tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57350936001895561782024-03-19T21:39:43.407-07:00the sacred ordinaryand the ordinary ordinaryDianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-33789741457975130822012-02-22T04:37:00.000-08:002012-02-27T04:38:15.623-08:00Beauty as Spiritual Practice<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Sacred Ordinary is on pilgrimage for the next 40 days.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">You can come along on the journey at:</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <a href="http://beautyasspiritualpractice.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/ash-wednesday-buddha-2/">Beauty as Spiritual Practice</a></span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-58690818445469092022012-02-18T07:48:00.000-08:002012-02-20T07:40:46.875-08:00Going Away and Coming Home<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When your shirt gets a stain, you should take it off and apply a product called Stain Stick. If the stain is really bad, people who know about these things will have solutions. Solutions in which the shirt can be soaked to regain its original fresh quality.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">That's what Mel and I did recently. We soaked ourselves in a solution of surreal aquamarine. We took our eyeballs out of their crusty grey sockets and dipped them in three shades of diamond-studded Carribean blue. We filled our ears with the sound of lapping waves and chiming tree frogs.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In Antigua our room had no clock. We told time by the rising and setting of the sun. We knew it was breakfast time when we heard the distant clatter of plates, lunch time when we smelled fish or lasagna, and cocktail time all day long. No duties were required of us, and the only reason to leave a beach chair was to get another book to read. (or another rum drink)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Antigua is a meditation on color. We gazed on popsicle blue, snow-cone blue, Paralandra blue, the not-to-be-believed blueish green famous from 1970s backyard swimming pools. Purple-throated hummingbirds drink from red bougainvillaea blossoms. Yellow-throated warblers sip from our orange juice glasses. Little lizards lounge with us in the sun, and mango trees bear fruit in the middle of the cemetery.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Unlike Dorothy in Oz, I do not want to go home to Kansas.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When we return to National Airport, our ears are clogged and we're struggling at the late hour to understand baggage claim directions. It's unnaturally cold and the car must be found from a distant lot. I am desperate to get to bed by 2 am on account of early morning appointments.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then the usual route home shocks me with beauty. We drive past the Washington Monument, and Memorial Bridge's brilliant night view of the Jefferson Memorial. Kennedy Center is mirrored in the Potomac River, and we pass our beloved Washington Cathedral.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm surprised more by the gentle joy of familiar street names. Upton, Macomb, Van Ness. The sweetness of knowing that Jeanne, Linda or Andrea live in the houses we pass, and contentment as we park in front of the stone and stucco house with red numbers on the door, and come home.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-59040642928103045902012-01-21T06:51:00.000-08:002012-01-21T06:51:46.999-08:00The Monkey Bowl<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I knew I'd find it eventually.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The monkey bowl is tiny - the perfect size for a spoonful of nuts or maybe three olives. Nine years ago I bought it for my mother. It was the perfect present for someone surrounded by a lifetime of precious chotchkies. She could have a little snack from it while reading.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The monkey theme is imbedded in our mother-daughter psyche. There used to be a photograph of my teenaged mother in short pajamas. Her long leg is exposed, and she's holding a toy monkey - the same one I played with as a four-year-old visiting grandparents. I stared at the picture, trying to discern if this person, as I had been told, used to be a child. I wish I still had the monkey and the beguiling photograph.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When the time came to empty my mother's house, I painstakingly combed through several lifetimes of cherished items, separating them into things to donate, share or keep. The monkey bowl came home with us, along with four carloads of albums, dishes, tablecloths, candle sticks, lamps, rugs and many many plants.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">If you would like some plants, I will arrange an honorarium in my mother's memory for each one you take. Attic items are also available.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have an Attic Rule, that is sometimes kept. Every time something is brought to the upper story warehouse, something must be brought down for charity. When I manage to bring down an armful of things I am promised a good karma day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Today I climbed the steep stairs to get the tea kettle for our trip and the hat box caught my eye. The only reason for hanging onto this old fashioned box was out of deference to its journey from my grandmother's Ohio attic to my mother's Maryland one. I didn't want to break the chain.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I peaked in the box, I found a straw hat that might be nice at the beach. I pulled out the hat and found, safe and sound, the sweet monkey bowl, which had traveled safe and sound to its Veazey Street home.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-70201660579704249022012-01-09T08:33:00.000-08:002012-01-09T16:49:15.708-08:00Drawing Part Two<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This morning I stacked dishes on the drainboard. Along with the dormant orchid was a tower of coffee mugs, blender parts, salad spinner, coffee carafe. I didn't put any of it away because it looked marvelous as it was. A still life of exposed roots, cutting board and cups. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Beginning this January I'm doing a small sketch most days. I've wanted to do this for a long time, but had a list of reasons not to. (I suck at drawing. I'll do it in the summer. It's a selfish way to spend spare time. People will think I'm insane. Um. Paper and pencils are expensive.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then I came up with a list of reasons to draw:</span><br />
