The very talented Bobby McFerrin and the Wizard of OZ
The intro is a mild build up.
Have fun!
Thursday
Monday
Saturday
Old Crone
She stood in the copse of trees breathing in the cedar, wishing for a place to have a flame. Turning, turning to touch the branches, tilting her head back to see the circle of exposed sky. She waited. Not yet. Not yet.She sat upon the earth drawing circles in the dirt reaching her mind deep down to the bedrock and watched the moon rise over the rooftops. Maybe now.
Standing, her melody rose from her throat in muted tones, only meant for the cedars, to bless them, to thank them for their existence, to ask them to communicate through their roots across the miles of soil until the connection with her willow was created. She waited, watching her breath curl in the cold air. Then, turning the directions she tilted her head and there it was, her sister, her mother, her lover, her soul... the moon in all it's fullness and splendor.
She extended her fingers to the sky pulling down the light, filling herself with Great Spirit until the moon passed beyond the edge of the cedars. In deepest exhilaration and tranquility, she felt herself shrink a little, as she pulled in the reins of her thoughts like fairies dancing around her head. No, not fairies. Too childlike for her. Just give her some sparkles. She's too serious for she has passed beyond summer now.
She's tired now, wants to rest. Her heart is not in it tonight.
Karen's Story - A Snippet 2
It wasn't until summertime that someone actually made friends with her. It wasn't me, though. I was surprised to learn it was my little sister. One day, I found the two of them, sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of the old cherry tree eating tomatoes picked fresh from our garden. An unlikely pair, they looked odd together, Karen, tall, pale and gangly next to my short, rosy faced 8 year old sister. Karen looked more bedraggled than she had throughout the school year, her long bruised legs barely covered now by her too small dress. That same dress I'd always seen her wearing to school.
Karen, shyly kept her eyes averted from me until I asked her how old she was. I was shocked to learn she was a few weeks from her 13th birthday. I was 16 at the time. She seemed so much younger playing games and giggling with my sister. As the days went by I realized Karen was waiting outside at the edge of our property, probably since dawn, until my sister got up and went outside. So I invited her in and gave her breakfast. She didn't turn me down and thanked me profusely. That girl could put away a lot of food!
Her eyes spoke volumes. I just didn't know how to interpret the message. I thought I knew then why the guarded, sad eyes. Her mother had died and she lived in that shack with her father who left her alone to manage throughout the day as he went to work. No wonder she spent all her time hanging out with my sister. As they ran and played across the woods and pastures, the dogs lolling along with them Karen bloomed and ripened with the apple trees. I liked to think it was the three square meals we provided her every day.
A short time before school was to start in the fall I was up in my room sewing my new clothes. Farm girls did that back then. I heard the girls shreiking in joy and I went to the window to see what was going on. They were jumping up and down and going in circles, Karen holding some dollar bills in her hand. I don't know why it made me suspicious, but I went downstairs and called them in to have lemonade. Karen had the money rolled tightly in her hand as she whispered in my sister's ear and passed it on to her.
"What's going on?" I asked, wondering if the girls had stolen the money from the old man who took care of the chickens and slept in the converted cow shed. Old Jim had been a fixture on the farm since we had moved there and the landlord gave him the right to live there until he died, as he had worked for his family as a farmhand for generations. Old Jim swore like a sailor and drank too much in my opinion. I didn't care for him and steered clear. I knew he had recently recieved his social security check as his friend, Clarence with the old Bathtub Nash, had driven by to pick him up so the two of them could go into town and buy booze.
"Will you sew some clothes for Karen, for school? She has money to buy the fabric."
"And where did this money come from?"
"Old Jim."
I couldn't believe my ears. Not only did they steal the money but they were stupid enough to tell me about it. "You girls go put that money back from where you got it! Or I'm telling Mom!"
My sister, defiant, came to Karen's rescue. "But, she didn't steal it. She earned it. Jim asked her to clean up his place and gave her the money for it."
I was relieved and agreed to sew some new school clothes for Karen. It began to bother me as more money and more requests for new clothes came every few days.
