WHY I WRITE

I am sure there are many good and valid explanations of why I write. Some days the reasons for writing will be different than others. Yet part of the reason I write is a Catch-Up Game. I am struggling to crack the code in how women who have lived with a man for a few years already know what they are thinking.

As scary a thought as that might be, yet the realization of the veracity of that statement is put to me again and again. As an example, Anna LaMonte's book, "Blue Shoe" became a page turner for me by page five. I could not stop reading. That is because she was describing ME. Like a mirror held uncomfortably too close to my face, I am challenged to be "ruthlessly honest" as it says in the Big Book.

I tried to read it aloud to my now new wife of twenty plus years but I am laughing too hard for her to make any sense of my words.

The punchline is massacred and the humor is lost among my rippling waves of infectious laughter. So we just laugh for the sake of laughing. Sadly, as a comedian I must admit defeat and let the audience read it for themselves and hope they find it as hilarious as I did.

In her book, Anna describes an ex-husband who comes to pick up the children from his ex-wife.

"… As it was, he took them most weekends, often late on Saturday morning, then dropped them off Sunday nights with an air of weary heroism like a firefighter returning the engine to the firehouse after a particular difficult outing."

As I read this, I wondered, are all men as transparent to women as I must be? Apparently so. Too often my wife will be holding in hand outstretched the object of my  search without ever asking what I needed. And then comment with pride as she walks away, "I know your every thought!"

Between her and God I don't stand a chance. Omniscience is a terrible thing to live with on a daily basis. I am not even Catholic yet I feel the need to offer some Hail Mary's before returning home from a night out with the boys. Upon my return I am wishing there was some form of Mind-Shield to protect me . Thankfully, women can be far more forgiving yet not necessarily forgetting. 

So for me? I write. And I continue to write to learn what I am thinking. My wife doesn't write because she already knows what I am thinking.

You Don't Know Beans until You Have Cook Them This Way!

Cooking with Beans

I like beans. Over the years I have learned a lot about how to cook beans and their care. If your goal is to have a mean pot of beans or a tasty cup of bean soup, you may well want to consider some of the following concepts concerning the handling and cooking of beans.

Washing, Cleaning, and Sorting Beans

It is a common practice and tradition in Mexico and South America to assign the task of preparing the beans to the younger children. As I watched closely what they were doing, I realized that they not only sorted out stones, sticks, and other debris, but also tossed any broken or half shelled beans. Also, as they were washed in water, any floaters would be tossed.

This is important as beans contained 15 to 18% protein and a damaged bean can spoil the flavor and taste in a pot of beans. If we were making applesauce, we would not want to include an apple badly bruised for fear it would affect the flavor and taste of the applesauce. It is no different with beans.

Nowadays, the mechanical cleaning process is very good. We do not have to be as concerned about rocks, dirt, and other debris. However, we do need to watch for damage beans.

Stir the Pot – Make the Gravy

While living in the Pacific Northwest, I made friends with an electrical engineer from Picayune Mississippi. He grew up making incredible pots of beans. He was one of the first black students to earn a degree from the University of Mississippi. When I first met him, he had a pot of red kidney beans on the stove that he had been cooking all day. He explained that he would stir the pot as often as possible. Stirring the beans throughout the day made the rich gravy that they enjoyed. I was amazed that beans and water with seasoning could make such a delicious dish.

The second thing I learned from him was the need for high grade beans. He did not buy beans at the local grocery store. He ordered them from back home in Mississippi. His red kidney beans were exceptionally large and shiny and fresh. Fresh beans will soak up their water more quickly than old beans do. As you work with beans, you will come to know their attributes and qualities.

Key to Making Their Flavor Richer and Beanier

When cooking vegetables such as carrots, broccoli, and yams, we try not to boil them as this leaches out some of thier flavor. Beans are no different; soaking dried beans overnight in water and then tossing the water means the beans will have less flavor. There is a better way.

Wash and clean the beans by hand. After rinsing them off, place them in a pan and add water to cover them. Soak for 1 1/2 hours. They are now ready to cook. Do not toss the water that they were soaking. If you are cooking on the stove, now add your seasonings and some more water or vegetable broth. Cook on low heat for 6 to 10 hours, stirring often. Taste beans to determine when they are done.

Cook with Electric Pressure Cooker – InstantAPot

I love my InstantAPot and makes cooking beans a pleasure and a delight. Here is how I now enjoy cooking and celebrate the rich and delightful flavors of beans.

I do not buy my beans at a supermarket. I buy quality-quality beans that are especially selected and taken care of in the process of harvesting and marketing beans. Black beans are a regular staple in my life. Bob's red Mill has wonderful black beans. Rancho Gordo carries a wonderful array of heritage beans with unique tastes. I pay more for my beans because I value the rich flavor that they offer.

I will cover and soak a pound of beans in water with my InstantAPot for an hour and a half. I then add 2 cups more of vegetable broth or sometimes water.

For seasoning, I like to add…

2 teaspoons cumin

1 to 2 tablespoons minced garlic

one quarter teaspoon chipotle red pepper

1 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 teaspoon oregano

I then pressure cook the beans with seasoning and additional fluid for twenty minutes. It takes the pressure cooker fifteen minutes to heat up, twenty minutes to cook, and twenty minutes for the pressure to be slow release. I come back in an hour for the next step.

