Thursday's Thoughts "My Friend the Butcher"
Well, you have to admit...that title caught your attention, didn't it? But it states a fact, speaks the truth...my butcher is my friend. And so is my fresh produce manager, my fishmonger, my dry cleaner, my hairdresser, even my dentist, unlikely as that one sounds. As I look back at that sentence and consider revising it, one thing strikes me and I realize that, in its own little way, it unintentionally and unobtrusively conveys my meaning...the word "my." Those two little letters express that there is a relationship, a belonging to, a connection with each of these people.
When I finished my errands earlier today, first the cleaner's and then the supermarket, and had chatted with "my" butcher, and "my" dry cleaner's wife, it got me thinking along these lines...how people who were once complete strangers become a real part of your life, real friends over the years. I thought how funny and how lovely a thing it is, even more so because of the seeming randomness of it...like a flower growing where it shouldn't be. Each of these people could just as easily be "someone else's" butcher, dry cleaner, hairdresser, dentist and our lives would never have intersected. But they have. They are now someone whose name I know, whose expressions I know, whose laugh I know, whose weekends and Christmases and birthdays, and ups and downs I hear about...and they mine! They are someone who I've grown accustomed to seeing, who I look forward to seeing, who I would miss if I didn't see...the are a part of my life, my universe. I am a part of theirs...sheerly by chance of location, timing, destiny, grace...we can call it any of these things, or all of them!
Whatever the cause of the connection, there now is one. I know that if something bad happened to them, I would feel badly. And I think they would feel the same about me...there is a nice and pure reciprocity in our relationship that is not born of any obligation whatsoever. What a nice thing when you think about it!
Years ago when my daughter was little, and as we walked to our car after a particularly long trek through our supermarket, peppered with many chats along the way at the counters and in the aisles, she posed this question to me. "Mom, why do you talk to everybody so much?" I had never even thought about it before. All I could answer was what came to me quite naturally..."Because they are a human being and I am a human being, they are doing their job and I am doing mine, and if we can be nice to each other and maybe give each other a smile or a laugh, why wouldn't we? It doesn't take any extra energy to be nice as it does to be bland or nasty, so why not?" She listened and seemed satisfied...smart girl! It does make sense after all.
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Wednesday's Woes "The Return of the Green Phantom"
This is so NOT a woe, just a complaint. It's back! Oh sure, you don't see it at first glance, but it's there...even as I sit typing this, speck by speck by speck is settling on what was only yesterday a pristine windshield. By Friday, it'll be as if those fabulous forty seconds in the car wash never even happened...an oasis that vanishes before my red and itchy, pollen polluted eyes!
It's a losing battle...but a great reminder. Nothing is static in this world...nothing. Nothing stays the same...not good things or bad things, not joys or strifes. Cars get cleaned and cars get dirty again. Weeds get pulled and weeds grow back again. Lawns get mowed and grass grows back again. We have to learn to live with this constant dynamic of Life. One lesson lies in those forty seconds in the car wash. To keep up with our life flying past us like pollen on a fast mission, we should look for and drink from every oasis we may spot hovering on the horizon. Know that it is fleeting relief, but no less restorative for its brevity. Those moments are necessary gulps of refreshment that we need to continue the journey. And, luckily, those moments are all around us and usually are free for the taking. We only have to train ourselves to take them as often as we can. It may sound like a silly trifle, but it is the only way I know to approach this fast world we live in. Your oasis will not look like my oasis, nor does it have to...the purpose is the same. Be on the lookout for those little lakes of restorative "something" that make you feel alive, renewed, peaceful, happy...even for the most fleeting moment or two...and take them! They add up "at the end of the day."
It's maddening that my car is getting covered with pollen again. But, I remind myself how much I enjoyed the carwash and how blessed I am just to be alive in this gorgeous, pollen-polluted world. When I sneeze and itch my way through my walk later, I'll try to admire the beautiful pines and ignore their irksome tiny offspring!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
This is so NOT a woe, just a complaint. It's back! Oh sure, you don't see it at first glance, but it's there...even as I sit typing this, speck by speck by speck is settling on what was only yesterday a pristine windshield. By Friday, it'll be as if those fabulous forty seconds in the car wash never even happened...an oasis that vanishes before my red and itchy, pollen polluted eyes!
It's a losing battle...but a great reminder. Nothing is static in this world...nothing. Nothing stays the same...not good things or bad things, not joys or strifes. Cars get cleaned and cars get dirty again. Weeds get pulled and weeds grow back again. Lawns get mowed and grass grows back again. We have to learn to live with this constant dynamic of Life. One lesson lies in those forty seconds in the car wash. To keep up with our life flying past us like pollen on a fast mission, we should look for and drink from every oasis we may spot hovering on the horizon. Know that it is fleeting relief, but no less restorative for its brevity. Those moments are necessary gulps of refreshment that we need to continue the journey. And, luckily, those moments are all around us and usually are free for the taking. We only have to train ourselves to take them as often as we can. It may sound like a silly trifle, but it is the only way I know to approach this fast world we live in. Your oasis will not look like my oasis, nor does it have to...the purpose is the same. Be on the lookout for those little lakes of restorative "something" that make you feel alive, renewed, peaceful, happy...even for the most fleeting moment or two...and take them! They add up "at the end of the day."
It's maddening that my car is getting covered with pollen again. But, I remind myself how much I enjoyed the carwash and how blessed I am just to be alive in this gorgeous, pollen-polluted world. When I sneeze and itch my way through my walk later, I'll try to admire the beautiful pines and ignore their irksome tiny offspring!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Tuesday's Trifles "Pollen Pleasures"
I realize that is a crazy title, as springtime pollen creates a whole host of annoyances for many of us. But, there is one pleasure to come of all those little pesky specks! As I said in previous Tuesday posts, trifles are little things that can be viewed as great things, if we choose to do so. Yesterday, this was the way I chose to view those very little, almost invisible, things floating through the air, torturing our sinuses, eyes and throats, and coating our cars, window screens and well, everything!
This past weekend was The Weekend..."Pollen-Palooza" when certain trees celebrate life by exploding their life force into the air, gracing the outdoors with a lovely lime powder like microbial confetti. With the right breeze, you can see "Pollen-Palooza" in action, as a visible cloud of pollen moves through the air like a graceful, green phantom. Yesterday, I decided my silver, but lime-green tinted, car deserved a "shower" after the long weekend of the pine trees' hard partying!
I decided to make one very annoying, very small thing into a very enjoyable, very great thing...and all for only $12.00! Off to the car wash we went and it was worth every penny! Going through the car wash is not a great extravagance, although I do not avail myself or my car of it very often. Yet, the experience feels like such a luxury to me. Perhaps it just brings back nice childhood memories...the simple, naive thrill of traveling through that dark tube with water and soap being zapped at you from every direction...every kid's dream! As an adult now, I think it is about more than that. There is something about the "surrender" of those swift, sudsy seconds (I don't think it takes even a full minute!) in the car wash that is so restorative, like a soapy oasis in the midst of a busy day. From the moment I put the car into neutral and feel the tug of the track underneath the tires, it is as if I am downshifting too, into a gear in which there is not much else I can do. By the time the bumper has been foamed and scrubbed, and the first rinse of water is streaming down my windshield, I have abandoned scribbling the shopping list to just sink into my seat, get pulled along, and enjoy the bath! The squirts of foam (red and blue for Memorial Day) make patriotic stripes on the windows and then...the absolute best part...the Strip Monster attacks! I hated this part as a kid, but now it's just the best thing when those long, wavy strips of foam smother the car and wriggle all around like wet worms. Those seconds in the dark while the car is slathered and sloughed must remind me of those glorious seconds when you stepped out of the tub, were wrapped in a waiting towel and were rubbed dry head to toe by loving, albeit rushing, hands. Then, the darkness breaks and as the car gets its final rinse and "wheel brite" treatment, I see light at the end of the tunnel. Next comes the roar of the giant blow dryers and I savor the last few seconds of my relaxing oasis. As if to ramp me back up for my re-entry to the world, the dryers roar and blast at my silver cocoon. Before I know it, it's over...I feel the track spit me out onto the pavement and I shift back into Drive. Time for me, and my brilliantly gleaming car, to get in gear and return to action...restored, refreshed, and pollen-free!
If you ask me, it's the best (and cleanest!) $12.00 thrill the civilized world has to offer. Well, except for having your hair washed at the beauty salon, a luxury which is actually cheaper...but that is another story for another Tuesday...come to think of it, I think I have an appointment next week! So glad I have another great little thing to look forward to all week!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
I realize that is a crazy title, as springtime pollen creates a whole host of annoyances for many of us. But, there is one pleasure to come of all those little pesky specks! As I said in previous Tuesday posts, trifles are little things that can be viewed as great things, if we choose to do so. Yesterday, this was the way I chose to view those very little, almost invisible, things floating through the air, torturing our sinuses, eyes and throats, and coating our cars, window screens and well, everything!
This past weekend was The Weekend..."Pollen-Palooza" when certain trees celebrate life by exploding their life force into the air, gracing the outdoors with a lovely lime powder like microbial confetti. With the right breeze, you can see "Pollen-Palooza" in action, as a visible cloud of pollen moves through the air like a graceful, green phantom. Yesterday, I decided my silver, but lime-green tinted, car deserved a "shower" after the long weekend of the pine trees' hard partying!