Karen, shyly kept her eyes averted from me until I asked her how old she was. I was shocked to learn she was a few weeks from her 13th birthday. I was 16 at the time. She seemed so much younger playing games and giggling with my sister. As the days went by I realized Karen was waiting outside at the edge of our property, probably since dawn, until my sister got up and went outside. So I invited her in and gave her breakfast. She didn't turn me down and thanked me profusely. That girl could put away a lot of food!
A short time before school was to start in the fall I was up in my room sewing my new clothes. Farm girls did that back then. I heard the girls shreiking in joy and I went to the window to see what was going on. They were jumping up and down and going in circles, Karen holding some dollar bills in her hand. I don't know why it made me suspicious, but I went downstairs and called them in to have lemonade. Karen had the money rolled tightly in her hand as she whispered in my sister's ear and passed it on to her.
"What's going on?" I asked, wondering if the girls had stolen the money from the old man who took care of the chickens and slept in the converted cow shed. Old Jim had been a fixture on the farm since we had moved there and the landlord gave him the right to live there until he died, as he had worked for his family as a farmhand for generations. Old Jim swore like a sailor and drank too much in my opinion. I didn't care for him and steered clear. I knew he had recently recieved his social security check as his friend, Clarence with the old Bathtub Nash, had driven by to pick him up so the two of them could go into town and buy booze.
"Will you sew some clothes for Karen, for school? She has money to buy the fabric."
"And where did this money come from?"
"Old Jim."
I couldn't believe my ears. Not only did they steal the money but they were stupid enough to tell me about it. "You girls go put that money back from where you got it! Or I'm telling Mom!"
My sister, defiant, came to Karen's rescue. "But, she didn't steal it. She earned it. Jim asked her to clean up his place and gave her the money for it."
I was relieved and agreed to sew some new school clothes for Karen. It began to bother me as more money and more requests for new clothes came every few days.
Friday
How to Binge on Less Than 300 Calories
.
"Do you want to lose weight?"
"No. I've given up caring."
"Then, why did you call about this program?"
"I don't know. Maybe it will rub off on me and I will magically lose weight."
I didn't believe I was a "binge" personality, but I called anyway to ask about the study at Stanford University Medical Center. After a four hour interview with many questions and some testing I was accepted into the study. I begin next Tuesday.
I realize it must be my evening munching on "goodies" that qualified me as a binge eater. I was in denial because if I eat too much, my stomach pays me back with pain and suffering. So, I considered myself to be a "cautious" over eater. In some ways I am still in denial. It's not like I ate huge mounds of food. That's a fallacy that many people believe about those who are overweight. My problem was the high calorie density of the food I call goodies. And it is my lack of aerobic exercise that keeps my weight stable. Overweight but stable while climbing and falling the same ten pounds.
(Why I don't get enough exercise is another story)
Since I had a sudden gain over the holidays, and several days of my stomach getting even, I attempted to keep track of my intake. I threw away my goodies, and decided to just eat my healthier foods. Yet, I've been struggling. Is it habit that I spend my evenings craving food? I feel so hungry, even if I have eaten three meals plus snack per day. Is it that I want to feel that full stomach feeling? Is it a way to bury my stress? Habit... Hunger... bury stress... Maybe all three
I have altered the calorie count of my food choices and now I "binge" on salad. I mean SALAD. I live in a part of the country where salad making ingredients are plentiful all year long. So I have no excuse to not enjoy them.
Here's the recipe for tonight's binge:
272 calories 17 grams protein
1 ½ cup SPRING MIX BABY LETTUCE - 10 calories, 1 gram protein
1 cup BABY SPINACH - 7 calories, 1 gram protein
½ cup chopped CELERY - 7 calories .35 gram protein
½ cup sliced & peeled ENGLISH CUCUMBER, - 8 calories .34 gram protein
½ cup shredded CARROT - 25 calories .5 gram protein
1 medium, chopped APPLE - 35 calories 1 gram protein
½ cup TOMATO slices 20 calories 0 gram protein
½ cup KNUDSEN FAT FREE COTTAGE CHEESE 80 calories - 13 gram protein
2 Tbsp LITEHOUSE YOGURT BLEU CHEESE DRESSING 80 calories 1 gram protein
fresh LEMON JUICE to taste
Please note:
I add water to the dressing so it will cover my salad more evenly and mix in with the cottage cheese.