If I am making bean soup…

I scoop out one third of the beans into my Vita mix. I add about a cup of water or broth and blend until smooth. I return it back to the bean pot. This will be my gravy that is already seasoned.

I will then add my vegetables…

3 stalks of celery sliced longitudinal and then diced

1 medium onion diced

1 to 2 carrots sliced longitudinal twice and then diced

1 red bell pepper diced in small pieces.

1 Frozen sac of corn

Optional…

Peeled and diced sweet potato in small pieces for texture

or

1 can of hominy

I usually add another cup of water or broth, not to be thick like a stew but thinner for a soup.

I set the pressure cooker for ten minutes. This means, fifteen minutes to build up the pressure and ten minutes for cooking and twenty minutes for slow release of steam pressure.

When I come back, I now add…

1 cup chopped up cilantro

Fresh juice from 1 lime

1 to 2 cups of precooked brown rice\wild Rice

After stirring in all the ingredients, I enjoy a small cup of black bean soup to see if I am satisfied. This is batch cooking, so I divided up 3 to 4 cups for lunches to be eaten this week. The rest is frozen to be used within the month.

Final Key and Secret to Wonderful Bean Soup

Cool it in the refrigerator overnight and then reheat for an improved blending of the flavors. Long ago I determined that same day soup does not compare with next day soup and this is especially true when it involves beans.

You may have noticed that I added rice with the beans and I have added corn with the beans. Other cultures have long ago leaned toward this combination in making a satisfying meal. It quenches the hunger in a delightful way.

I imagine some readers will say, "Too much! Too many steps. Too much to remember. No longer convenient."

My defense would be…

With the CONVENIENCE of store-bought soups we miss the dance. Removing the lid to a prepared soup with a can opener offers no opportunity to examine, explore, and interact with a red bell pepper. We lose the opportunity to develop our own preferences in seasoning with herbs and spices.

We abdicate our choices in how our food is prepared which limits the outcome. The meal I am suggesting offers no fats or oils to the recipe. Nor does it add salt. Sadly, this is how Americans achieve flavor in their foods. And with this acquired taste, they reach for the salt shaker or a dollop of sour cream or shredded cheese.

A quick look at one portion of black bean soup from a can will often contain 500 to 800 mg of sodium. FDA now suggests we limit our sodium to 1000 mg per day.

Home cooked meals without fats and oils and salt do not need to taste bland. On the contrary, a person will begin to develop preferences for various herbs. Thyme, coriander, and Rosemary will begin to play special roles in your cooking. By nurturing a pot of beans that will feed you for a week or more makes the investment of time worthwhile and the enjoyment in the soup makes eating at a restaurant less alluring.

I have refrained from using the health benefits as an argument for homemade beans. I will let the end product stand for itself. But in my opinion, it makes for one mean cup of bean soup! Salude!

The road less traveled… As pointed out by Oprah!

Embracing the reality that we don't make mistakes… On our path of discovery to self.

CLICK HERE

My Man-Time May Be in Jeopardy

I have some serious concerns. A long-time standing and beloved tradition in our family is at risk. Let me explain.

With the family grown and the kids out of the home, we have discovered a wonderful way to create Couple-Timeout. Like those soda drinks, it is "Refreshing" for all. I like to make sure that my wife has her own space too. Here is how it works.

On a regular basis, one of my sons might call to schedule time to visit. Quite often they will come to visit with me over a three or four day weekend. This is when I go to Sweetie and suggest she enjoy a wonderful visit with her sister or another member of her family. She seems to appreciate my thoughtfulness. Concerned that she make the most of her visit, I help coordinate the arrivals and departures of Sweetie and whichever son is coming.

Upon the arrival of my son, our bonding time begins. With sushi from the store, steaks on the grill, and a few munchies that are not normally stocked in our kitchen pantry, we are ready to watch Movies-for-Men-Who-like-Movies. And with the movies being so "Action-packed", we can often go nonstop with one movie after the other.

Of course, some of the daily morning traditions seem to lose out: no shaving, no showers, and no need to make the bed. But even with paper plates, the sink still fills up with pots and pans. Double dipping in the salsa doesn't seem to bother either of us. But we do draw the line on drinking out of the milk carton. We all need some rules.

Of course the wife and I stay in constant contact with private messaging as we express sentiments of how much we miss one another and look forward to her return. The key here is to be sure she shares exactly when she will return home. I am so glad she honors this request. That usually allows us two to three hours before she arrives.

Much like a Code Blue at the hospital, I get a Code W that the wife is coming; we respond. That means, for the first time in 3 to 4 days we load the dishwasher. Countertops typically need to be cleared off and bottles returned to their shelves. The counter is given a good hard scrubbing. While my son takes out the two or three bags of garbage, I check the refrigerator for any dishes that we were supposed to have eaten that needs to be dispensed. We do make some effort to sweep the kitchen floor.

Then is the appropriate time to put on a clean T-shirt for a proper greeting of welcome home.