I decided to make one very annoying, very small thing into a very enjoyable, very great thing...and all for only $12.00! Off to the car wash we went and it was worth every penny! Going through the car wash is not a great extravagance, although I do not avail myself or my car of it very often. Yet, the experience feels like such a luxury to me. Perhaps it just brings back nice childhood memories...the simple, naive thrill of traveling through that dark tube with water and soap being zapped at you from every direction...every kid's dream! As an adult now, I think it is about more than that. There is something about the "surrender" of those swift, sudsy seconds (I don't think it takes even a full minute!) in the car wash that is so restorative, like a soapy oasis in the midst of a busy day. From the moment I put the car into neutral and feel the tug of the track underneath the tires, it is as if I am downshifting too, into a gear in which there is not much else I can do. By the time the bumper has been foamed and scrubbed, and the first rinse of water is streaming down my windshield, I have abandoned scribbling the shopping list to just sink into my seat, get pulled along, and enjoy the bath! The squirts of foam (red and blue for Memorial Day) make patriotic stripes on the windows and then...the absolute best part...the Strip Monster attacks! I hated this part as a kid, but now it's just the best thing when those long, wavy strips of foam smother the car and wriggle all around like wet worms. Those seconds in the dark while the car is slathered and sloughed must remind me of those glorious seconds when you stepped out of the tub, were wrapped in a waiting towel and were rubbed dry head to toe by loving, albeit rushing, hands. Then, the darkness breaks and as the car gets its final rinse and "wheel brite" treatment, I see light at the end of the tunnel. Next comes the roar of the giant blow dryers and I savor the last few seconds of my relaxing oasis. As if to ramp me back up for my re-entry to the world, the dryers roar and blast at my silver cocoon. Before I know it, it's over...I feel the track spit me out onto the pavement and I shift back into Drive. Time for me, and my brilliantly gleaming car, to get in gear and return to action...restored, refreshed, and pollen-free!
If you ask me, it's the best (and cleanest!) $12.00 thrill the civilized world has to offer. Well, except for having your hair washed at the beauty salon, a luxury which is actually cheaper...but that is another story for another Tuesday...come to think of it, I think I have an appointment next week! So glad I have another great little thing to look forward to all week!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Friday, May 25, 2012
Friday's Foibles "In Defense of the Bleeding Heart"
Happy Friday! I'm sure your week had its problems, mishaps, glitches...it's weekly fare of foibles. We ought not expect otherwise. But take heart! Even fauna and flora have their garden variety of foibles...so too must we! As always, it's all in how you look at it.
Last weekend when I was weeding and my husband was spreading mulch, he remarked, "I wish you hadn't planted so many of these Bleeding Heart plants...they don't last long enough and then they turn yellow and look horrible half the summer!" I replied, "I planted them because I love them, they do well in shade, they were inexpensive, they mature fast, and they are beautiful...what more do you want from a plant?" I felt as though he'd insulted a relative and I was compelled to defend my beloved Bleeding Hearts!
Depending on where you live, you may not know what a Bleeding Heart plant looks like...and you should...they are magnificient! Google an image of one if you have to. My biggest complaint with my dear husband's complaint was that he wasn't looking at things fairly...or rather, fully. Much of the magnificence of the Bleeding Heart happens long before those gorgeous little hearts are even the twinkle in an eye. When the ground softens in March here, I begin my watch for them. Years ago, I planted a row of eight bleeding heart plants along the side of my garage "where the sun don't shine" and, boy, have they "done well!" If I am lucky, I will catch The Day and I will see the winter-tight ground disturbed, maybe even a little clump of soil shoved aside by their coming! A day or two later (depending on the weather of course), their green heads, still bowed down from the effort, will appear above the earth. You could walk right by it...nothing more than a clutch of reddish green stalks standing two, maybe three inches high, curled up tight at their tips just like an old person who can no longer stand tall...except that this aging process happens in reverse. In the weeks to follow, it is a daily lesson in science and Beauty. Every year I tell myself that some year when I can, I am going to plant my chair beside them some warm spring day and just watch, because I swear you must be able to literally watch them grow! Each day as they grow taller, they uncurl, unfurl their treasure...fringy fists of foliage open to reveal rich, green palms of three fingers each. Then, the tiny hearts make their appearance! In an amazing display of order, they hang from the stem, in a progression of development and color, each one just barely bigger and brighter than its neighbor! You can see that the tiniest white pod at the close end carries within it the tinge of the pink heart-shaped cap that will grow and deepen, before lifting up and away from the pod, resembling a heart with pigtails and the innocent white face beneath. This beautiful "before your eyes" show lasts for a few weeks. A progression of perfect pink hearts dangle profusely from slender branches like a charm bracelet from a wrist. Perfection!
Well, almost perfection, because, as my husband rightly observes, it doesn't last. But what more can he want, I think to myself later on, as I pull weeds from a smaller Bleeding Heart planted two years ago, which offered me fewer but no less perfect hearts. I thought of all this plant had done in the last weeks, all on its own and in the shade no less...an annual miracle if you ask me! It had indeed done well. Shouldn't that be enough? When I produce such near and beautiful perfection and last a long time, then I'll consider a different favorite plant! But I don't see that happening any springtime soon!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Happy Friday! I'm sure your week had its problems, mishaps, glitches...it's weekly fare of foibles. We ought not expect otherwise. But take heart! Even fauna and flora have their garden variety of foibles...so too must we! As always, it's all in how you look at it.
Last weekend when I was weeding and my husband was spreading mulch, he remarked, "I wish you hadn't planted so many of these Bleeding Heart plants...they don't last long enough and then they turn yellow and look horrible half the summer!" I replied, "I planted them because I love them, they do well in shade, they were inexpensive, they mature fast, and they are beautiful...what more do you want from a plant?" I felt as though he'd insulted a relative and I was compelled to defend my beloved Bleeding Hearts!
Depending on where you live, you may not know what a Bleeding Heart plant looks like...and you should...they are magnificient! Google an image of one if you have to. My biggest complaint with my dear husband's complaint was that he wasn't looking at things fairly...or rather, fully. Much of the magnificence of the Bleeding Heart happens long before those gorgeous little hearts are even the twinkle in an eye. When the ground softens in March here, I begin my watch for them. Years ago, I planted a row of eight bleeding heart plants along the side of my garage "where the sun don't shine" and, boy, have they "done well!" If I am lucky, I will catch The Day and I will see the winter-tight ground disturbed, maybe even a little clump of soil shoved aside by their coming! A day or two later (depending on the weather of course), their green heads, still bowed down from the effort, will appear above the earth. You could walk right by it...nothing more than a clutch of reddish green stalks standing two, maybe three inches high, curled up tight at their tips just like an old person who can no longer stand tall...except that this aging process happens in reverse. In the weeks to follow, it is a daily lesson in science and Beauty. Every year I tell myself that some year when I can, I am going to plant my chair beside them some warm spring day and just watch, because I swear you must be able to literally watch them grow! Each day as they grow taller, they uncurl, unfurl their treasure...fringy fists of foliage open to reveal rich, green palms of three fingers each. Then, the tiny hearts make their appearance! In an amazing display of order, they hang from the stem, in a progression of development and color, each one just barely bigger and brighter than its neighbor! You can see that the tiniest white pod at the close end carries within it the tinge of the pink heart-shaped cap that will grow and deepen, before lifting up and away from the pod, resembling a heart with pigtails and the innocent white face beneath. This beautiful "before your eyes" show lasts for a few weeks. A progression of perfect pink hearts dangle profusely from slender branches like a charm bracelet from a wrist. Perfection!
Well, almost perfection, because, as my husband rightly observes, it doesn't last. But what more can he want, I think to myself later on, as I pull weeds from a smaller Bleeding Heart planted two years ago, which offered me fewer but no less perfect hearts. I thought of all this plant had done in the last weeks, all on its own and in the shade no less...an annual miracle if you ask me! It had indeed done well. Shouldn't that be enough? When I produce such near and beautiful perfection and last a long time, then I'll consider a different favorite plant! But I don't see that happening any springtime soon!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Thursday's Thoughts "Whether the Weather Be..."
I happened to catch the last few minutes of an interview with the great cellist Yo Yo Ma on the radio this morning. He was talking about how much the weather and air conditions affect his instrument, being made of wood and thus, highly sensitive to such things. He explained to the interviewer how, in winter, great care must be taken to protect his cello or it could result in the "death of the instrument" as he called it. During winter, his cello is stored in a special "hold" which protects it from the very dry winter air, because if the cello were exposed to this for great periods of time its wood would become very brittle and eventually split! The specially crafted hold prevents this, but sometimes an additional and more simple method is employed, just to be on the safe side of musical morbidity rates. A little rubber tube, with holes in it, is placed into the hold along with the cello. Inside the tube is a sponge that is damp and that will release at least some level of moisture into the closed hold, to safeguard the life of the wood! So simple, yet so critical, if Yo Yo is to be believed...and I think he knows what he's talking about!
Moisture has been in abundance this spring. The sun has been very shy here lately, even allowing for the expected level of springtime showers and cloudy days. For three weeks in a row, we have not seen much of the sun between Monday and Friday, almost as if it has packed up its rays into a briefcase and gone off to work in some other part of the world each work week...lucky Brazil! By the third week it starts to get to you...even a person like myself who doesn't mind "the soft weather" as the Irish call it. But after a long stretch, you realize it has begun to affect you...tired of the gloom and damp, you long for the dry, sparkling days that surely must be coming! Listening to Yo Yo Ma got me to thinking about how natural, biological even, this reaction is. If his beloved cello, created of a fine wood and string skeleton, but which doesn't possess a brain or central nervous system, can be so affected by weather, then we human instruments all the more so!
Until some savant at M.I.T. devises the purse-sized "sunshine model" of the cello moisture tube, we must grin and bear the weather...whether the weather be too much rain or too much sun...it's a problem either way, as we know. In the meantime, it's up to us to take proper care of our instrument and learn what strings to pluck and notes to play to make us grin and make our days musical, whatever the weather. (I find lots of tea and a great book really helps!)