<br />
<ol><li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I want to.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Lorna says sometimes we need to do those things we do badly in order to become whole.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I want to create a sketch diary of my life.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I can't figure out how the camera on my cell phone works. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I want to draw as spiritual practice.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">I want to become so good at drawing that I can learn to paint.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">And fill my home with beautiful paintings.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">And sell them.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">And become famous.</span></li>
</ol><span style="font-family: Arial;">Some of these are more compelling than others, so it took the last one to give myself permission to draw.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> 10. Analyzing angles and perspective would exercise my aging brain.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I feel increasing creakiness in my gray matter. Words that won't come. Forgotten names and places. An event my husband swears happened years ago. Instead of doing Sudokos or learning Spanish I will map out distances, observe shadows and learn shading. Drawing will be an anti-dementia investment so that my family will have fewer years of chin wiping and nursing home visitations. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I will combine Cerebral Core Work with Spiritual Practice.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Today I'm sketching a wedge of cheese and practicing gratitude for all I have, offering prayer that no one goes hungry, animals will not be mistreated, the earth will not be poisoned with pesticides and humans will not deform the atmosphere. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I give myself permission to do all of this with a #2 pencil and scrap of paper.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-61886522384621448332012-01-06T12:07:00.000-08:002012-01-06T12:14:23.718-08:00Christmas Future and Existential Questions<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to feel that I was going to live to be 100. After all, some people live that long. I eat right, exercise, and have not only loving relationships but good cholesteral. I thought I might go back to school. Get a PhD in something other than music just so I wouldn't end up being 92 and bored. But I don't like writing papers, following teachers' instructions or writing checks for $200,000, so I reconsidered.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then my father died of a heart attack at 72 and my mother died of lung cancer at 69. They both had non-smoking, low fat, good exercise life styles.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm 52. It's possible I have 20 years more to live. or 17. or 40. or 1. Maybe I have just this month or just this minute. It makes a difference! I like to plan ahead.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I like planning ahead so much that at any given time our refrigerator has two weeks worth of menus posted under a magnet. Menus carefully designed to use the fresh produce from the refrigerator, rotate frozen items, and follow up with specific leftovers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Just this morning I made my shopping list for <a href="http://www.bigoven.com/recipe/39386/Black-Cake-Traditional-Cake-From-Saint-Vincent">Christmas Black Cake</a>. That would be for Christmas 2012. I called La Cuisine to determine if they will have glace cherries and citron in the summer, or if I should stock them now since the fruit traditionally marinates in rum and wine for six months. This recipe comes via cookbook author, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Home-Cooking-Kitchen-Vintage-Contemporaries/dp/0307474410/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1325880705&sr=8-1">Laurie Colwin</a>, who writes,</span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">"There is fruitcake and there is black cake, which is to fruitcake what Brahms piano quartets are to Muzak. Its closest relatives are plum pudding and black bun, but they are mere third cousins twice removed. Black cake, like truffles and vintage Burgundy, is deep, complicated, and intense. It is light and dense at the same time and demands to be eaten in a slow, meditative way."</blockquote><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">None of this answers my Big Existential Question about how long I will live and how to plan my life, but I certainly hope to make it to next Christmas!</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-40442116956847163242012-01-01T05:39:00.000-08:002012-01-09T04:23:45.449-08:00Happy New Year<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is an unofficial theory that how we spend our time on New Year's Eve and New Year's Day will set the tone for how we spend the year. i.e. eating healthy black eyed peas on January 1 encourages good eating habits.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I've long ago ruled out noisy parties and hangovers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This year's 48 hour menu includes:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Loving Family and Friends</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Nice Food and Drink</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Toasty Fire</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Challenging and Rewarding Work</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Music</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Writing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Books to Read</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yoga and Walking</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Giving and Receiving Gifts</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Can housework wait until 2013?