This pattern for our Couples-Timeout appears to be working. That is until recently. Upon her arrival home, Sweetie seemed especially chirpy and buoyant. I could not quite put my finger on it; I could sense a shift in our relationship. I quizzed her that first night and nothing seem to come to the surface. It wasn't until the next morning while she was making my breakfast that I began to understand what had happened. As she was measuring out my Scottish steel-cut oatmeal, she began to hum to herself. Again I quizzed her; what was going on? This was when her story all came pouring out.

While she was visiting family, two of them went to visit the health food store to buy oat bran for my favorite muffins with nuts and seeds and raisins. As they stood in the aisle, a gentleman came around the corner looking for steel cut oats. This was when Sweetie began to share how much I love my morning oatmeal. My constitution requires it each day. She explained how she would put 1/3 cup steel cut oats with 1 cup of water and then add a handful of raisins. Next she would simmer this for 10 minutes on low. At the seven minute mark she then added the chopped pecans. Once it had simmered, she turned the heat off and added cinnamon and allowed 10 more minutes for the oatmeal to absorb the spices. When I came for my breakfast, she would then pour my almond milk. Of course, I would sprinkle the brown sugar on myself.

When she finished her explanation for making my oatmeal, there was a long silence in the aisle. Finally, the good man spoke and asked, "Are you contemplating a divorce in the near future?" I am sure he was aware that Sweetie was married. After all, we had just purchased a bigger wedding ring so that others would know that she is "spoken for". But still, she took that as a proposal of marriage in the aisle of the health food store.

I don't know what he was thinking. And I don't know what she was thinking. But I do know what I am thinking. My Man-Time may be at risk. I may have to rethink this whole Couples-Timeout thingy. At the very least, I am trying to procure a promise that she will stay out of health food stores unless I am there.

The Common Bush

At first glance it appeared to be only a common bush. It seemed to be fairly nondescript. Not tall enough to be a tree. Not small enough to be a potted plant. Simply a bush with some sparse leafage in late May. If it had any further claim, it was in its location. It grew in the Serenity Gardens of the Master Gardeners of Kennewick. That is a 2 acre project with 24 distinct gardens. Over 6000 volunteer hours are given yearly to maintaining this project. Why a master gardener would place this common bush in the Serenity Garden was beyond me.

For the past few months, while recovering from foot reconstruction surgery that prevents me from walking, I have resorted to using an electric scooter around the house. On my best days, I take a ride to the Master Gardens some 10 blocks away on my electric scooter. And the past few months has been a delight to watch the garden bloom and flourish and grow. The Rose Garden has exploded in an endless spectrum of colors to the delight of any artist with a pallet of rich pigment. While exploring every corner of this garden, something new is always found with every trip. 

I discovered that pine needles do not grow individually. But rather in clumps of two or three which helped to define their proper name. And the flower of the Dogwood is not really a flower at all but rather specialized leaves with the true flower being very miniature and small. And to my delight and enjoyment, I watch hollyhocks, lilies, and daisies and black-eyed Susan’s and myriads of flowers without names rise up and bloom  with every trip to the gardens. But what of this common bush? What was its’ claim to fame?? And why in the world would a gardener place such a common bush in the Serenity Garden?

There were six of these common bushes in the garden. They were surrounded by a hedge of boxwood. The white petunias around the edge made up for the lack of blossom on this bush and the overwhelming sea of green. I enjoy the simplicity but I quickly move on to other parts of the garden. 

As I visited the garden three and four times a week, Spring subsided and Summer surged forward giving each plant an opportunity to celebrate the day. And as early as possible in the morning I would arrive to witness the gardens constant unfolding much like the tides of the ocean.

It was now mid-July and triple digit heat was upon us. I drove down as early as possible before the temperatures pushed us all inside. It was a great time to see the volunteer gardeners busy at work maintaining the garden. 

And now for the surprise! As I came around the corner to enter the gardens I was stopped dead in my tracks by the common bush covered white with giant flowers. The flower was bigger than an open hand with a purity of whiteness that put billowy cumulus clouds of Summer to shame. And at the heart of the flower was a brilliant red crown. How had this happen between yesterday and today? Where did this flower come from? 

Closer examination showed a green bud the same color as the leaves. The growing bud of the flower was there all the time, simply overlooked by an unobservant admirer like myself. I then checked the other "common bushes" to find an array of light pink and light blue flowers exploding like a heavy laden Christmas tree. I loved what I was seeing but I had no idea what I was seeing.

Sheepishly but admiringly I tracked down a volunteer and ask what was going on in the Serenity Garden. I was then given a name, “the Rose of Sharon”. I knew the bush was not a rose bush. And I had never before heard of this flower. Now that we were properly introduced to one another, it was time to go home and Google the Rose of Sharon. It is originally from India. It is mentioned in the 1500s in England. And it is the national flower of Korea. I also learned that it is a hibiscus plant. The hibiscus flower makes a wonderful iced tea. And in Hebrew tradition the plant and its oil has been used for centuries.