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
I happened to catch the last few minutes of an interview with the great cellist Yo Yo Ma on the radio this morning. He was talking about how much the weather and air conditions affect his instrument, being made of wood and thus, highly sensitive to such things. He explained to the interviewer how, in winter, great care must be taken to protect his cello or it could result in the "death of the instrument" as he called it. During winter, his cello is stored in a special "hold" which protects it from the very dry winter air, because if the cello were exposed to this for great periods of time its wood would become very brittle and eventually split! The specially crafted hold prevents this, but sometimes an additional and more simple method is employed, just to be on the safe side of musical morbidity rates. A little rubber tube, with holes in it, is placed into the hold along with the cello. Inside the tube is a sponge that is damp and that will release at least some level of moisture into the closed hold, to safeguard the life of the wood! So simple, yet so critical, if Yo Yo is to be believed...and I think he knows what he's talking about!
Moisture has been in abundance this spring. The sun has been very shy here lately, even allowing for the expected level of springtime showers and cloudy days. For three weeks in a row, we have not seen much of the sun between Monday and Friday, almost as if it has packed up its rays into a briefcase and gone off to work in some other part of the world each work week...lucky Brazil! By the third week it starts to get to you...even a person like myself who doesn't mind "the soft weather" as the Irish call it. But after a long stretch, you realize it has begun to affect you...tired of the gloom and damp, you long for the dry, sparkling days that surely must be coming! Listening to Yo Yo Ma got me to thinking about how natural, biological even, this reaction is. If his beloved cello, created of a fine wood and string skeleton, but which doesn't possess a brain or central nervous system, can be so affected by weather, then we human instruments all the more so!
Until some savant at M.I.T. devises the purse-sized "sunshine model" of the cello moisture tube, we must grin and bear the weather...whether the weather be too much rain or too much sun...it's a problem either way, as we know. In the meantime, it's up to us to take proper care of our instrument and learn what strings to pluck and notes to play to make us grin and make our days musical, whatever the weather. (I find lots of tea and a great book really helps!)
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Wednesday's Woes "Barley and Glass Salad"
It was so delicious! I know barley doesn't exactly conjure up thoughts of culinary excellence or excitement...to me, if falls into that vague class of food stuffs that we imagine being cooked into some beige, glue-like gruel and served from a rusty cauldron to the orphans in a Dicken's novel, right? Well, on Monday afternoon I transformed this pauper's porridge into a side dish that even Giada DiLaurentis would proudly serve! With a little effort (and fresh herbs!), even the humblest of things can be turned into something simply lovely. A great and basic revelation to any cook!
Cooking barley requires patience...in fact, barley could give tea a run for its money in the steeping category! Like tea, it requires only the infusion of water, but it needs about 40 minutes of your watchful eye and spoon. But I was determined to make this delicious and healthy sounding recipe...it would be worth it. And I was right. An hour or so later, I had a very large bowl of beautifully fluffy barley, quinoa grains, scallions, Bermuda onion, crumbled goat cheese, olive oil, lemons, pepper, and best of all....the biggest and best leaves of mint and parsley that I had snipped from my herb pots...the crowning touch! It was really good...try it! But if you do, be sure to leave one ingredient out!
After dinner, I was unloading the dishwasher and was holding three glasses on their way to their shelf. One slipped from my hand and landed on the counter, literally exploding exacting in front of the bowl of my blissful barley salad! I have never seen a glass break like this...there were some large pieces, but mostly it looked as if someone had been cutting diamonds on my formica! One and two karat crystals and a fine diamond dust were everywhere! Then the realization...my salad! Ruined! All my work, time, and those perfect mint leaves...wasted, all wasted! And my plan to have it all set for lunch and dinner for the next couple days...smashed to smithereens! I was so mad, mad at myself for rushing (per usual) and trying to carry too much. I heard that old adage ringing in my head, "Haste Makes Waste!" I felt a sudden and irrational hatred for Ben Franklin, or whoever it was who said that. Then another voice chimed in...mine! Here's what it said: "Whoa! This is most definitely NOT a woe! Stop it!" I'd like to say that it ended right there...but honestly, there were a couple minutes of complaining and whining and real regret before I let it go. We are such stubborn creatures! (For a minute, I even considered keeping it, giving it a good look over and taking my chances!) I had to silently talk myself into accepting that my salad was not to be saved. I looked at the strewn glass and that is what talked me out of it...it made me think of how quickly anything can be shattered. I thought of how many people that day, as I happily stirred my barley, had the peace and "the plan" of their lives shattered in one way or another...the loss of a loved one, the loss of a job, the dreaded bad news from a doctor...all of which can happen in the second that it takes to drop a glass. And it isn't just Wednesday that's full of woe...this happens to people everyday, everywhere. We know it does, we just don't think about it enough.
So, yes...WHOA! Stop bemoaning the loss of your salad, your plan, I scolded myself. It was crystal clear....how could I complain? I couldn't. And while it doesn't make for a very humorous story now, it did RE-teach me a lesson that we must constantly try to master! To me, it's an essential ingredient to the great Recipe of Life.
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
It was so delicious! I know barley doesn't exactly conjure up thoughts of culinary excellence or excitement...to me, if falls into that vague class of food stuffs that we imagine being cooked into some beige, glue-like gruel and served from a rusty cauldron to the orphans in a Dicken's novel, right? Well, on Monday afternoon I transformed this pauper's porridge into a side dish that even Giada DiLaurentis would proudly serve! With a little effort (and fresh herbs!), even the humblest of things can be turned into something simply lovely. A great and basic revelation to any cook!
Cooking barley requires patience...in fact, barley could give tea a run for its money in the steeping category! Like tea, it requires only the infusion of water, but it needs about 40 minutes of your watchful eye and spoon. But I was determined to make this delicious and healthy sounding recipe...it would be worth it. And I was right. An hour or so later, I had a very large bowl of beautifully fluffy barley, quinoa grains, scallions, Bermuda onion, crumbled goat cheese, olive oil, lemons, pepper, and best of all....the biggest and best leaves of mint and parsley that I had snipped from my herb pots...the crowning touch! It was really good...try it! But if you do, be sure to leave one ingredient out!
After dinner, I was unloading the dishwasher and was holding three glasses on their way to their shelf. One slipped from my hand and landed on the counter, literally exploding exacting in front of the bowl of my blissful barley salad! I have never seen a glass break like this...there were some large pieces, but mostly it looked as if someone had been cutting diamonds on my formica! One and two karat crystals and a fine diamond dust were everywhere! Then the realization...my salad! Ruined! All my work, time, and those perfect mint leaves...wasted, all wasted! And my plan to have it all set for lunch and dinner for the next couple days...smashed to smithereens! I was so mad, mad at myself for rushing (per usual) and trying to carry too much. I heard that old adage ringing in my head, "Haste Makes Waste!" I felt a sudden and irrational hatred for Ben Franklin, or whoever it was who said that. Then another voice chimed in...mine! Here's what it said: "Whoa! This is most definitely NOT a woe! Stop it!" I'd like to say that it ended right there...but honestly, there were a couple minutes of complaining and whining and real regret before I let it go. We are such stubborn creatures! (For a minute, I even considered keeping it, giving it a good look over and taking my chances!) I had to silently talk myself into accepting that my salad was not to be saved. I looked at the strewn glass and that is what talked me out of it...it made me think of how quickly anything can be shattered. I thought of how many people that day, as I happily stirred my barley, had the peace and "the plan" of their lives shattered in one way or another...the loss of a loved one, the loss of a job, the dreaded bad news from a doctor...all of which can happen in the second that it takes to drop a glass. And it isn't just Wednesday that's full of woe...this happens to people everyday, everywhere. We know it does, we just don't think about it enough.
So, yes...WHOA! Stop bemoaning the loss of your salad, your plan, I scolded myself. It was crystal clear....how could I complain? I couldn't. And while it doesn't make for a very humorous story now, it did RE-teach me a lesson that we must constantly try to master! To me, it's an essential ingredient to the great Recipe of Life.
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Tuesday's Trifles "Chocolate Cake is NOT Trifle!"
Well, obviously, you are likely thinking...chocolate cake bears no resemblance whatsoever to trifle. What I really ought to say is, "Chocolate Cake is not A Trifle." What I really mean is, chocolate cake (not even the whole cake, but just a wedge!) can be so much more than a small thing, much more than what it simply is on the plate...a fleeting pleasure of a few bites of satisfying sweetness. Let me explain.
I have a friend who I count as one of my treasured friendships; she is someone I am so happy to have met in my life. We have great laughs together, we share our frustrations, our disappointments, we complain about things, we talk about The World and how crazy it is and we give each other the beautiful gift of buoyancy...we buoy each other up. Last week my friend turned 92! When I visited her in her own home on her birthday, I apologized because I came bearing only flowers, but no homemade cake which I know she enjoys. My day had not gone as planned, I explained, and the cake did not get baked, but I told her I would bring her some on Saturday. I asked her what kind she preferred...chocolate or yellow? She told me without a second's hesitation (the way the very young tell you what they want) that she would like "chocolate cake with vanilla frosting." Saturday came and I sent my husband off to deliver the birthday cake (wedge) down the street. Yesterday, I called my friend to say hello and to ask her how she liked the cake. You would think I'd given her the world (crazy though it is!) on a plate under foil! She thanked me profusely, she told me how good it was and how much she enjoyed it and how much she appreciated it. Such a small thing, such a small effort, a small gesture...to me. To her, it was so much and was returned to me with such abundance of gratitude.