It takes me about an hour to eat all this.
I'm not advertising the brand name products. They just happen to be what I use. Sure do like that salad dressing, though.
I prefer English Cucumbers because they taste better, keep their freshness longer and my tummy likes them better.
This is what Wikipedia has to say about English Cucumbers:
English cucumbers can grow as long as 2 feet. They are nearly seedless, have a delicate skin which is pleasant to eat, and are sometimes marketed as “Burpless”, because the seeds and skin of other varieties of cucumbers are said to give some people gas. Most commonly grown in greenhouses, these parthenocarpic cucumbers are often found in grocery markets shrink-wrapped in plastic.
"Do you want to lose weight?"
"No. I've given up caring."
"Then, why did you call about this program?"
"I don't know. Maybe it will rub off on me and I will magically lose weight."
I didn't believe I was a "binge" personality, but I called anyway to ask about the study at Stanford University Medical Center. After a four hour interview with many questions and some testing I was accepted into the study. I begin next Tuesday.
I realize it must be my evening munching on "goodies" that qualified me as a binge eater. I was in denial because if I eat too much, my stomach pays me back with pain and suffering. So, I considered myself to be a "cautious" over eater. In some ways I am still in denial. It's not like I ate huge mounds of food. That's a fallacy that many people believe about those who are overweight. My problem was the high calorie density of the food I call goodies. And it is my lack of aerobic exercise that keeps my weight stable. Overweight but stable while climbing and falling the same ten pounds.
(Why I don't get enough exercise is another story)
Since I had a sudden gain over the holidays, and several days of my stomach getting even, I attempted to keep track of my intake. I threw away my goodies, and decided to just eat my healthier foods. Yet, I've been struggling. Is it habit that I spend my evenings craving food? I feel so hungry, even if I have eaten three meals plus snack per day. Is it that I want to feel that full stomach feeling? Is it a way to bury my stress? Habit... Hunger... bury stress... Maybe all three
Here's the recipe for tonight's binge:
272 calories 17 grams protein
1 ½ cup SPRING MIX BABY LETTUCE - 10 calories, 1 gram protein
1 cup BABY SPINACH - 7 calories, 1 gram protein
½ cup chopped CELERY - 7 calories .35 gram protein
½ cup sliced & peeled ENGLISH CUCUMBER, - 8 calories .34 gram protein
½ cup shredded CARROT - 25 calories .5 gram protein
1 medium, chopped APPLE - 35 calories 1 gram protein
½ cup TOMATO slices 20 calories 0 gram protein
½ cup KNUDSEN FAT FREE COTTAGE CHEESE 80 calories - 13 gram protein
2 Tbsp LITEHOUSE YOGURT BLEU CHEESE DRESSING 80 calories 1 gram protein
fresh LEMON JUICE to taste
I add water to the dressing so it will cover my salad more evenly and mix in with the cottage cheese.
It takes me about an hour to eat all this.
I'm not advertising the brand name products. They just happen to be what I use. Sure do like that salad dressing, though.
I prefer English Cucumbers because they taste better, keep their freshness longer and my tummy likes them better.
This is what Wikipedia has to say about English Cucumbers:
English cucumbers can grow as long as 2 feet. They are nearly seedless, have a delicate skin which is pleasant to eat, and are sometimes marketed as “Burpless”, because the seeds and skin of other varieties of cucumbers are said to give some people gas. Most commonly grown in greenhouses, these parthenocarpic cucumbers are often found in grocery markets shrink-wrapped in plastic.
Wednesday
Karen's Story - A Snippet
Beyond the end of the road, the girl who lived in the apple orchard shack got on the school bus every day wearing the same faded nondescript cotton dress. While climbing the steps, she tightly gripped her schoolbooks. I wondered if she was afraid of dropping them. Her straggly brown hair hung limp and dirty over her eyes as she kept her head down looking at her dirty finger nails.She always took the same seat directly behind the driver, stared out the window, and never spoke to others. Not that anyone ever wanted to speak to her anyway, except maybe to pick on her. But, lucky for her, she was more invisible than that. She was considered to be one of those "Cootie" kids.