The Rose of Sharon appears to be a late bloomer. It takes on leaves very slowly in the Spring and waits for the heat of the Summer to make its appearance. Indeed, one has to be patient and willing to bide their time to see the glorious Rose of Sharon. As I worked my way home, I then begin to notice other yards with a not-so-common bush bursting out with the most brilliant flower I had ever seen. Silently and quietly people in-the-know planted them and then patiently waited for the end result.

It reminded me of a short poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning who spoke of the common bush.

Earths ‘ crammed with nature

And every common bush afire with God

But only he who sees, takes off his shoes

And the rest sit around and eat blackberries.

Here, Elizabeth draws a parallel between the burning bush that Moses encountered high on top of the mountain while in the presence of God. And in reverence to the sacred spot he found himself and in the presence of God, he removed his sandals. In all the common bushes with which we are surrounded, there lies a spark of the divine. It is for us to see the divine and not be distracted.

For myself, I probably will not pass by another Rose of Sharon bush, bloom or no bloom, and not give it the respect it deserves. But I think there awaits a greater lesson. 

Hopefully, I am ready for the next "common bush" I pass but what about the next “common man” I meet? 

From this bush’s origins in India, maybe they already have learned what I am learning. The greeting there is, Namaste – which I understand to mean “the divine in me sees the divine in you”.  

Thank you dear Rose of Sharon for teaching me a not so common view that I have overlooked too many days in row without acknowledging its real value. You may be common but you are oh so beautiful. And so is the gardener that planted you!

THE HEART IS OUR COMPASS!

 In my early years of deer hunting in Montana I got lost deep in the woods. I was totally unprepared. I had not brought food or water with me and a snowstorm had settled in. My tracks were quickly covered up. In the canopy of a dense forest I could find no landmarks and the sun was blotted out by the snow clouds.

 Luckily, I bumped into another hunter who carried a map and a compass who pointed the way out of my problem. After that experience I never again went into the forest without a compass and an initial reading. The challenge with being inside of a problem is having a compass to walk your way out. Once inside a problem, finding direction becomes crucial to a positive outcome.

One of my favorite stories was shared with me by a son who was in training with Special Operations for the Marines. His training started with 70 men and three months later only 28 were left standing. While the physical demand was grueling, yet it was the mental demand that nearly washed him out. It happened like this.

Part of his training was learning to use a compass and navigate in the dark of night while crossing through a swamp. Without moon and stars, total reliance on a compass was essential. His training in navigation had been excellent and his confidence was high. It was important that he achieved an 80 percentile if he was to remain in the program. This was his final night of training and he was anxious to get into the field. As he left the building and descended to the bottom step, he realized that he had not signed in on the board. As he returned to the board, his sergeant caught him and told him he would not be allowed to sign in and that he had already failed by not signing in when he first left the building. But he was encouraged to complete the field test anyway.

Fear and anger raced through his mind as he left the building. As he trudged his way through the swamp, his thoughts raced in a dozen different directions. Should he give up? Should he complete the course? Should he protest his treatment by the sergeant? What do I do now?  Why am I even here?  As he stood at the first station, all alone, in the middle of the night, things became incredibly quiet. He found himself standing there in the swamp for a very long time.  Soon, all he could hear was the quiet croaking of tree frogs. 

As he continued to listen to the frogs’ serenade, he found himself less caught up with “being in the problem” and more with the moment he was experiencing. In that quiet silence and with the mind quiet, he soon realized that moving forward and completing the course would be the wisest choice. The mind has a tendency to fight and struggle to wrestle and overcome the problem from the inside out. The heart would have us do otherwise.

A couple hours later, as he returned to at least turn in his stamped card, the sergeant accepted his completion and he was able to remain in the program. Of all the challenges that he faced during the three months of training, the time he spent in that swamp that night with waters up to his knees at the first station was the most difficult challenge of all.  

His future had seemed as dark as the night itself. And it really had nothing to do with physical stamina or intellectual abilities to complete a task. Yet it came down to allowing the heart to direct the mind in the direction that it must go. And that made all the difference!

“We must remember that the head cannot eliminate the darkness. Likewise, our belief in life cannot eliminate our suffering; only find its way to feed our heart.” – – Mark Nepo

LESSONS FROM AFAR!

Early this morning I had the opportunity to visit with a son via Skype who is stationed in Kuwait . He is a helicopter pilot in the National Guard. He shared a highlight from his service this past year when he landed his helicopter on an aircraft carrier in the Arabian Sea. 

He was a bit anxious about the landing since the sea was quite choppy and the ship was rising up and down. The concern was his landing down as the ship was rising up. A collision is what he wanted to avoid.

However, he found that if he hovered long enough to be in sync with the ship and its natural movements, it was a very easy and smooth transition. His second landing was even better!

I think there is a lesson in that experience for us all. We may come into contact with another person and find ourselves not in sync with them. Hovering means being quiet long enough to allow our breath to take us to this moment in time. Just as this pilot was able to observe the aircraft carrier while hovering over the ship, he was able to sense how the ship breathes in and out, up and down, and he finds harmony and avoids any unneeded collisions and confrontations.