"It's all relative," we casually say, and it's true. "Less is More" is another one we throw around. Talking to my friend got me thinking about the relativity scale between smallness and abundance, and how life and age force us to slide from one end of the scale to another. Hopefully, as we grow older we do indeed grow wiser and learn that abundance is not the "be all and end all" and that, in fact, abundance is often disguised in smallness. Abundance is not a very good teacher, either, if the lesson is how to truly value and appreciate any thing. Anyone who has ever spent Christmas morning with children has witnessed this lesson in action. No one gift can be truly appreciated, explored, or enjoyed when there is so much more to rip open! When we have abundance of any thing, it is so hard (perhaps humanly impossible) to keep that sense of value. When you've got that full gallon of milk in the fridge, you don't stress over the milk left behind in the glass or splashed carelessly on the counter quite so much as the morning when you've got to eek out enough for everyone's breakfast and you're running low. When you've got that full box of kleenex, you just whip through them without really using them as well as you could, which you wouldn't do if you were getting down to the end with no backup in the linen closet. It's just how we are...and The World sure doesn't help...we are so encouraged to want more of everything! But my older and wiser friend knows better. She knows that having the wedge of chocolate cake is every bit as good as having the entire cake...and eating it too! She knows, too, that the friendship with which the cake was served is so much more satisfying than those mouthfuls of chocolate and sugar, good as they are.
We should all be blessed with older friends. They have so much to teach us, without even trying, but just by their being. Old age necessarily means "down sizing," and this is so much more than just moving to a condo and pitching the extra furniture. Old age means losing some things, a lot actually, in every area of life. But, I think, the truly wise old person can find the gain inside the loss. Like my friend, that person can deeply appreciate the value and the greatness in less, in their "downsized" Slice of Life, perhaps even more than they did when they had "so much more." It's not easy, but it can be done and can deliver abundant joy...on a plate! It would probably work with English Trifle, too!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Well, obviously, you are likely thinking...chocolate cake bears no resemblance whatsoever to trifle. What I really ought to say is, "Chocolate Cake is not A Trifle." What I really mean is, chocolate cake (not even the whole cake, but just a wedge!) can be so much more than a small thing, much more than what it simply is on the plate...a fleeting pleasure of a few bites of satisfying sweetness. Let me explain.
I have a friend who I count as one of my treasured friendships; she is someone I am so happy to have met in my life. We have great laughs together, we share our frustrations, our disappointments, we complain about things, we talk about The World and how crazy it is and we give each other the beautiful gift of buoyancy...we buoy each other up. Last week my friend turned 92! When I visited her in her own home on her birthday, I apologized because I came bearing only flowers, but no homemade cake which I know she enjoys. My day had not gone as planned, I explained, and the cake did not get baked, but I told her I would bring her some on Saturday. I asked her what kind she preferred...chocolate or yellow? She told me without a second's hesitation (the way the very young tell you what they want) that she would like "chocolate cake with vanilla frosting." Saturday came and I sent my husband off to deliver the birthday cake (wedge) down the street. Yesterday, I called my friend to say hello and to ask her how she liked the cake. You would think I'd given her the world (crazy though it is!) on a plate under foil! She thanked me profusely, she told me how good it was and how much she enjoyed it and how much she appreciated it. Such a small thing, such a small effort, a small gesture...to me. To her, it was so much and was returned to me with such abundance of gratitude.
"It's all relative," we casually say, and it's true. "Less is More" is another one we throw around. Talking to my friend got me thinking about the relativity scale between smallness and abundance, and how life and age force us to slide from one end of the scale to another. Hopefully, as we grow older we do indeed grow wiser and learn that abundance is not the "be all and end all" and that, in fact, abundance is often disguised in smallness. Abundance is not a very good teacher, either, if the lesson is how to truly value and appreciate any thing. Anyone who has ever spent Christmas morning with children has witnessed this lesson in action. No one gift can be truly appreciated, explored, or enjoyed when there is so much more to rip open! When we have abundance of any thing, it is so hard (perhaps humanly impossible) to keep that sense of value. When you've got that full gallon of milk in the fridge, you don't stress over the milk left behind in the glass or splashed carelessly on the counter quite so much as the morning when you've got to eek out enough for everyone's breakfast and you're running low. When you've got that full box of kleenex, you just whip through them without really using them as well as you could, which you wouldn't do if you were getting down to the end with no backup in the linen closet. It's just how we are...and The World sure doesn't help...we are so encouraged to want more of everything! But my older and wiser friend knows better. She knows that having the wedge of chocolate cake is every bit as good as having the entire cake...and eating it too! She knows, too, that the friendship with which the cake was served is so much more satisfying than those mouthfuls of chocolate and sugar, good as they are.
We should all be blessed with older friends. They have so much to teach us, without even trying, but just by their being. Old age necessarily means "down sizing," and this is so much more than just moving to a condo and pitching the extra furniture. Old age means losing some things, a lot actually, in every area of life. But, I think, the truly wise old person can find the gain inside the loss. Like my friend, that person can deeply appreciate the value and the greatness in less, in their "downsized" Slice of Life, perhaps even more than they did when they had "so much more." It's not easy, but it can be done and can deliver abundant joy...on a plate! It would probably work with English Trifle, too!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Monday, May 21, 2012
Monday's Musings "Man's Best Friend Teaches a Lesson"
Saturdays are for steeping, yes, but sometimes Saturdays are for weeding...and not for writing. So, Mondays sometimes are for apologies...I am sorry to say that weeding left no time for writing a new post on Saturday.
I have news for you....weeding is a good thing and much underrated! If you luck out and the day you designate to do this typically dreaded job turns out to be a The Perfect Spring Day, then weeding is even better! Such was my good luck on Saturday. After throwing in the first load of laundry, I happily took myself outdoors to attack the daunting chore of weeding three very large planting beds that had not been weeded since last spring, and in places it was hard to discern the plant from the weed! With my tools, water, cell phone, and towel for kneeling all arranged, and with iPod firmly planted in my ears, I set about my task. As I yanked out my first cluster of clover (hundreds would follow) thriving beautifully underneath the lovely bleeding heart plant, I wondered just who was it who decided exactly what deserves elevation to plant classification and what deserves condemnation as the lowly weed? The first of many musings. Weeding is really good for letting your mind wander and steep...it is one of the few things left that fairly demands our full attention. Its necessarily slow pace requires us to "keep down with it" and toss our normal frenetic pace aside like an unwanted dandelion. Well, if you properly approach the task, which I had not, but fortunately Frawley would show me the way.
After about a half hour of pulling and yanking, while singing along with my iPod, and interrupted by the occasional phone call, text message, and a dash inside to switch the laundry, Frawley, my 9 year old chocolate lab came out to keep me company. Settling just a few feet from me and directly on the soil that I had freshly turned over, Frawl immediately showed me the error of my ways! She sniffed for a bit, obviously enjoying the fragrant soil and the thousands of things she was likely smelling in it (she's addicted to scents, too!) She happily accepted my pats and then she just simply laid there...enjoying herself, and me, and everything! I returned to my task, but looked over at her occasionally. When a breeze rose up, I saw her lift her head to listen keenly and she moved it back and forth as if she was savoring the feel of it on her face, under her ears. When several times a small blackbird swooped over us and landed in the yard before taking off again, she happily watched, without budging. She turned every so often to listen to the birdsong and see where it came from. And when I picked up my red towel to begin a new section, she patiently relocated herself closer and settled into the dirt again with a growly, contented sigh. I returned a text message or two, ran in to start a second load, hummed and pumped my brain with notes and lyrics, chased random thoughts across my mind, and yanked and pulled, fretting over my pace and my prospects of getting it done in time. But it was Frawl who was "getting it done" by her silent example. (We would be wise to always remember how example is profoundly more effective speech.) Without saying a word, Frawl taught me how to do it better...how to be completely present to my task. Forget the phone, yank out the earbuds, the hell with the timer on the laundry and on the day and simply BE in the task, lift up my head once in a while, and enjoy what was to be enjoyed! Thanks, Frawl!
Later on when I left her to empty my bucket of weeds into the barrel out front, I returned to find Frawl waiting for me...sunning herself on my red beach towel! Maybe we're not so different after all! Or, she's got a really good sense of irony and humor!?
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Saturdays are for steeping, yes, but sometimes Saturdays are for weeding...and not for writing. So, Mondays sometimes are for apologies...I am sorry to say that weeding left no time for writing a new post on Saturday.
I have news for you....weeding is a good thing and much underrated! If you luck out and the day you designate to do this typically dreaded job turns out to be a The Perfect Spring Day, then weeding is even better! Such was my good luck on Saturday. After throwing in the first load of laundry, I happily took myself outdoors to attack the daunting chore of weeding three very large planting beds that had not been weeded since last spring, and in places it was hard to discern the plant from the weed! With my tools, water, cell phone, and towel for kneeling all arranged, and with iPod firmly planted in my ears, I set about my task. As I yanked out my first cluster of clover (hundreds would follow) thriving beautifully underneath the lovely bleeding heart plant, I wondered just who was it who decided exactly what deserves elevation to plant classification and what deserves condemnation as the lowly weed? The first of many musings. Weeding is really good for letting your mind wander and steep...it is one of the few things left that fairly demands our full attention. Its necessarily slow pace requires us to "keep down with it" and toss our normal frenetic pace aside like an unwanted dandelion. Well, if you properly approach the task, which I had not, but fortunately Frawley would show me the way.
After about a half hour of pulling and yanking, while singing along with my iPod, and interrupted by the occasional phone call, text message, and a dash inside to switch the laundry, Frawley, my 9 year old chocolate lab came out to keep me company. Settling just a few feet from me and directly on the soil that I had freshly turned over, Frawl immediately showed me the error of my ways! She sniffed for a bit, obviously enjoying the fragrant soil and the thousands of things she was likely smelling in it (she's addicted to scents, too!) She happily accepted my pats and then she just simply laid there...enjoying herself, and me, and everything! I returned to my task, but looked over at her occasionally. When a breeze rose up, I saw her lift her head to listen keenly and she moved it back and forth as if she was savoring the feel of it on her face, under her ears. When several times a small blackbird swooped over us and landed in the yard before taking off again, she happily watched, without budging. She turned every so often to listen to the birdsong and see where it came from. And when I picked up my red towel to begin a new section, she patiently relocated herself closer and settled into the dirt again with a growly, contented sigh. I returned a text message or two, ran in to start a second load, hummed and pumped my brain with notes and lyrics, chased random thoughts across my mind, and yanked and pulled, fretting over my pace and my prospects of getting it done in time. But it was Frawl who was "getting it done" by her silent example. (We would be wise to always remember how example is profoundly more effective speech.) Without saying a word, Frawl taught me how to do it better...how to be completely present to my task. Forget the phone, yank out the earbuds, the hell with the timer on the laundry and on the day and simply BE in the task, lift up my head once in a while, and enjoy what was to be enjoyed! Thanks, Frawl!