I was very curious about her; wondered how anybody could be so poor as to not have a change of clothes.
We were poor, too, after the bankruptcy. But, at least my parents got decent clothes for us at the thrift shop and hand-me-downs from friends. We grew our own vegetables and raised chickens and eggs. We weren't bone skinny. I wondered why she was so skinny and most of all, how she could fall asleep on the way home from school on the bus and not wake up in all the noise. Why was she so tired?
Friday
Does He Ring Twice?
The postman does NOT ring twice! He smacks the window where the cat sits watching the world go by. Does he dislike cats? Does he just have nothing better to do to entertain himself as he walks from house to house?
My new kitten, Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) was in the window at the time. At least it was her brave little self instead of my nervous Bambi, or shy Spyder, or obese Ninja. They would have freaked out. Buffy simply jumped down. So far, she has not returned to the window ledge.
A friend was visiting at the time. We sat at the table with our coffee (tea for me) as I opened the package the post man had just delivered earlier. Is he tired of delivering the little treasures I keep winning on Ebay?
I was surprised and shocked at the sudden smack on the window. My friend, on the other hand, reacted quickly, jumping up and going out the door to give the postman a piece of his mind. That surprised me too. But, the postman is a fast walker and already two houses further down the street.
No, the post man does not ring twice. He smacks the window and scares the cat!
(Can you tell that I am miffed?)
My new kitten, Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) was in the window at the time. At least it was her brave little self instead of my nervous Bambi, or shy Spyder, or obese Ninja. They would have freaked out. Buffy simply jumped down. So far, she has not returned to the window ledge.
A friend was visiting at the time. We sat at the table with our coffee (tea for me) as I opened the package the post man had just delivered earlier. Is he tired of delivering the little treasures I keep winning on Ebay?
I was surprised and shocked at the sudden smack on the window. My friend, on the other hand, reacted quickly, jumping up and going out the door to give the postman a piece of his mind. That surprised me too. But, the postman is a fast walker and already two houses further down the street.
No, the post man does not ring twice. He smacks the window and scares the cat!
(Can you tell that I am miffed?)
Thursday
Quake
January 13, 2011
Hmmm.... Earthquake
Talking to my niece from the midwest, she asked if I was okay. I'm fine. It's like when you have a tornado nearby. It's exciting, gets the adrenaline going. And when it's over with no significant damage to people or property, there is that "whew"!
At least with tornadoes you have some warnings. With quakes, they just happen. Truly, quakes happen here every day. Hundreds of them. But, they are so small you don't feel them.
A 4 point, if nearby, gives a little jolt.
A 5 is more like some stupid jokesters are jumping on the back bumper of your car.
A 6 is more like someone jumps on your car and it starts rolling. At this level, some books might fall off shelves, or whatever.
A 7 is when you instinctively run for the door.
An 8 caused severe damage back in 1989 here where I live for about 100 miles all around.
We had a distant cousin who died in it when the upper stories of his apartment fell on him in San Francisco. Others died in that too.
If you have ever watched a program on earthquakes you have probably seen a bridge crack open and car fall into the crack. That happened here in Oakland during that quake. The house I live in right now has been through that quake and it is fine. So, I guess I'll be all right if a bigger one happens.
Wednesday
Earthquake Thoughts
Hmmm.... Earthquake
I felt it!
I felt it!
Talking to my niece from the Midwest, she asked if I was okay. I'm fine. It's like when you have a tornado nearby. It's exciting, gets the adrenaline going. And when it's over, with no significant damage to people or property, there is that "Whew"!
At least with tornadoes you have some warnings. With quakes, they just happen. Truly, quakes happen here every day. Hundreds of them. But, they are so small you don't feel them.
A 3 point quake, if it is nearby feels a bit like when you are sitting in the car and the wind is blowing. You don't notice it very much at all.
A 4 point, if nearby, gives a little jolt.
A 5 is more like some stupid jokesters are jumping on the back bumper of your car.
A 6 is more like someone jumps on your car and it starts rolling. At this level, some books might fall off shelves, or whatever.