Observing our breath at the tip of our nose allows us to get out of our mind and not listen to the stories that our mind is constantly fabricating. Fear has a way of putting us into confrontations where love brings harmony. When we sense the fear, this is a good time to return to observing our breathing in and out. After we have done this a few times, we can count on more happy landings. It is now easy to see how a helicopter can land on a ship even in stormy weather.

BECOMING BROKEN!

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

And all the King’s horses and all the King’s men

Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again!

I first heard the term “being broken” from Mark Nepo in an interview he did with Oprah.  He explained that in his struggles with cancer he had become “broken”. As he shared his life experience, I realized that he had come up against something that was greater than him. He realized that he was powerless to overcome his difficulties with the resources at his disposal. Admitting one is powerless over their problems can be a real wake-up call. And this wake-up call is happening all around us.

Admitting our powerlessness changes everything. The roadmap we have been using to run our daily life is no longer relevant. The skills and tools we have previously developed are admittedly not enough. And the things we used before to solve our problems now falls short. For some, this realization can come slowly. For others, this admission takes place in an instant like walking through a door into a different room or picking up the phone and receiving news we were not prepared to hear.

It can come to us in a 1000 different ways and often more than once in our lives. However it happens, this I am convinced of, it happens to all of us. We all become broken. When that awareness finally dawns on us, Mark’s the next observation becomes a powerful insight. That is, “just because one is broken is no reason to see the world as broken.”

So, where does that lead us? I guess we could cling to our old beliefs in choosing to be resilient and say to ourselves “I was handed a lemon therefore I will make lemonade!” Or “Humpty Dumpty is broken therefore I will make an omelet!” I am not convinced that that is an admission of our powerlessness and trusting that there is a force at work in our lives that we can rely on that is beyond our understanding. This is where grace and hope and faith appear and lead us on a new adventure of compassion for everyone we meet today and gratitude for everything that we see all around us.

But I think there is a different direction that leads to a new awakening. By acknowledging our ego and mind cannot overcome our difficulties, we can become “broken open” and allow our heart to lead and direct. The heart becomes our compass and points in what direction we would walk. And the mind then takes its lead from the heart and maps out how we can achieve what the heart can see.

And with the heart listening, we are touched by the songs we hear. And with the heart watching, we see beauty all around us. And with the heart alive, we wake up today realizing that “this” is one incredible moment!

Fighting The Instrument

Often the instruments of change
are not kind or just
and the hardest openness
of all might be
to embrace the change

while not wasting your heart
fighting the instrument.

The storm is not as important
as the path it opens.

The mistreatment in one life
never as crucial as the clearing
it makes in your heart.

This is very difficult to accept.
The hammer or cruel one
is always short-lived
compared to the jewel
in the center of the stone.

By Mark Nepo

Oh Ingrid – – we miss you already!

I first heard of Ingrid from her daughter Carol while visiting my sister in the Puget Sound area. The story that Carol shared of her moxie mother who had overcome so many challenges in her early life with polio were amazing. 

She had been an early patient of Dr. Bernard Jensen the father of Iridology and good eating. This set her on a road of a lifetime of natural foods for her family. Her love of gardening spilled over onto her daughter who raised a wonderful vegetable garden each year.

I didn’t get to meet Ingrid right away. Her husband Jim was bed ridden at the time with chronic illness for a few years. And Ingrid, the caregiver that she is, remained at his side to make his life easier. Ultimately, Jim passed on and Ingrid was released from her lifetime stewardship. She now turned her focus to helping Carol raise a great vegetable garden in the backyard.

Our first meeting was to be for Thanksgiving at my sister’s house. Everyone was helping make dinner and there were about six cooks in the kitchen. And like a butterfly going from flower to flower, Ingrid was there, helping everyone with their dishes and declaring herself the official Thanksgiving taster. I had never met anyone as happy and colorful in a room full of people.

The best part of all was that I loved to tease her and she loved to be teased. Magically, we hit it off from the moment we met. By the end, it was the two of us making turkey gravy for 12 people. As we worked over the stove, she shared a bit of her life story with me. I could see that I was in the presence of one who had overcome many great difficulties in her life. Being broken is no reason to see the world as broken.  And she was not broken but rather broken open and her heart directed her mind.

As she shared the sacrifices and challenges she had made the past couple of years for her dear husband Jim, I decided to pose one of those mysteries of the universe questions that some of us get hung up on. I wanted to know what is the cause of all our suffering. So I asked her, “Ingrid, you and Jim spent a lifetime eating as healthy as you could and were very active. Why do you think Jim came down with cancer?”

Her response amazed me. I could tell she had never even troubled herself with that question. She wasn’t even worried about the cause. She said, “Gosh I don’t know! Maybe it was stress! Maybe it was me!” And then she laughed as she shrugged if off and moved on to this moment in time. The lesson I got from Ingrid is to be careful about troubling ourselves with things that really are nonissues. What was important was the compassion she could give and share in these moments with those around her.

As Thanksgiving drew near this year, I wanted to enjoy another magical Thanksgiving. So we invited ourselves to my sister’s for Thanksgiving. Last year I had teased Ingrid because she wore a pair of ear rings that were parrots and she called them turkeys. I was able to find a real pair of Turkey earrings to give to Ingrid at Thanksgiving. But it was not to be!