Later on when I left her to empty my bucket of weeds into the barrel out front, I returned to find Frawl waiting for me...sunning herself on my red beach towel! Maybe we're not so different after all! Or, she's got a really good sense of irony and humor!?
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Friday, May 18, 2012
Friday's Foibles "Come in Rain, Snow, Sleet or Hail...Just Don't Come Early!!"
Happy Friday! As I said last week, Fridays make a lot of things a whole lot more forgivable. It's almost like the day has a "soft lense effect" or a one-beer buzz! Fridays make those foibles that we inevitably encounter in ourselves, in others, and in our individual worlds, more laughable and thus, more tolerable.
I will confess to one of my many foibles...I am a procrastinator. World class. Evidence is everywhere...the piles on the dining room table, the weekend bag waiting to be unpacked, the toilet waiting to be scrubbed, the laundry waiting to be done, the overdue phone call to make, and the card waiting to be sent. It is a "charming eccentricity" that I wrestle with on a daily basis. (Many of you reading this are nodding your heads!) In a romantic way (i.e. a nice sounding excuse) I like to think that this flaw of mine is the necessary "sister" of steeping, thinking things through, and smelling the roses. Because, you know...the laundry and the toilets do not smell like roses! And console myself with my theory that if you get everything on your list done in one day, then you didn't take time to think one great thought or appreciate any part of your day. Not the way I choose to live...so I guess I live with the piles, laundry, tote bags and toilets!
The "victims" of my procrastination are various and rotating...I can't seem to defy the laws of physics and hover all those balls in the air at once! For example, I do have three positively blindingly clean bathrooms today, but there has to be a victim left by the roadside of the week. This week's victim is an innocent little 4 x 6 pink envelope...a get well card that I purchased over a week ago and in a timely fashion, that has languished on my desk ever since. I actually wrote it out it after a couple days, but then had to get the address from my mother...that task cost me a few days, my fault not my mother's! Then the attempts to mail it began...and thus began the "clash of the foibles." For the last three days, my mailman has foiled my attempts due to his irritating and new found timeliness. When you learn to rely on the foibles of others and then, they go and improve themselves (the nerve!), it can really throw you off! Each afternoon I have hoped to get my card into his hands when he lumbers up my driveway sometime in his usual "relaxed" schedule between 5:00 and 7:00 pm, like someone walking the plank to certain death! Instead, my trusty mailman-come-lately has this week climbed the pinnacle of postal efficiency, dropping my bundle of mail on my porch somewhere between 2:00 and 4:00! And, as circumstance had it, I happened each time to be either not at home or in the bowels of the house slaying the laundry monster. Each day that I have gone to put the envelope on the porch for him to collect, I find my curled up, banded bundle of mail there, as if it's smiling and laughing up at me! "Foiled again!" it taunts. "Try again tomorrow!"
I can tolerate my mailman's foibles...in fact I have come to depend on them. I don't care that he often delivers the wrong mail, that at Christmastime he often delivers just before I retire to bed, or that he drives like a maniac, or that he never has a positive word to say, but I simply cannot tolerate him coming early! Today, I will succeed...I'm going to take my mail "to the mountain"...well, the post office!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Happy Friday! As I said last week, Fridays make a lot of things a whole lot more forgivable. It's almost like the day has a "soft lense effect" or a one-beer buzz! Fridays make those foibles that we inevitably encounter in ourselves, in others, and in our individual worlds, more laughable and thus, more tolerable.
I will confess to one of my many foibles...I am a procrastinator. World class. Evidence is everywhere...the piles on the dining room table, the weekend bag waiting to be unpacked, the toilet waiting to be scrubbed, the laundry waiting to be done, the overdue phone call to make, and the card waiting to be sent. It is a "charming eccentricity" that I wrestle with on a daily basis. (Many of you reading this are nodding your heads!) In a romantic way (i.e. a nice sounding excuse) I like to think that this flaw of mine is the necessary "sister" of steeping, thinking things through, and smelling the roses. Because, you know...the laundry and the toilets do not smell like roses! And console myself with my theory that if you get everything on your list done in one day, then you didn't take time to think one great thought or appreciate any part of your day. Not the way I choose to live...so I guess I live with the piles, laundry, tote bags and toilets!
The "victims" of my procrastination are various and rotating...I can't seem to defy the laws of physics and hover all those balls in the air at once! For example, I do have three positively blindingly clean bathrooms today, but there has to be a victim left by the roadside of the week. This week's victim is an innocent little 4 x 6 pink envelope...a get well card that I purchased over a week ago and in a timely fashion, that has languished on my desk ever since. I actually wrote it out it after a couple days, but then had to get the address from my mother...that task cost me a few days, my fault not my mother's! Then the attempts to mail it began...and thus began the "clash of the foibles." For the last three days, my mailman has foiled my attempts due to his irritating and new found timeliness. When you learn to rely on the foibles of others and then, they go and improve themselves (the nerve!), it can really throw you off! Each afternoon I have hoped to get my card into his hands when he lumbers up my driveway sometime in his usual "relaxed" schedule between 5:00 and 7:00 pm, like someone walking the plank to certain death! Instead, my trusty mailman-come-lately has this week climbed the pinnacle of postal efficiency, dropping my bundle of mail on my porch somewhere between 2:00 and 4:00! And, as circumstance had it, I happened each time to be either not at home or in the bowels of the house slaying the laundry monster. Each day that I have gone to put the envelope on the porch for him to collect, I find my curled up, banded bundle of mail there, as if it's smiling and laughing up at me! "Foiled again!" it taunts. "Try again tomorrow!"
I can tolerate my mailman's foibles...in fact I have come to depend on them. I don't care that he often delivers the wrong mail, that at Christmastime he often delivers just before I retire to bed, or that he drives like a maniac, or that he never has a positive word to say, but I simply cannot tolerate him coming early! Today, I will succeed...I'm going to take my mail "to the mountain"...well, the post office!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Thursday's Thoughts "The Scent of a Memory"
Okay, I admit it. I am addicted to scent. No, really, I am. It would be more correct to say I am addicted to scents (plural)...all kinds of wonderful, delicious, invigorating, comforting scents! To me, scents rank way up there with words, tea, friends, a great laugh, and a great meal.... Life's simple, yet greatest pleasures. At least to me...but yesterday, something made me realize that I must not be alone in my "affliction" (not to be confused with woe, mind you!)
Yesterday, sifting through the junk mail, I came across a flyer/coupon from (can I say this in a blog?) the Yankee Candle Company. I was expecting to see their usual summer line of products, "Beach Towel," "Laundry on the Line," "Fourth of July," (ok, I just made these names up!) but instead the coupon pictured four new scented candles from their "Man Candles" line! No joke...there's "Riding Mower," "First Down," "2 x 4" and "Man Town." (those are the real names, in case you want to get them). My first reaction was "Now there's a job I could sink my teeth into...naming new candles!" Then, I realized what my receiving this coupon meant...our natural love of scent is so strong, and apparently so profitable, that now we are getting the men in on the act! (Or at least the women who buy the gifts for the men...I already know I am buying "Riding Mower" for one man in my life!) So strong is our attraction to scent that now, in addition to perfumes, colognes, aftershaves, room sprays, scented drawer liners, aroma sticks, we now add "Man Candles" to the list! This selling of smelling is very telling, indeed. I guess there's a big market of fellow addicts out there just waiting to strike a match and settle in to watch the PGA on Sunday, while enjoying the wafting aroma of "Riding Mower" along with a cold beer.
So it's good to know I am not alone! My love affair with scent is long and serves almost like music serves as soundtrack to a movie...scent is the "smell track" of my life! Certain smells, whether they are from food, nature, or a bottle from the counter at Macy's, are associated with certain times in my life. Scents, much like a great piece of music or book, can transport us instantly to a time, place, or mood indelibly stored in the warehouse of our memory. I hope you have experienced this pleasure many times in your life. For me, the hot aroma of beef broth simmering will always take me back to childhood weekends when my father would make beef vegetable soup, the scent of pine needles baking in the sun returns me to lazy summer days outside, the potent air of Chanel No. 5 reminds me of mother's night out, the original, burgundy-bottled Ralph Lauren perfume twirls back time to college dances and winter nights, Inis takes me to wind-scented days in Ireland where I first discovered "my signature scent," and now there is my new favorite scent by a company called Tokyo Milk. It's called Gin and Rosewater and honest to God, it's like having a Beefeater and tonic with lime splashed on your neck (which may or may not bring back fond memories for you!) The list of reminiscents goes on and on for me....brown bread baking in the oven, the steaming pavement after a summer shower, the spicy smolder of a winter fire, the entire spring sniffed a bloomed hyacinth, the comfort of a simmering pot of chicken soup...I don't have enough room to name them all! All I know is that just one whiff can whisk you back and allow you to revisit, even just for that instant, a place, time, or emotion that you carry inside you. Powerful stuff this scent! A week or so ago, after I had spritzed my neck with Burberry, my daughter remarked when I walked by her, "You know, that smell of Burberry or Inis is always going to remind me of being little and you and Dad getting ready to go out for the night." The torch had been passed. What a joyful moment...to know that years from now after I'm gone, one breath of those aromas can somehow bring me back, bring her back, to that time when, like a beautiful scent, our lives mingled so sweetly.