A 7 is when you instinctively run for the door. Providing the floor meets your feet, you may arrive there.
An 8 caused severe damage back in 1989 here where I live for about 100 miles all around. They called it the Loma Prieta Earthuake, named for the location on the fault line where it occurred.
We had a distant cousin who died in it when the upper stories of his apartment fell on him in San Francisco.
If you have ever watched a program on earthquakes you have probably seen the one where the bridge cracked open and the car fell into the crack. That happened here in Oakland, CA during that quake. The house I live in right now has been through that quake and it is fine. So, I guess I'll be all right if a bigger one happens.
Doctor Sherlock and the Mystery Solved
Brr! It's quite cold and windy for this time of year, and freezing at night. There is even a wind chill factor! Would you believe it, in mid-coastal California? I guess I shouldn't complain, though. Other parts of the country are still having much more serious weather than here. I've lived in New York state and Indiana. I know what that is like.
I went to see the Neurologist to find out what he would say about the recent occurrence of breakthrough seizures. Lucky for me that I carry little plastic bags of my prescriptions with me. They resemble zip-loc bags, but are smaller and thicker. I get them at the pharmacy, and put my drug labels on them, so I don't have to carry a lot of bottles in my purse. Dr. G (stands for Gorgeous!) went over them all, looking for a correlation between them and the Lamictal which I take for the seizures. He determined it doesn't seem likely that there is an interaction between my meds.
I like it when a physician is willing to play Sherlock Holmes, and try to figure out the mystery of why something is going on with a patient. He could have just played the guessing game and said, "Let's try something else and see if that helps." I can understand why a physician might do that. Sometimes it would be too time consuming. Otherwise, if one has a large practice, perhaps the easier way to challenge a problem on their best guess based upon what they might know. As for me, Dr. Sherlock Gorgeous is the most fascinating challenge, as I really have to think, and respond carefully to the questions he asks. It's really hard to describe the seizures when I am not exactly aware of all that was going on! Some things that I take for granted, he was able to pluck out of my communications, and deduce the probable cause of this latest development.
As soon as Dr. G put two and two together, he pointed out that my insomnia might be the culprit. It clicked with me right away and was so simple! Among other things I have had a life-long pattern of sleep disorder. I wont go into all the boring details. Seizure prone people apparently need their beauty rest! We discussed it and if I can just get myself back into a good sleep pattern, then I wont really need to take any sleep aids, which is my preference. In the meantime, I have a prescription for break through seizures.
Finally! A chance to go for my walk! Since I was nowhere near home, traffic was heavy, and the wind still so cold, I opted for walking in the mall. It is nice and flat in there. I spent nearly an hour walking. Though, I did dawdle a little bit, and at one point I did break down and buy something. I wouldn't mind walking in the mall regularly, but I would have to leave my purse in the car!
I went to see the Neurologist to find out what he would say about the recent occurrence of breakthrough seizures. Lucky for me that I carry little plastic bags of my prescriptions with me. They resemble zip-loc bags, but are smaller and thicker. I get them at the pharmacy, and put my drug labels on them, so I don't have to carry a lot of bottles in my purse. Dr. G (stands for Gorgeous!) went over them all, looking for a correlation between them and the Lamictal which I take for the seizures. He determined it doesn't seem likely that there is an interaction between my meds.
I like it when a physician is willing to play Sherlock Holmes, and try to figure out the mystery of why something is going on with a patient. He could have just played the guessing game and said, "Let's try something else and see if that helps." I can understand why a physician might do that. Sometimes it would be too time consuming. Otherwise, if one has a large practice, perhaps the easier way to challenge a problem on their best guess based upon what they might know. As for me, Dr. Sherlock Gorgeous is the most fascinating challenge, as I really have to think, and respond carefully to the questions he asks. It's really hard to describe the seizures when I am not exactly aware of all that was going on! Some things that I take for granted, he was able to pluck out of my communications, and deduce the probable cause of this latest development.