The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, Ingrid started reading all of her old love letters from Jim who had passed on two years previous. On Friday, six days before Thanksgiving, Ingrid read the final love letter from her late companion. The next day Ingrid had a heart attack. And on the day before Thanksgiving Ingrid passed on to be with Jim.

I was never able to give her the Turkey earrings or tease her while working in the kitchen again. But the lessons you taught me will remain.  Thank you Ingrid. You have been a wonderful teacher and friend. 

LET THEM EAT MUSH!

Some 60 years ago, when I was a child, and long before I became a certified geezer, I would spend the weekends with my grandparents on their five-acre vegetable roadside farm. Some of my earliest memories of those overnight visits were the heavy hand tied quilts made with squares from my grandparents shirts and dresses. The quilt was so heavy that to lay under it, it was difficult to even turn over.

At daybreak, I could hear my grandfather rustling around in the kitchen getting the wood-fire stove hot enough to make oatmeal. He had a small pan that was just right for his daily preparations of mush. Silently he would eat his breakfast and then slip out into the field before the rest of the family was awake. Of course I enjoyed grandma’s bacon and eggs with toast. Sometimes we would have pancakes with real syrup. But I don’t remember ever eating oatmeal like grandpa. Only grandpa would eat the oatmeal before his morning of weeding and harvesting in the field.

As a young father of seven sons, I would try to steer my boys toward healthy living. When Halloween came around, I would offer each a dollar a pound for their candy and allow them to keep 25 or 30 pieces of candy. Each boy could earn $5-$10 for their Halloween booty. Somehow the word got out and the older boys began to encourage the younger ones to turn down the money and keeps the candy. Eventually, I wrote a letter to the editor suggesting that trick-or-treating should be abolished in the city. That definitely got a rise from many citizens as they wrote in to call me a communist and other derogatory terms.

The following week a good friend looked at me and laughed and said, “I bet you feed your kids oatmeal for breakfast.” How he knew that I will never know but he was right.

Now as I grow into full bloom as a certified geezer, I prefer, I select, and I choose oatmeal with a dash of cinnamon, topped with fruit, and a few crushed walnuts for my daily breakfast. Even on the road at hotels with a continental breakfast, oatmeal is my stay.

One may ask what have I learned in the past 60 years that I would make that a daily practice. Intellectually, I realize that Ayervada medicine, written some 5000 years ogo in Sanskrit speaks of foods that balance the body such as oatmeal. Scientifically, I could refer to studies that speak of the fiber and oatmeal’s ability to bind fats and oils to help reduce cholesterol. But all that is just chatter and talk-talk. What it really comes down to is that if I listen to my body I feel better on a breakfast over oatmeal then I do on a “truckers platter” of sausage eggs and hash browns.

I have no idea if any of my sons choose oatmeal for breakfast. I will give them another 40 years to figure that out for themselves.

But for myself, as I board a cruise to Alaska on a line that prides itself in food par excellent with eggs Benedict and Belgium waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, I will probably surprise the waiters when they asked me what I would like for breakfast. Oatmeal! The breakfast of champions and geezers!

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A CRIP!

In my youth I loved to ride motorcycles. I read everything I could about the various models in the 60s. Over the years, I owned five different kinds of motorcycles. And even though I no longer ride, I sometimes like to tell my family I am a member of a motorcycle gang called the Crips. They even keep parking spaces near the front door of our grocery store for “the Crips”. The blue sign however looks like a stick man riding a single large wheel rather than a motorcycle.

Even with my physical limitations from 23 years of arthritis I like to think of myself as independent, self-reliant, and able to fend for myself. However that is not entirely accurate. Let me explain.

My wife had an opportunity to spend five days in Oregon with her sister and sister-in-law. I encouraged her to go. She left plenty of meals in the refrigerator.  I had plenty of clean pajama bottoms, and pans and dishes laid out that I could reach. I had a son in town who checked in daily so I knew I would be good for the week.

As is my custom, I spent some time on the patio the first morning. Apparently I was not careful enough to close the sliding door quickly as I came in. I soon realized I had a fly in the house. So as I watched TV, prepared meals in the kitchen, and checked my Internet each day, I had an unwelcome companion who soon becomes my nemesis. Going to the garage and digging out the flyswatter did little to resolve our relation. I was not flexible enough to thwap the fly into oblivion. When my son stopped by for a visit, I asked him to use the flyswatter and relieve me of this curse. He beat on me without success. I sat quietly in my lift chair and pleaded for him to continue whapping me with every opportunity. The fly simply was too frisky and would not land long enough for a good death blow.  While my son thought the whole thing quite humorous, I don’t think he realized the gravity of my situation.

I next closed the French doors to the computer room and posted a sign that said, “Please keep doors closed, no-fly zone!” So like Libya, I had declared a no-fly zone in the house. But this did little good for my TV room and I had four days until my wife returned and I was feeling more desperate by the day.

My fear was that by week’s end, my wife would come home and find a husband too weak to brush the fly away from his eyes and lips just as one might see the poor in Bangladesh living with these pesky pest. I did get relief when it grew dark and if I left the lights off. I was safe in the dark. But the day belonged to the fly.