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
one whiff...whisks...
Okay, I admit it. I am addicted to scent. No, really, I am. It would be more correct to say I am addicted to scents (plural)...all kinds of wonderful, delicious, invigorating, comforting scents! To me, scents rank way up there with words, tea, friends, a great laugh, and a great meal.... Life's simple, yet greatest pleasures. At least to me...but yesterday, something made me realize that I must not be alone in my "affliction" (not to be confused with woe, mind you!)
Yesterday, sifting through the junk mail, I came across a flyer/coupon from (can I say this in a blog?) the Yankee Candle Company. I was expecting to see their usual summer line of products, "Beach Towel," "Laundry on the Line," "Fourth of July," (ok, I just made these names up!) but instead the coupon pictured four new scented candles from their "Man Candles" line! No joke...there's "Riding Mower," "First Down," "2 x 4" and "Man Town." (those are the real names, in case you want to get them). My first reaction was "Now there's a job I could sink my teeth into...naming new candles!" Then, I realized what my receiving this coupon meant...our natural love of scent is so strong, and apparently so profitable, that now we are getting the men in on the act! (Or at least the women who buy the gifts for the men...I already know I am buying "Riding Mower" for one man in my life!) So strong is our attraction to scent that now, in addition to perfumes, colognes, aftershaves, room sprays, scented drawer liners, aroma sticks, we now add "Man Candles" to the list! This selling of smelling is very telling, indeed. I guess there's a big market of fellow addicts out there just waiting to strike a match and settle in to watch the PGA on Sunday, while enjoying the wafting aroma of "Riding Mower" along with a cold beer.
So it's good to know I am not alone! My love affair with scent is long and serves almost like music serves as soundtrack to a movie...scent is the "smell track" of my life! Certain smells, whether they are from food, nature, or a bottle from the counter at Macy's, are associated with certain times in my life. Scents, much like a great piece of music or book, can transport us instantly to a time, place, or mood indelibly stored in the warehouse of our memory. I hope you have experienced this pleasure many times in your life. For me, the hot aroma of beef broth simmering will always take me back to childhood weekends when my father would make beef vegetable soup, the scent of pine needles baking in the sun returns me to lazy summer days outside, the potent air of Chanel No. 5 reminds me of mother's night out, the original, burgundy-bottled Ralph Lauren perfume twirls back time to college dances and winter nights, Inis takes me to wind-scented days in Ireland where I first discovered "my signature scent," and now there is my new favorite scent by a company called Tokyo Milk. It's called Gin and Rosewater and honest to God, it's like having a Beefeater and tonic with lime splashed on your neck (which may or may not bring back fond memories for you!) The list of reminiscents goes on and on for me....brown bread baking in the oven, the steaming pavement after a summer shower, the spicy smolder of a winter fire, the entire spring sniffed a bloomed hyacinth, the comfort of a simmering pot of chicken soup...I don't have enough room to name them all! All I know is that just one whiff can whisk you back and allow you to revisit, even just for that instant, a place, time, or emotion that you carry inside you. Powerful stuff this scent! A week or so ago, after I had spritzed my neck with Burberry, my daughter remarked when I walked by her, "You know, that smell of Burberry or Inis is always going to remind me of being little and you and Dad getting ready to go out for the night." The torch had been passed. What a joyful moment...to know that years from now after I'm gone, one breath of those aromas can somehow bring me back, bring her back, to that time when, like a beautiful scent, our lives mingled so sweetly.
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
one whiff...whisks...
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Wednesday's Woes "What Is and Is Not a Woe"
Wednesday...hurdle day, hump day, or the day "full of woe," as the old nursery rhyme claimed (or was that just for the child born on Wednesday...at any rate, it doesn't sound good!) Whatever you call Wednesdays, it seems a good day to try to be a bit lighter, to look on the bright side, and to hurl ourselves over that hurdle as gracefully and easily as humanly possible!
Besides, "woe" is an awfully strong word...and for good reason, I think. To be "full of woe" like the pitiful child in the nursery rhyme, means to be full of deep misery, affliction, suffering, or grief. For most of us, thank God, this is not the stuff of your average Wednesday! Woe, woeful, and woe-be-gone are words for dramatic, powerful emotions, and not of the happy variety! Think Scarlett O'Hara with hand to her forehead, beseeching her maid whose name now escapes me, "What'll I do, Where'll I go?" Or, more recently but no less dramatically, think Bridget Jones in her opening scene flailing a spent wine glass and TV remote while belting out "All By Myself," poignantly and hysterically bemoaning her lonely Londoner existence. Now that's woe! Woe is not the stuff of our adolescent days which had us proclaiming "Life stinks!" "My life is over!" With the passage of time, that stuff that seemed so dreadful (even woeful) back then, wouldn't even warrant a deep sigh or a rise in blood pressure here in "grown up world." True woe is the stuff of life that we, hopefully, cannot even imagine in our young years and that we learn to discern as the years travel through us and strengthen us. If you witness someone carrying on horribly about something that is definitely not "woe-worthy," then it's a sure bet they have not yet experienced real woe. Real woes put that pit in your stomach, that catch in your breath, that pounding in your chest, and those hot tears in your eyes. The good news about woe is...it's very democratic. All of us have felt woe, or will feel woe, before we walk off this stage...one of Life's few guarantees. In fact, Life is one, hopefully long tutorial on what I'll call the "Wisdom of Woe," learning from experience what is and is not a woe, and how to handle both.
So, on Wednesdays let's try to get through the day and be on the lookout for, and in fact welcome, those little glitches, disappointments, irritants, frustrations and recognize them for what they are...not woes! Let's huff and puff, grumble and grouse...but at day's end, perhaps offer a thank you that this was the worst Life tossed at us today. If something makes a good story a few hours or days later, it is not worthy of the "woe" award..but, in retrospect, it may be worthy of a laugh! And laughter is one of the few things that wields any power against being woeful. To this end, on future Wednesdays, I will endeavor to relay some of my "not woes" that, while frustrating or maddening at the time, have since mellowed their way into humorous memory.
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Wednesday...hurdle day, hump day, or the day "full of woe," as the old nursery rhyme claimed (or was that just for the child born on Wednesday...at any rate, it doesn't sound good!) Whatever you call Wednesdays, it seems a good day to try to be a bit lighter, to look on the bright side, and to hurl ourselves over that hurdle as gracefully and easily as humanly possible!
Besides, "woe" is an awfully strong word...and for good reason, I think. To be "full of woe" like the pitiful child in the nursery rhyme, means to be full of deep misery, affliction, suffering, or grief. For most of us, thank God, this is not the stuff of your average Wednesday! Woe, woeful, and woe-be-gone are words for dramatic, powerful emotions, and not of the happy variety! Think Scarlett O'Hara with hand to her forehead, beseeching her maid whose name now escapes me, "What'll I do, Where'll I go?" Or, more recently but no less dramatically, think Bridget Jones in her opening scene flailing a spent wine glass and TV remote while belting out "All By Myself," poignantly and hysterically bemoaning her lonely Londoner existence. Now that's woe! Woe is not the stuff of our adolescent days which had us proclaiming "Life stinks!" "My life is over!" With the passage of time, that stuff that seemed so dreadful (even woeful) back then, wouldn't even warrant a deep sigh or a rise in blood pressure here in "grown up world." True woe is the stuff of life that we, hopefully, cannot even imagine in our young years and that we learn to discern as the years travel through us and strengthen us. If you witness someone carrying on horribly about something that is definitely not "woe-worthy," then it's a sure bet they have not yet experienced real woe. Real woes put that pit in your stomach, that catch in your breath, that pounding in your chest, and those hot tears in your eyes. The good news about woe is...it's very democratic. All of us have felt woe, or will feel woe, before we walk off this stage...one of Life's few guarantees. In fact, Life is one, hopefully long tutorial on what I'll call the "Wisdom of Woe," learning from experience what is and is not a woe, and how to handle both.
So, on Wednesdays let's try to get through the day and be on the lookout for, and in fact welcome, those little glitches, disappointments, irritants, frustrations and recognize them for what they are...not woes! Let's huff and puff, grumble and grouse...but at day's end, perhaps offer a thank you that this was the worst Life tossed at us today. If something makes a good story a few hours or days later, it is not worthy of the "woe" award..but, in retrospect, it may be worthy of a laugh! And laughter is one of the few things that wields any power against being woeful. To this end, on future Wednesdays, I will endeavor to relay some of my "not woes" that, while frustrating or maddening at the time, have since mellowed their way into humorous memory.
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Tuesday's Trifles "Great Things Come in Little Packages"
In case you haven't caught on by now, I love words! I especially love words that sound like what they mean, that when you speak or write them, they immediately bring their meaning alive. Oh sure, there are the obvious ones, like "boom," "buzz," and "hiss." But, I love the ones that are more subtle than that. "Trifle" is one of these words. Say it aloud...doesn't it just sound like the first definition you'll find in your Webster's? Trifle: something of little value or importance; an insignificant amount. Can't you just hear Lord Grentham of Downton Abbey fame dismissing a member of his staff with a curt, "In future, do not bother me with such a trifle." If you drag out your old linen-clothed Webster's like mine (or consult a dictionary on The Web) and look up "trifle," you'll find that it actually has a slew of meanings, mostly related to its primary one, but it is a word rich with possibility. In fact, trifle is also a verb, meaning to speak with an intent to mock or jest. Now, can't you hear the late Lady Diana pleading with Prince Charles, "Don't trifle with me, Charles!!" In short, "trifle" is not to be trifled with! (nor was Lady Diana, by the way!)