As soon as Dr. G put two and two together, he pointed out that my insomnia might be the culprit. It clicked with me right away and was so simple! Among other things I have had a life-long pattern of sleep disorder. I wont go into all the boring details. Seizure prone people apparently need their beauty rest! We discussed it and if I can just get myself back into a good sleep pattern, then I wont really need to take any sleep aids, which is my preference. In the meantime, I have a prescription for break through seizures.
Finally! A chance to go for my walk! Since I was nowhere near home, traffic was heavy, and the wind still so cold, I opted for walking in the mall. It is nice and flat in there. I spent nearly an hour walking. Though, I did dawdle a little bit, and at one point I did break down and buy something. I wouldn't mind walking in the mall regularly, but I would have to leave my purse in the car!
Monday
A Day of Revelation - Personal Journal
"When the Cat Lady sleeps well and awakens refreshed it is because she sleeps with a cat sitting on her chest, purring in her face! The cat is her instant alarm with whiskers ticking her nose." You may quote me on that.
The preacher man at the holiday party was slimmer than the last time I saw him. I didn't think too much of it when he told those interested that he had done it the "easy" way. All he did was use a free online site where he recorded his daily intake of food. After the holidays I suddenly realized I had quickly, the easy way, gained too many pounds from over-grazing the highly laden table for several days. I was in shock. Had I really nibbled that many calories? How could I be so blind as to not notice. After all, I had gotten sick from the overindulgences. That's more than a subtle hint. But in my mindlessness, I didn't notice until too late.
Yet, the scale does not lie. I called to learn what the site was my Reverend Grandson had referred to. I signed up and have to agree, it is the easy way. There's no pressure, no insistent articles. No ridiculous ads. It is straightforward and useful. As long as I record my daily intake I naturally begin to limit portions and think twice about having seconds. I've also incorporated some exercise. (It's about time!) And spent more time contemplating and meditating.
The results have been mixed. I've lost ten pounds, but have gained back two. There is a place on the site where one can record one's exercise. It provides you with the calories burned for those exercises. Can you believe? You burn calories just sleeping! Hmm. I wonder if it is more if there's a cat on your chest. After all, one must work harder to breathe. RIght?
I went for a walk down by the ocean this morning realizing that I was in a low mood, and discouraged that I am not putting my all into this. The dichotomy is that I am doing too much. The intentions of my mind are stronger than my body. It betrays me! My body has it's weaknesses and cannot live up to the pressure I put on it to perform. For example: I had breakthrough seizures (Simple Partial) after my walk and it left me "out of sorts" for most of the afternoon. I struggle with clarity afterwards, feel unfocused and somewhat fuzzy. I don't like it. It's annoying. Will be seeing doctor tomorrow afternoon and I intend to discuss this with him. I am pretty sure he will encourage me to follow through on the walking program, but I hope there is some method or treatment to prevent the same results I had today.
Upon reflection I think about how, when I am well rested, that I don't have this problem. After a sleepless night, the seizures are more likely to occur. Perhaps I need more cats to sleep with me. Eh? I also have some books on gentle exercise. I have the feeling I need to pull them out from the shelves and re-read them to refresh my resolve.
Begged to be Written
I couldn't sleep but three hours, too much on my mind; my heart heavy.
So, at six when the kitty brought me his mouse, I flung it across the room for him to chase. He'll slam himself into a wall to fetch it and return to me, panting, with the thing crammed in his mouth.
I picked up my book to while away the time hoping I would grow drowsy, but to no avail. Got up, made tea and toast, and a poem begged to be written.
another bone tumor in the skull.
How much can the front
of the face be cut away?
For years now, my friend,
phone calls across miles,
him joking all the time.
My insides churn,
My throat protests.
Why I took this on,
this helping others
with the same disease,
seems hollow to me now.
So hopeful was I
to imagine bringing others
down that familiar path,
one surgery after another.
would result in death.
So, at six when the kitty brought me his mouse, I flung it across the room for him to chase. He'll slam himself into a wall to fetch it and return to me, panting, with the thing crammed in his mouth.
I picked up my book to while away the time hoping I would grow drowsy, but to no avail. Got up, made tea and toast, and a poem begged to be written.
My eyes sting but do not cry,
Another friend to face surgery again,
another bone tumor in the skull.