I then began to consider a new strategy. What if I sat in the bedroom and waited for the fly to follow and then run out of the room closing the door behind me. That didn’t work! He wouldn’t follow me there and I got tired of sitting on the end of the bed.

And then serendipity took over. This morning I laid my clothes out for the day and took my morning shower. As I closed the glass door in the shower, I realized that the fly had come in with me and was on the tile. Now I had him cornered! It was me with my shower wand in the shower with the fly. I was determined that only one of us was coming out of that shower alive. After adjusting the water pressure and temperature I realized that he had moved. He must’ve landed on the black metal edge of the door. So I began to spray all the areas that were lined in black.

The water mist soon raised the pest from his hiding place, and the battle was on. Moving from side to side and corner to corner, chasing the fly with my spray of water I was finally able to shoot him down. I did not want him to come back up from the trap in the drain. So I covered the drain with my foot and let the water back up an inch and release the water down the drain, certain that after three days I was finally free at last.

Eagerly I showered and dressed and phoned my wife to share my early morning success. I went into great detail of how I was able to overcome the enemy. And while basking in the glory of this post-battle debriefing, I realized that as I was talking to my wife on the phone that a fly had landed on my hand. I had no idea that there were two. All I could say to my wife was, “Come home soon! I want you! I need you!”

An Old Rusty Pail

This story was sent to me by a friend.  The author is unknown.  If you know it's origins, please let me know so I can give proper credit.  In the mean time, let us find joy in the telling.

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.  We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.

  One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man.  "Why, he's hardly taller than my 8-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body.  The appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw.

  Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening.  I've come to see if you've a room for just one night.  I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."

  He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room.  "I guess it's my face .... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments ..."

  For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch.  My bus leaves early in the morning."

  I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch.  I went inside and finished getting supper.  When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.  "No, thank you I have plenty."  And he held up a brown paper bag.

  When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes.  It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an over sized heart crowded into that tiny body.  He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her 5 children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.

  He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing.  He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer.  He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going...

  At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him.  When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch.

  He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as

if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment?  I won't put you out a bit.  I can sleep fine in a chair."  He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home.  Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."

   I told him he was welcome to come again.  And, on his next trip, he arrived a little after 7 in the morning.  As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen!  He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh.  I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. And I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

  In the years he came to stay overnight with us, there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden.

  Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.  Knowing that he must walk 3 miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.

  When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.

  "Did you keep that awful looking man last night?  I turned him away!  You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"

  Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice.  But, oh!, if only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.

  I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

  Recently I was visiting a friend, who has a greenhouse, as she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms.  But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.  I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"

  My friend changed my mind.  "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail.  It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."

  She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven.

  "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman.  "He won't mind starting in this small body."

  All this happened long ago - and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

 The LORD does not look at the things man looks at.  Man looks at the
outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7b)

Love Is Not an Emotion!

Recently I read of a courageous mother who fought to protect her children. As she was getting in the car, a man attempted to carjack her car. With a gun at her head, he had demanded she get out of the car. Because her children were in the car, she said NO! The man was surprised. Fear appeared to have no effect on this mother. 

A fight ensued and judging from his later mug shot, the intruder looked the worse for the encounter. I suspect the man felt safer in the custody of the police. For the mother, it was never an issue of being afraid or of giving up the car. Her children were her only concerned.

This reminded me of another news event that I heard took place in India a few years ago. A train had struck and killed a baby elephant. The mother elephant then proceeded to derailed and demolished the engine of the train. It was later determined that the engine could not be repaired.

For me, both of these stories reflect an outward expression of an inner truth. That love is the most essential universal law on earth. We are growing and maturing and now on the verge of discovering that our essential nature is in reality the celebration of love. Life is love and love is life and we will not be separated from either.

The universe is benevolent and works for our greater good. If we have forgotten that or would argue with that then we need to change our daily practice for this to seep into our lives. There is an orchestrated harmony that can be seen here upon the earth, up in the skies, and out in the cosmos of the stars. We are surrounded in every moment of time by an infinite power of goodness. This is what permeates and constitutes our being.

“All life is born in the waters of love, which are absorbed into our being and lived through our heart.  

Love is not an emotion. It is our complete state of being human. There is no wall love cannot tear down, no hate which love cannot imbue with light, no obstacle love cannot overcome. 

If we have been miserly with love, self absorbed, we missed the very essence of who we are. When we express love, it brings us the solutions to all problems, the warmth and embrace and resolve of all things. When we feel anger, we must sit in the self and observe this anger. All things eventually dissolve if we remain aware.”   Maya Tiwari 

I believe this understanding of love is not learned, it is remembered. By sitting in the stillness of the morning and watching the day unfold, or observing the sun as it sets at night and smelling the scents of the flowers released at dusk is to be reminded that goodness is our inheritance.

Too often, too much of our day is filled with distractions that keep us from this divine memory. May we find clarity of thought in the stillness of this moment in time. 

Help us to remember, not to forget, that we are God’s best idea and cannot be separated from that Love.  It is who we are.  And at times, we have others, who by example, remind us of this truth.  And I know of one wannabe thief who had a chance to learn that very lesson.