And speaking of those clever Brits...they borrowed the word, brilliantly turned it on its head, and gave it to one of their famous desserts, the "English Trifle," a delicious and enormous stacked confection of sponge cake, jams, berries, and gobs of fresh whipped cream! I love what the Brits did with this...so tongue in cheek, as if eating 3,000 calories and 88 grams of sugar and fat is nothing to fret over...it's just a trifle of a dessert, afterall!! And I love how they attached such richness, lushness, and satisfaction to a word whose every other definition relates to littleness, insignificance, triviality and frivolousness.
It makes me wonder if we can plant our tongue firmly in cheek and do the same? Can we remind ourselves of the old saying in the title above and welcome all the little packages in our lives, and open them with this greatness in mind? I suspect our days would be richer if we could taste every seemingly "trifle" of happiness, humor, or satisfaction that comes our way as an enormous, satisfying, enjoyable spoonful of life, dripping with cream and berries! Turn those happy trifles on their heads and elevate them to be the great things they are! The parking place where and when you need it, the great laugh someone gives you, the item you need for dinner on sale, the unexpected smile from a stranger... I know it sounds trite, even trivial, but believe me, I'm not trifling with you!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
In case you haven't caught on by now, I love words! I especially love words that sound like what they mean, that when you speak or write them, they immediately bring their meaning alive. Oh sure, there are the obvious ones, like "boom," "buzz," and "hiss." But, I love the ones that are more subtle than that. "Trifle" is one of these words. Say it aloud...doesn't it just sound like the first definition you'll find in your Webster's? Trifle: something of little value or importance; an insignificant amount. Can't you just hear Lord Grentham of Downton Abbey fame dismissing a member of his staff with a curt, "In future, do not bother me with such a trifle." If you drag out your old linen-clothed Webster's like mine (or consult a dictionary on The Web) and look up "trifle," you'll find that it actually has a slew of meanings, mostly related to its primary one, but it is a word rich with possibility. In fact, trifle is also a verb, meaning to speak with an intent to mock or jest. Now, can't you hear the late Lady Diana pleading with Prince Charles, "Don't trifle with me, Charles!!" In short, "trifle" is not to be trifled with! (nor was Lady Diana, by the way!)
And speaking of those clever Brits...they borrowed the word, brilliantly turned it on its head, and gave it to one of their famous desserts, the "English Trifle," a delicious and enormous stacked confection of sponge cake, jams, berries, and gobs of fresh whipped cream! I love what the Brits did with this...so tongue in cheek, as if eating 3,000 calories and 88 grams of sugar and fat is nothing to fret over...it's just a trifle of a dessert, afterall!! And I love how they attached such richness, lushness, and satisfaction to a word whose every other definition relates to littleness, insignificance, triviality and frivolousness.
It makes me wonder if we can plant our tongue firmly in cheek and do the same? Can we remind ourselves of the old saying in the title above and welcome all the little packages in our lives, and open them with this greatness in mind? I suspect our days would be richer if we could taste every seemingly "trifle" of happiness, humor, or satisfaction that comes our way as an enormous, satisfying, enjoyable spoonful of life, dripping with cream and berries! Turn those happy trifles on their heads and elevate them to be the great things they are! The parking place where and when you need it, the great laugh someone gives you, the item you need for dinner on sale, the unexpected smile from a stranger... I know it sounds trite, even trivial, but believe me, I'm not trifling with you!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Monday, May 14, 2012
Monday's Musings "Just Start"
Mondays can be really tough, can't they? A daunting battle, in the truest sense! The weekend is behind you, there are too many days until the next one, and so many things to be done in between. Sound familiar? If your house is anything like mine, it can take half (or all!) of Monday just to get yourself sorted out...to get back to where you were on Friday, when through that mysterious Friday magic, "all was right with the world." Monday is altogether a different creature. Those forgivable foibles, jobs not fully finished, and overlook-able piles of clutter just seem like friendly company, a familiar part of your life's landscape on Friday. Come Monday, though, they haunt, tease, glare at you! With a good enough imagination, one could almost here them taunting "We're still here! Do you have What it Takes?"
So, here's my approach to Mondays...just start. From putting that reluctant toe onto the floor to tackling the detritus of a family weekend all over the house, that has to be my mantra. (A bracing cup of tea or coffee is highly recommended first, but just start.) It simply must be a head down, don't look at the big picture, keep going, stay focused, take no prisoners and for God's sake take no phone calls, kind of campaign! Just start...gather the garments of weekend battle strewn in each room, close closets, drawers and cabinets, grab shoes, jackets, and various "weapons" of sport. Assess your various "theaters" of action...which bathroom must be done and which can wait? Brave the laundry "war room" and launch that attack...resist the "what is truly dirty and what was just tossed on the floor?" quagmire. Just load the cannon and fire! Retreat swiftly to the main battlefields...empty wastebaskets, remove empty toilet paper tubes and install the fresh roll that was set on top of the empty one (and don't ask why? Don't!). March through, knowing that task after task brings you one step closer to victory or at least an important advance against the enemy!
I have a ring with these words engraved on it "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." This is what Mondays are all about. It may also help to remind ourselves of those three little famous words (no, not those three little words, but the ones brought to us by Nike), "Just do it!" Mondays are a "Whatever you need to tell yourself" proposition. So, just start and oh, by the way....to you mothers out there in the blogosphere...Happy Mother's Day! Soldier on!
Mondays can be really tough, can't they? A daunting battle, in the truest sense! The weekend is behind you, there are too many days until the next one, and so many things to be done in between. Sound familiar? If your house is anything like mine, it can take half (or all!) of Monday just to get yourself sorted out...to get back to where you were on Friday, when through that mysterious Friday magic, "all was right with the world." Monday is altogether a different creature. Those forgivable foibles, jobs not fully finished, and overlook-able piles of clutter just seem like friendly company, a familiar part of your life's landscape on Friday. Come Monday, though, they haunt, tease, glare at you! With a good enough imagination, one could almost here them taunting "We're still here! Do you have What it Takes?"
So, here's my approach to Mondays...just start. From putting that reluctant toe onto the floor to tackling the detritus of a family weekend all over the house, that has to be my mantra. (A bracing cup of tea or coffee is highly recommended first, but just start.) It simply must be a head down, don't look at the big picture, keep going, stay focused, take no prisoners and for God's sake take no phone calls, kind of campaign! Just start...gather the garments of weekend battle strewn in each room, close closets, drawers and cabinets, grab shoes, jackets, and various "weapons" of sport. Assess your various "theaters" of action...which bathroom must be done and which can wait? Brave the laundry "war room" and launch that attack...resist the "what is truly dirty and what was just tossed on the floor?" quagmire. Just load the cannon and fire! Retreat swiftly to the main battlefields...empty wastebaskets, remove empty toilet paper tubes and install the fresh roll that was set on top of the empty one (and don't ask why? Don't!). March through, knowing that task after task brings you one step closer to victory or at least an important advance against the enemy!
I have a ring with these words engraved on it "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." This is what Mondays are all about. It may also help to remind ourselves of those three little famous words (no, not those three little words, but the ones brought to us by Nike), "Just do it!" Mondays are a "Whatever you need to tell yourself" proposition. So, just start and oh, by the way....to you mothers out there in the blogosphere...Happy Mother's Day! Soldier on!
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Saturdays are for Steeping
So, it's time for a word about "steeping." Okay, a few words. For those of you who are non-tea drinkers (and you know who you are) it is a word that may be foreign to you. That's alright...just one of your charming foibles! But even if you have never enjoyed a cup of well prepared tea, perhaps you have at least prepared one for someone else. We are all familiar with the process...and if you don't think it's a process then, trust me, you've never had a good cuppa! If you are the "fill a mug, throw in a Salada bag, and nuke it for 60 seconds" type, then you're going to have to use your imagination here.
If you read the instructions on most boxes or tins of tea, you will see something like these words: "Warm your teapot or mug, bring fresh, cold water to a rolling boil, pour over tea bag or leaves, and let steep for 3 to 5 minutes, to taste." Fairly simple, right? It is. Yet, it contains some of the best words of wisdom we could ever bring to our lives. Actually, it's all right there in those two little words..."let steep....let steep." If you think of our lives as a pot of tea, you'll see how important these words become. If we are the teabag, or better yet, loose leaves, and Life is the water at a rolling boil, then we understand that the whole point is about the two meeting and then, steeping. Our mind, soul, spirit is the tea, and our life experience is the water poured over us, making us who we are, day after day, cup after cup. And Life does hit us at a "rolling boil" most of the time, doesn't it? That is why the steeping is so very important, and why it makes the pot of tea richer, bolder, and hopefully, something savored! We are infused with Life--that is an unavoidable blessing. But whether or not, and for how long, we let ourselves be steeped in our lives is up to us.
Saturday is the day most likely to afford a few moments to steep--about your week, or any of the countless little moments that get you from one Saturday to the next. Even if you're not a tea drinker, take a few moments (even 3 to 5 minutes is better than none!) and let yourself steep. Let yourself slow down, be still, think, reflect---be steeped in the custom blend of your own life! It doesn't taste like anyone else's, and you are meant to sip and savor it's uniqueness. Go ahead, make a pot (or just a mug if you must) of tea...and while you're waiting for your tea to steep, think about how a few minutes can be so important, and so good for us! Like a comforting cup of well prepared tea! Enjoy!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
So, it's time for a word about "steeping." Okay, a few words. For those of you who are non-tea drinkers (and you know who you are) it is a word that may be foreign to you. That's alright...just one of your charming foibles! But even if you have never enjoyed a cup of well prepared tea, perhaps you have at least prepared one for someone else. We are all familiar with the process...and if you don't think it's a process then, trust me, you've never had a good cuppa! If you are the "fill a mug, throw in a Salada bag, and nuke it for 60 seconds" type, then you're going to have to use your imagination here.
