, though. A very high-tech octogenarian.)

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Today is Farmer's Market day for our family.

Aisles and booths of beautiful food await us. We see, we smell, we savor. We select. Into our basket go the freshest most delicious vegetables, herbs, meats, eggs, and fruit. Vivid colors, varied textures, greens, reds, yellows. Ruffly lettuce, smooth duck, geese, and chicken eggs, sleek green and white leeks, pungent chives, cilantro, and parsley, crunchy orange carrots, red chili peppers ripe for heating a tongue, lifting a smile.

As we carry our precious cargo home enthusiastic sharing ensues. Ideas about egg dishes, soups, salads, savory meats rubbed with herbs are cheerily blurted. Senses stimulated with the sights, sounds, smells, textures, and tastes of the edibles enrich our food experience even as they will soon invigorate our bodies.

A quote from Mireille Guiliano comes to mind.

The best cook in the world can't make good food from poor ingredients; and it takes some perverse genius to turn great ingredients into bad food. Good food responds best to the simplest preparation; you really can't go wrong when you start with quality.

The Farmer's Market, bringing the best of the earth to our kitchen table.