How much can the front
of the face be cut away?
For years now, my friend,
phone calls across miles,
him joking all the time.
My insides churn,
My throat protests.
Why I took this on,
this helping others
with the same disease,
seems hollow to me now.
So hopeful was I
to imagine bringing others
down that familiar path,
one surgery after another.
Little did I know so many
would result in death.
I ask myself why did I survive.
Sunday
Something My Sister Wrote to a Distraught Friend
I see you, with your feet planted firmly on Mother Earth, absorbing blessed strength. Your eyes fixed on the horizon, realizing your dreams.
And your heart connected with Spirit, knowing your truth.
And all is well.
~~~ Suzan Deane-Simpson
Thursday
Sweeping Out the Old Year
Shirley stood in the doorway, broom in hand, fiercely shouting out into the 15 degree night, her dogs jumping excitedly about her feet. "BE GONE! BE GONE!" I was absolutely sure that whatever or whomever she was shouting at, most certainly had high-tailed it out of there. Still, it felt weird to observe this elderly gentile lady turn into a New Year witch.
Though she was a practicing Episcopalian, I knew she also had "aulde ways" about her. I couldn't quite join the two together in my mind, but she was fine with it. There had been times when she seemed to glow with with lunar light, or sprinkle the stars over a room full of people with her exuberance and wisdom. I remember the time we sat against the tree trunk and I felt enfolded by it as she introduced me to her own special source of strength.
When I think about it, I realize that her ways were little different from anyone else. As a society, we make a lot of noise celebrating the New Year. We leave the past year and all the mistakes we made in it behind us, sweeping it out of the way to make room for the fresh future with a new freedom in our hearts.
As I wrote about last year in this blog, my mother, raised in the hills of Pennsylvania, sent me out in the snow on New Years day clanging pot lids together to scare away all the bad luck from the previous year. Later that day, she scoured and cleaned the house from floor to ceiling. Another form of sweeping out the old year. From an early age, I learned about resolutions, promises we make to ourselves for self improvement. I asked myself how I could stop myself from being a naughty girl throughout the whole year, not just through the Christmas season, and I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish. Some of which was not always so high minded.
I know many people do not observe this old practice of resolutions, but I do. I take stock of my life. Like the ancient pagan God, Janus, I look back over the year and contemplate how it unfolded. Sometimes I am disappointed that I didn't achieve a certain goal. But, I don't allow myself to dwell on it as I am always pleased about some aspect of my life that turned out well. And like Janus, I look forward to the future with eyes open to possibilities.
When Shirley slammed the door against the night demons, she turned to me with a fire in her eye and said, "No regrets! Just go out there and live it with determination and spirit!"
Though she was a practicing Episcopalian, I knew she also had "aulde ways" about her. I couldn't quite join the two together in my mind, but she was fine with it. There had been times when she seemed to glow with with lunar light, or sprinkle the stars over a room full of people with her exuberance and wisdom. I remember the time we sat against the tree trunk and I felt enfolded by it as she introduced me to her own special source of strength.
When I think about it, I realize that her ways were little different from anyone else. As a society, we make a lot of noise celebrating the New Year. We leave the past year and all the mistakes we made in it behind us, sweeping it out of the way to make room for the fresh future with a new freedom in our hearts.
As I wrote about last year in this blog, my mother, raised in the hills of Pennsylvania, sent me out in the snow on New Years day clanging pot lids together to scare away all the bad luck from the previous year. Later that day, she scoured and cleaned the house from floor to ceiling. Another form of sweeping out the old year. From an early age, I learned about resolutions, promises we make to ourselves for self improvement. I asked myself how I could stop myself from being a naughty girl throughout the whole year, not just through the Christmas season, and I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish. Some of which was not always so high minded.
I know many people do not observe this old practice of resolutions, but I do. I take stock of my life. Like the ancient pagan God, Janus, I look back over the year and contemplate how it unfolded. Sometimes I am disappointed that I didn't achieve a certain goal. But, I don't allow myself to dwell on it as I am always pleased about some aspect of my life that turned out well. And like Janus, I look forward to the future with eyes open to possibilities.