If you read the instructions on most boxes or tins of tea, you will see something like these words: "Warm your teapot or mug, bring fresh, cold water to a rolling boil, pour over tea bag or leaves, and let steep for 3 to 5 minutes, to taste." Fairly simple, right? It is. Yet, it contains some of the best words of wisdom we could ever bring to our lives. Actually, it's all right there in those two little words..."let steep....let steep." If you think of our lives as a pot of tea, you'll see how important these words become. If we are the teabag, or better yet, loose leaves, and Life is the water at a rolling boil, then we understand that the whole point is about the two meeting and then, steeping. Our mind, soul, spirit is the tea, and our life experience is the water poured over us, making us who we are, day after day, cup after cup. And Life does hit us at a "rolling boil" most of the time, doesn't it? That is why the steeping is so very important, and why it makes the pot of tea richer, bolder, and hopefully, something savored! We are infused with Life--that is an unavoidable blessing. But whether or not, and for how long, we let ourselves be steeped in our lives is up to us.
Saturday is the day most likely to afford a few moments to steep--about your week, or any of the countless little moments that get you from one Saturday to the next. Even if you're not a tea drinker, take a few moments (even 3 to 5 minutes is better than none!) and let yourself steep. Let yourself slow down, be still, think, reflect---be steeped in the custom blend of your own life! It doesn't taste like anyone else's, and you are meant to sip and savor it's uniqueness. Go ahead, make a pot (or just a mug if you must) of tea...and while you're waiting for your tea to steep, think about how a few minutes can be so important, and so good for us! Like a comforting cup of well prepared tea! Enjoy!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Friday, May 11, 2012
WELCOME to "Friday's Foibles"
foible |'foibel|
noun
1 a minor weakness or eccentricity in someone's character: they have to tolerate each other's little foibles.
Okay, here's the thing about the word "foible." It's one of those deceivingly lovely sounding words that is uttered by a tongue dripping with sarcasm and accompanied by a covert roll of the speaker's eyes. Haven't you done this? Your voice is saying, "Oh, honey, it's just one of your lovable little foibles." But, your eyes are saying, "That drives me absolutely crazy about you and I know you're going to be like that for the rest of your (my) life! (What was I thinking?)"
This little grenade of a word has its roots in Old French, and takes its spelling from the French word "fieble," which we know as "feeble." It's already not sounding so nice anymore, right? Now consider the English words you'll find in your Thesaurus under "foible"---failing, fault, weakness, flaw, defect, blemish, and worst of all, kink!!! Well, leave it to the French to clothe an insult so beautifully...a criticism hurled straight at the core of your being and yet, sidles up to you in a stunning Chanel suit! The word "foible" sounds so innocuous, suave even, you may even mistake it for a compliment if you're not careful. But make no mistake...YOU have at least one foible, as so does everyone you know! Feel better?
Rest assured, all our foibles do have a couple redeeming, irresistible qualities. First, they are universally recognizable and relatable--the foundation for all great and healing humor. Second, chalk it up to the word's seductive French sound, but we actually love foibles in the folks in our lives! Admit it, we do! We don't really want perfection...perfection is boring, never mind elusive! We really want one, good, juicy flaw, defect, or quirk that we can sink our teeth into and complain about and roll our eyes at for the rest of our lives! And foibles aren't limited to just people. Our days, weeks, our lives have their own foibles; some are forever, some fleeting. By the time you greet each Friday of your life, you have met more than one foible, trust me. Sometimes you meet it with a wince, clenched jaw, or knitted brow...but sometimes you meet it with a laugh, smirk, and a surprised shake of your head. Foibles are Life's thorn on the rose, the flaw in the diamond...we can't help but look at them (sort of like that Chanel suit!) So...it's Friday, go ahead, look at them! They must be there for a reason. We are always happier on Fridays, so what better day to face our foibles, roll our eyes and laugh!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
foible |'foibel|
noun
1 a minor weakness or eccentricity in someone's character: they have to tolerate each other's little foibles.
Okay, here's the thing about the word "foible." It's one of those deceivingly lovely sounding words that is uttered by a tongue dripping with sarcasm and accompanied by a covert roll of the speaker's eyes. Haven't you done this? Your voice is saying, "Oh, honey, it's just one of your lovable little foibles." But, your eyes are saying, "That drives me absolutely crazy about you and I know you're going to be like that for the rest of your (my) life! (What was I thinking?)"
This little grenade of a word has its roots in Old French, and takes its spelling from the French word "fieble," which we know as "feeble." It's already not sounding so nice anymore, right? Now consider the English words you'll find in your Thesaurus under "foible"---failing, fault, weakness, flaw, defect, blemish, and worst of all, kink!!! Well, leave it to the French to clothe an insult so beautifully...a criticism hurled straight at the core of your being and yet, sidles up to you in a stunning Chanel suit! The word "foible" sounds so innocuous, suave even, you may even mistake it for a compliment if you're not careful. But make no mistake...YOU have at least one foible, as so does everyone you know! Feel better?
Rest assured, all our foibles do have a couple redeeming, irresistible qualities. First, they are universally recognizable and relatable--the foundation for all great and healing humor. Second, chalk it up to the word's seductive French sound, but we actually love foibles in the folks in our lives! Admit it, we do! We don't really want perfection...perfection is boring, never mind elusive! We really want one, good, juicy flaw, defect, or quirk that we can sink our teeth into and complain about and roll our eyes at for the rest of our lives! And foibles aren't limited to just people. Our days, weeks, our lives have their own foibles; some are forever, some fleeting. By the time you greet each Friday of your life, you have met more than one foible, trust me. Sometimes you meet it with a wince, clenched jaw, or knitted brow...but sometimes you meet it with a laugh, smirk, and a surprised shake of your head. Foibles are Life's thorn on the rose, the flaw in the diamond...we can't help but look at them (sort of like that Chanel suit!) So...it's Friday, go ahead, look at them! They must be there for a reason. We are always happier on Fridays, so what better day to face our foibles, roll our eyes and laugh!
Thanks for reading. Let it steep!
Thursday, May 10, 2012
So here it is...my first blog, my first offering of "The Daily Steep." Perhaps someone, somewhere will ponder it over a cup of tea...and just let it steep. Or, perhaps no one will ever read it but me. No matter...it's still the first, and firsts are important things!
Firsts come in all forms and we all have them! There is absolutely no escaping them. Starting with that first breath, we embark on a lifetime of firsts! First steps, first words, first impressions, first friendships, first loves, first jobs....Some firsts we must do alone and some we can do only with help. Some we remember vividly and some we'd rather forget, but they all shape us, become us, one by one by one. Some are moments of exhilaration, some terror, and some--these are the best firsts--are an unexplainable alchemy of both! Remember those first few yards pedaled without training wheels (hands sweating and knees bleeding), that first day of school (knot in the stomach and perfectly packed pencil case in hand), that first kiss (which way do I tilt and how long do I stay like that)? Those firsts that make you take a deep breath and make you hear your heart beat in your ears are the ones that often unfold into the great moments of your life! If we never take first anything, we may as well not bother living. Don't fear them, don't avoid them, just live them...they don't have to be done perfectly, just done. They are life's necessary, brave moments. Necessarily Brave...that is what firsts are!
So here is my "first first" in quite some time. My first words as a "Blogger"...how strange a word! It doesn't suit me...one of those poorly tailored words. How can it relate at all to anything to do with ideas, musings, words, letters, pen, paper...the things I am used to and love. Yet, strange as this seems to be writing to no one--or just to me--it is still good to be making a first. Firsts, even in the middle of one's life, return you to those bleeding knees and perfect pencil cases and racing hearts...to being prepared and taking chances. Necessary, Brave, Good. A toast to Firsts!
Thanks for reading! Let it steep.
Firsts come in all forms and we all have them! There is absolutely no escaping them. Starting with that first breath, we embark on a lifetime of firsts! First steps, first words, first impressions, first friendships, first loves, first jobs....Some firsts we must do alone and some we can do only with help. Some we remember vividly and some we'd rather forget, but they all shape us, become us, one by one by one. Some are moments of exhilaration, some terror, and some--these are the best firsts--are an unexplainable alchemy of both! Remember those first few yards pedaled without training wheels (hands sweating and knees bleeding), that first day of school (knot in the stomach and perfectly packed pencil case in hand), that first kiss (which way do I tilt and how long do I stay like that)? Those firsts that make you take a deep breath and make you hear your heart beat in your ears are the ones that often unfold into the great moments of your life! If we never take first anything, we may as well not bother living. Don't fear them, don't avoid them, just live them...they don't have to be done perfectly, just done. They are life's necessary, brave moments. Necessarily Brave...that is what firsts are!
So here is my "first first" in quite some time. My first words as a "Blogger"...how strange a word! It doesn't suit me...one of those poorly tailored words. How can it relate at all to anything to do with ideas, musings, words, letters, pen, paper...the things I am used to and love. Yet, strange as this seems to be writing to no one--or just to me--it is still good to be making a first. Firsts, even in the middle of one's life, return you to those bleeding knees and perfect pencil cases and racing hearts...to being prepared and taking chances. Necessary, Brave, Good. A toast to Firsts!
Thanks for reading! Let it steep.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
My First Blog Post
The Daily Steep is offered to any soul in need of a laugh, something to contemplate, or a comforting thought. My posts will follow a daily themed schedule:
Monday's Musings
Tuesday's Trifles
Wednesday's Woes
Thursday's Thoughts
Friday's Foibles
Saturday Morning's Steeping
Otherwise, I will post sporadically upon any topic or event when the spirit moves!
Monday's Musings
Tuesday's Trifles
Wednesday's Woes
Thursday's Thoughts
Friday's Foibles
Saturday Morning's Steeping
Otherwise, I will post sporadically upon any topic or event when the spirit moves!
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