OUR DAILY PRACTICE

As I sat early this morning on my back patio, studying Ayurveda, I noticed our neighbor across the fence hanging out her laundry. What makes this unusual, is that my homeowners association has banned clotheslines. 

My neighbor is in another association and can hang out her clothes to dry. She lives in a very large home and can easily afford a dryer. However, she chooses to dry her clothes outside. 

Question! Have you ever slept in sheets on a bed that were dried on a clothes line? It is glorious! I am jealous of my neighbor! It brings memories of my mother hanging clothes and my sleeping in clean sheets from outside.

Today, we use an electronic dryer with a motherboard that cost $1000. How have we become so disconnected to mother Earth? For the sake of convenience, we are losing our connection to this present moment.

The earth is a macrocosm and we are a microcosm made up of the same components. Those are earth, water, fire, air, and space. The food we eat is composed of those five elements. The plants we raise use these five elements in various degrees. I have a shamrock plant in a pot that sat on the patio. The daily wind was stressing it. It was getting too much of ‘air’ from the five components. So we moved it to the bathroom near a window. In one week it bloomed and blossomed beautiful white flowers! The five components were back in balance.

Like the plants we raise and the food we eat, we also require a certain balance for our Constitution. Our bodies are also made up of these five elements. And through our relationship with the earth we can find healing.

We need to realize that health is a state of living in harmony with nature as a whole and with our own basic natures. We resonate with the world because we were formed from nature. And it will be nature that heals us when we become ill.

And the only way to live in harmony with the cosmos is to do what is to be done in the present. Or so explains Maja Tiwari in her book THE PATH OF PRACTICE.

So as I watched my neighbor this morning hang up her clothes to dry with the fire of the sun and the air of the wind, I knew I was watching someone connecting with nature and this moment in time.

“By finding spiritual accord in our daily routines, we can find this peace elsewhere and everywhere. If we cannot find the harmony in our everyday actions, we will not find it anywhere else.”             Maja Tiwari

OK! It's True.... I am a Tree Hugger

the dancing quaking aspen

The dancing quaking aspen, is the darling of the trees.

she’s lovely and she’s graceful, swaying pretty as you please.

The shaking, quaking aspen, kicks up her hem to dance.

and sways with winds a singing, her limbs like legs to prance.

The tempo of the music, whistles through the air.

and leaves like hands a spinning, grasp every gust so fair.

Like pinwheels in the breezes, her branches turn to fly. 

across the great expanses, in tune with partnered sky.

And when the storm is played out, and dancers have a rest.

the tune heard in the stillness, are the bird’s songs in their nest.

The Oak, the Birch, the Maple, stand stalwart in the wind.

but the darling quaking aspen, is the girl I’d ask again.

Woody

Letting in the moonbeams!

I enjoy old movies and watching for the life lessons they often reveal. Recently, I watched Moonstruck with Cher and Nicholas Cage. The story is about Italian families living in New York City. It is a cute romance about an older brother who is going to marry Cher. The older brother wants his younger brother to come to his wedding. The two brothers have not been speaking to one another for five years. Cher is sent to visit with the younger brother and to invite him to the wedding.

Cher learns why the younger brother is angry at her fiancé. Five years previous, the younger brother lost his fingers in a bread machine and then his own fiancé left him. So what does this loss have to do with the older brother? It happened while he was working on an order of bread for his older brother. So he blames his brother for the bad things that happened in his life.

This is what makes this movie so ridiculously funny. Resentments have a way of pushing out all the daily good that comes to our lives. And the reasons we give for holding onto them are usually just as funny. Unwilling to buy in to his pity pot party, Cher poses a question it gets to the crux of the issue. She asks, “are you the only one that has ever shed a tear?” She cuts to the quick by pointing out that life is suffering and we all suffer. The younger brother has no monopoly on suffering.

What comes to light is that Cher was once married and had lost a husband to a bus accident. Eventually the younger brother realizes that he is not the Lone Ranger. Accepting this reality about life as suffering, helps us to reach out to everyone around. As the younger brother let’s go of his old resentment, he discovers a new passion for life, living, & love. All of which culminates in a zany final scene with the family around the breakfast table.

It reminds me of a story that was once told about a mother who lost a child in death. She carries the dead child to the Buddha and asked him to restore the child to life. The Buddha at first refuses however the mother continues to insist in her grief she must have her child back. Finally the Buddha agrees to restore the child to life on one condition; that she go to the village and obtain a cup of herbs from a house that has not been touched by death. Willingly the mother rushes in to town, going door to door, asking for a cup of herbs, and then inquiring if their family had been touched by death. She is unable to find a single family in the entire village that has not been touched by some tragedy.

She finds herself returning to the Buddha with her measuring cup empty, unable to find anyone who could fill her Cup. She was unable to find anyone that had not also shed a tear. Everyone’s pain is the same. We are not unique. We are not separate. And we can share this reality about life.

So today, we have an opportunity to share joy in the joy of others. Extend compassion for the sorrow of others. And offer tender loving kindness for everyone we meet.