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">How are you bringing in the New Year?</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-74474751294423534812011-12-30T13:22:00.000-08:002012-01-09T04:22:08.188-08:00Best Books of 2011<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Sacred Ordinary Best of 2011 Reading List. </span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These books were not published in 2011 - they are just the most splendidly written books that I happened to snuggle up with during the year. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">MEMOIR</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Here if You Need Me - Kate Braestrup</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <em>Moving recollections of the author's sensitive work as chaplain during search and rescue </em></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>operations for the Maine Warden Service.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">36 Views of Mount Fuji - Cathy N. Davidson</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <em>An armchair visit to Japan through an American writer's eyes.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Making Toast - Roger Rosenblatt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <em>A writer/grandfather accounts family life after the unexpected death of his daughter.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Broken Vessels - Andre Dubus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <em>see July post: <a href="http://thesacredordinary.blogspot.com/2011/07/woman-with-one-and-one-half-legs.html">The woman with one and one half legs</a></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Meditations from a Moveable Chair - Andre Dubus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <em>ditto above</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Truth and Beauty - Ann Patchett</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> <em>The story of her unusual relationship with Lucy Grealy</em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">FICTION</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Room - Emma Donoghue</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">State of Wonder - Ann Patchett</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Cutting for Stone - Abraham Verghese</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">POETRY</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Field - Lorna Cahall</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">BOOKS ON WRITING</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Writing Life - Annie Dillard</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Unless It Moves The Human Heart - Roger Rosenblatt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Memoir Project - Marion Roach Smith</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-34723431243133120122011-12-26T05:11:00.000-08:002011-12-26T13:31:32.751-08:00The Pain of Unloved Presents<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's difficult to disappoint our son with the wrong present. I don't think he ever expects to really like a present, so when something is truly a wrong match for him, he easily puts a positive spin on it by saying something like: </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Where did you find this?" or "It must have been expensive." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I, on the other hand, really enjoy a nice present and hope that my husband will surprise me with something soft or beautiful or will get me a pair of my favorite exercise pants. (He did.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Last birthday, my husband stunned me with corkscrew earrings. Corkscrews with levers, for opening lilliputian wine bottles. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Aren't they great?" He wants to know.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm stunned beyond lying.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"They're great."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Later he says, "I can tell that you don't like your earrings because you didn't say thank you."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"You think I don't like them?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">His words ring in my ears on Christmas morning when I open an elaborately decorated package from Bali. We have several Buddhas around the house and I'm guessing it's another quiet praying statue. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It's a wooden sculpture of a naked woman in cobra pose. Her buttocks is unusually round and large. Her breasts are sharply pointed. Her hands and feet are long and flat to support the form. She has a ponytail. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Right away I say it. "Thank you!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"I know you don't like it, but you'll learn to like it." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">He expects me to put it on display.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"You don't like it because you're not comfortable with your body."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I do not think this is the source of my feeling about the sculpture, and note that I have not claimed any dislike.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Our newly opened presents are scattered on the coffee table. Dry sausages, cashews, canned oysters, stuffed penguins, a camera pen, a book on Italian food, and the naked yogini that traveled all the way from Bali. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I remember the pain of not liking the corkscrew earrings. Melvin's pain that I did not like his gift. My pain that I hurt him because I didn't like his gift. I'm determined to make Melvin's feelings more important than a piece of wood. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I nestle the yogini near a plant on my chest of drawers. Admittedly, she is slightly behind the plant, but she is going to help me hold Melvin's joy and love thoughtfully and tenderly. She will remind me to practice gratitude for my wonderful and caring husband. I will visit the yogini every night when I take off my earrings and every morning when I put them on, and be thankful that at least they do not have wing lever corkscrews on them.