When Shirley slammed the door against the night demons, she turned to me with a fire in her eye and said, "No regrets! Just go out there and live it with determination and spirit!"
Breakfast Treats
Cinnamon coffee cake muffins and mini donuts. That's what I bought before getting ready to drive to Los Angeles. There would be many family members and friends present. I was sure breakfast would be forgotten. And, it was! I forgot to bring the many boxes of muffins and mini donuts. Because they were sitting there waiting for me when I arrived home, that is why I threw it all in the garbage yesterday. Oh, I could have eaten them. I could have eaten them all, given enough time. I could have scarfed them down in a matter of days. But, after the plethora of sweets and treats laden upon the table during those Christmas days, and the nauseated, heartburn pay-back of my innards, I knew eating them would be the worst thing I could do. Still, being the junk food junkie, I knew I would be tempted to make myself sick again. Therefore the toss into the garbage. They sit there now beneath other garbage, there insidious vibrations mocking me.
At least I have the presence of mind to NOT go digging down to fetch the "treasures" in a rescue attempt. Even the Lindt chocolate truffles still in their wrappers are laid to rest. I will not tell myself it is a sin to waste them. I wish it would stop raining long enough for me to haul it all to the outside trash, as it sits here in the house smoldering in angry rejection that they will not be eaten. "Too bad" I say. My new sweets and carbohydrates are going to be the kind Mother Nature has prepared for me! Yes, yes. I know. They are still sweets and carbs. But, if I'm going to crave them, better they be fresh. Eh?
I remember the first blood orange I ever had. Charles and his wife had a dozen shipped to them from Florida to California at great expense. Someone they knew owned one of the first productive orchards. Marlys held one in her hand as if it were a precious baby chick. "Guess what I have." She seemed to shimmer with anticipation or was it just the odd winter light behind her from the window? Before I could hazard a guess, she turned to the counter, grabbed a large knife, and with one precise quick slash, it was open. Blood orange is a good name for it. Blood red, the juice leaked onto the counter as Marlys quickly lapped it up with her fingers.
She handed me half, cut in thin slices, keeping the rest for herself not even asking if I wanted any, or even if I could eat oranges. What if I were allergic? But, thankfully, I am not. It was the most delectable thing I'd had in a long time. Afterwards, I enviously eyed those other oranges sitting in the bowl wondering if I would be offered more. But, alas... no.
So today, when I bought spinach salad makings, irish cheese, a chicken breast, some apples, bananas and blackberries, I turned in surprise when I saw them. Blood oranges!
Guess what I did next!
At least I have the presence of mind to NOT go digging down to fetch the "treasures" in a rescue attempt. Even the Lindt chocolate truffles still in their wrappers are laid to rest. I will not tell myself it is a sin to waste them. I wish it would stop raining long enough for me to haul it all to the outside trash, as it sits here in the house smoldering in angry rejection that they will not be eaten. "Too bad" I say. My new sweets and carbohydrates are going to be the kind Mother Nature has prepared for me! Yes, yes. I know. They are still sweets and carbs. But, if I'm going to crave them, better they be fresh. Eh?
I remember the first blood orange I ever had. Charles and his wife had a dozen shipped to them from Florida to California at great expense. Someone they knew owned one of the first productive orchards. Marlys held one in her hand as if it were a precious baby chick. "Guess what I have." She seemed to shimmer with anticipation or was it just the odd winter light behind her from the window? Before I could hazard a guess, she turned to the counter, grabbed a large knife, and with one precise quick slash, it was open. Blood orange is a good name for it. Blood red, the juice leaked onto the counter as Marlys quickly lapped it up with her fingers.
She handed me half, cut in thin slices, keeping the rest for herself not even asking if I wanted any, or even if I could eat oranges. What if I were allergic? But, thankfully, I am not. It was the most delectable thing I'd had in a long time. Afterwards, I enviously eyed those other oranges sitting in the bowl wondering if I would be offered more. But, alas... no.
So today, when I bought spinach salad makings, irish cheese, a chicken breast, some apples, bananas and blackberries, I turned in surprise when I saw them. Blood oranges!
Guess what I did next!
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