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-82504119335170086732011-11-30T10:32:00.000-08:002011-12-02T09:43:22.030-08:00Drawing<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I ache to draw.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">At morning coffee (a ritual like Matins to be prayed each day, alone or in company) a still life image emerges. Drain Board with Dormant Orchid. Beside is an inverse coffee carafe and cone, a sharp knife, the glass jar my husband uses for his morning fiber, all framed by perfect taupe tiles. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I take out a pencil. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">That's when the proportions start laughing at me. I try drawing only the plant, but its leaves show their undersides and my pencil can't pry the knot apart. Instead of stamping my feet, I sigh and think about getting a teacher, but what if I STILL couldn't draw?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Trying to draw - even thinking about trying to draw - alters my perception. Now the man walking past with puffy skin is handsome in his complexity. The discarded cup in a pile of leaves is a play of texture. Even crumbs on my desk as I type are precious details that make this corner of the universe different from the rest.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But I still ache to draw.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-58512443587570926432011-10-27T06:31:00.000-07:002011-10-27T19:05:56.083-07:00Beer and the Afterlife<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My friend, <a href="http://blogsofbainbridge.typepad.com/bob/">Bob Erskine</a>, is a cartoonist and painter. A creative genius really. I asked him to inspire me with a blog topic.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">He suggested I. P. A. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">That would be India Pale Ale.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "You mentioned it last year in your <a href="http://40daysofyoga2011.blogspot.com/2011/03/taos-new-mexico.html">yoga blog</a>. Also, I see all of these empty IPA boxes in your livingroom."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oh, those boxes? The ones holding firewood. Surely Bob doesn't think I drank all that beer. Hasn't he heard of going to the liquor store just to ask for the empty boxes?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ok. I like beer. My current favorite is Triple Hop Belgian Style India Pale Ale. <a href="http://www.sierranevada.com/beers/torpedo.html">Sierra Nevada's Torpedo</a> is very good, as is <a href="http://flyingdogales.com/beers/#/Canis Major">Flying Dog's Raging Bitch </a>. (this refers to a dog of course) Both of these beers are <strong>To Die For </strong>on tap, but so far I've managed to hold the line against installing one in the refrigerator. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Which brings me to the topic of Beer and the Afterlife.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Many of us grew up singing, </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> In heaven there is no beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> That's why we drink it here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> And when we're gone from here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Well our friends will be drinking all the beer.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I realize now that is children's superstition, and put my faith in the likes of the early Irish Saint Brigid, who espouses a mature spirituality in her poem, The Heavenly Banquet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I would like to have the men of Heaven in my own house;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> with vats of good cheer laid out for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I would like to have the three Marys, their fame is so great,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I would like people from every corner of Heaven.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I would like them to be cheerful in their drinking;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I would like to have Jesus sitting here among them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I would like a great lake of beer for the King of Kings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> I would like to be watching Heaven's family </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> Drinking it through all eternity.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-12620609831568377352011-10-22T09:31:00.000-07:002011-10-22T09:50:34.635-07:00Woo-Woo Shopping<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We went to <a href="http://www.berkeleysprings.com/towntour/">Berkeley Springs, West Virginia</a> partly to "take the waters", but mostly as an excuse to get out of town. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Before our hydrotherapy appointment we browse the shops - buy earrings for Andrea and smell the soaps and incense. A Tibetan shop-owner welcomes us when we walk into <a href="http://www.himalayantrade.com/">Himalayan Handcrafts</a> where a table of singing bowls are on display. I ask him to play one for us. I've tried before with poor results. He plays and then teaches me to hold the mallet firmly with a pencil grip. To trace the rim lightly, and when the sound arrives, to circle slower. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Melvin has his credit card. I have mine as well, but am not good with extravagances. Besides, this woo-woo stuff embarrasses me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We play many bowls. I do not allow myself to look at prices. I only listen to the tones. Like a devil on my shoulder, my husband keeps asking, "Which one do you like?" Because I want them all, it becomes easy to justify buying just one. It's beginning to feel sinful not to buy three or seven. The tone from a small bowl penetrates my forehead. A different bowl vibrates my sternum. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I justify spending the money </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">as an investment in my health. A spiritual prophylactic. In the mornings I will meditate and the pure tone will help carry my prayer. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My only effort will be to trace the empty bowl.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-9743211906600537292011-10-12T11:24:00.000-07:002011-10-12T12:10:11.067-07:00Careful of the Quiet Ones<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I go into a co-worker's office. A quiet co-worker. The kind who only speaks when spoken to. A person who only opens his lips the minimum required to produce speech. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Taking the lead, I initiate small talk, inquiring about the co-worker's recent vacation. He and his family had taken a train trip to the <a href="http://www.americanroyal.com/Default.aspx?tabid=1">World Series of Barbecue</a> in Kansas City, Missouri. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "How was it?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Storm clouds pass the co-worker's brow. He shakes his head. It turns out national barbecue competitions are serious business. It's all about Watching Barbeque. And Watching Barbeque had not been the plan. All of that talent. All of that roasting meat. All of his family eating Subway sandwiches for lunch. The co-worker also confided that the the 30-hour train trip en famille has cured him of his love of train travel. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The story is painful and absurd. I say, "That would make a great blog post."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The quiet co-worker replies, "You're right. I've been a little dry lately. Maybe I'll use it." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">OMG</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This silent man has a blog. At first he didn't want to give me the URL.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "It must be naughty!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Well. It's not that naughty..... I let my parents read it."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://eighty-fourglyde.blogspot.com/">Josh</a> has been blogging since 2006. He wants to be a writer! He is a writer! (except for those otherwise occupied hours from 9 - 5.) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So quiet. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">All of those unspoken thoughts, shared only on the World Wide Web.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-48851025129849918982011-09-19T07:27:00.000-07:002011-09-19T17:16:12.027-07:00Going Away to College<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Girls are unloading funky desk lamps, personal cases of bottled water and plastic bins of colorful textiles. A family from New Jersey unloads a full-length mirror in store packaging. Another freshman has a floppy stuffed dog. Everyone carries plastic Target bags. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Here's what my son brought:</span><br />
<br />
<ul><li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Laptop, Laptop charger</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Telephone, Telephone charger</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Pocket Knife</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">1 sheet set, comforter and pillow (all white)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">0 Towel</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Leather Dopp Kit</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Industrial stapler (still in packaging)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Extra staples</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Allergy Medicine</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">2 Packs of Mechanical Pencils</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">0 Paper</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">0 Backpack</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">0 Coat</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">The Clothes on His Back</span></li>
</ul><span style="font-family: Arial;">There was also a sample pack of Woolite that I'd slipped in with his bedding.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "What's this?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Laundry detergent."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Oh, I don't use that."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The only thing harder than raising this strong-minded young person is having to say goodbye to him. I stink at goodbyes and have been dreading this one for 18 years.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">On the drive up to Philadelphia we listened to music - Appalachian Spring, Fanfare for a Common Man, and Wachet auf. I tried to engage David with stories of my own freshman year. I told him about Marie Claire Alain, the famous French organist who gave a master class for our department. To clarify her point about the chorale, "Wachet auf", she referred to my friend Gilbert's music score. The one on which he had written in all capitals, "WACK IT OFF!" Gilbert and I pressed our knuckles against our mouths, and hoped against hope that her English was not that good. It's hard to get a laugh out of my son, so I don't mind telling an off color story to achieve my goal. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It's also hard to make him cry.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then I told the story of my own moving-out. It was my 2nd moving out, or maybe my 3rd, but my parents would not let me take my rug - my own faux oriental rug that Elaine had given me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Why?" David wanted to know.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Because they knew if the rug was gone, that I would be gone."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">David and his father adore each other. They still snuggle together on the sofa and walk arm in arm down the street. I've been wondering how this separation would go for them. David spends the car trip giving his very best effort to make his father angry. Melvin doesn't understand the sneaky technic and keeps snapping at the bait. David clips his long toenails and fingernails, purposely scattering the leavings all over the car seat. David wants to stop at Starbucks for a Venti Hot Chocolate, but then he doesn't drink it. He buys a Roy Rogers bacon cheeseburger at the rest stop, but doesn't open it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Do you remember when rest stops were two outhouses, a picnic table, and maybe a pump for water? No gas station, no Quiznos, no Popeyes, no jewelry, head pillows, sunglasses or Starbucks mugs from all 50 states. Such crap. And still I want to buy things for David. Even though a small fortune is being spent on his college tuition (actually, it is not that small), I still want to buy presents. Snacks for the dorm. A stuffed penguin for company. Something to hang on the wall. Even sunglasses or a set of headphones would do. I want to give him things and make him happy. Thankfully, he saves me from myself by wanting nothing at all. Except, now and then, to spend a little time with me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Around Philadelphia, David starts reviewing the dormitory check-in information. "In order to obtain your dragon card (necessary for food and housing) students must present valid photo identification."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Did you bring your passport?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Nobody told me!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "JEESUS, DAVID!!!!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "This document is 20 pages long. They can't expect me to read all of that!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Parents launch into plans A B C and D of how to get the passport. Drive back to D.C.? Fed Ex? Call his uncle? Whose Responsibility Is This Anyway? Send David back by train to solve it himself? Parents disagree, sparring in the car's close quarters.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Why are you two getting so worked up? It's no big deal."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "$%&#$&!$!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Upon arrival, David insists on going to the dormitory first, even though it's two hours before his assigned check-in time and we want him to pay his tuition first and find out about the elusive dragon card ID problem. We drive up to Towers Dormitory - 15 floors of freshmen humanity. The street is heavily patrolled by security who hand us a yellow parking pass for 20 minutes and instruct us that we must unload in that amount of time or we WILL be ticketed. David slowly puts on his socks and then his sneakers, which he ties carefully, evening out the shoelace ends. He goes inside to inquire and shortly comes out with three ID bracelets. Smiling, he says, "Come on up!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">After installing David's modest belongings in his dorm, we leave him to address the administrative tasks. Later in the day we call to check in.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "How's it going?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Great! I paid my tuition. They gave me my dragon card."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Can we come over and give you a goodbye hug?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Sure! Duong is here."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When we get to the room, David and Duong are playing a computer game. Why did I think those things would disappear in college? Duong is not his roommate, but is from DC. They met for the first time one hour ago. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We visit for a short while, and then I say,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Mel and I need to go."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "OK. Bye."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "No. No. I want a hug."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "OK"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">6'3" comes over and I get my hug. Then I scurry out the door so they won't see me teary eyed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We leave David and Duong - two friends from the old country who have met in the new world.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-82889760096210666562011-09-17T08:03:00.000-07:002011-09-19T06:49:12.776-07:00Italian Night<span style="font-family: Arial;">Here's what we planned: Dinner at <a href="http://www.bucadibeppo.com/locations/default.aspx">Buca di Beppo</a>, a fun Italian restaurant our teenaged son discovered. Bocco di Beppo serves "family sized" entrees "family style". This is perfect. The adults can have a bottle of wine and the family can choose just one entree for three to share. My son said Buca di Beppo's cheesecake was the best, so that was part of the plan as well. After supper Mel and I would walk to a 7:30 movie and David would go home to meet his friend for their endless computer network project. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My son and I were meeting Mel at the restaurant. We left five minutes late. Then we went back home for an unlocked door. We exited the wrong end of the train and walked the wrong direction for five minutes before walking five more minutes in the correct direction. Once at the restaurant there was an obligatory "tour", part of the Buca di Beppo experience. We saw The Pope's Table, The Cardinal's Table, The Kitchen Table and a photo of the world's largest bowl of spaghetti with a man diving into it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Settling into our table, the family fun begins. My son wants both baked rigatoni and chicken parmesan. For an appetizer he wants either bruschetta or garlic cheese bread (I'm allowed to choose). I remind him about the "family sized portions", diplomatically stating my preference for one entree and one appetizer. SOMEONE suggests, "We can just bring home whatever we don't eat!" (The noodles with a dab of riccotta, mozzerella and sauce cost $16.95.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I resign myself. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Next on the menu is dinnertime conversation. My son can transform any bit of friendly chat from debate into a full-fledged argument. We dabble with various topics - chain restaurants vs. independent restaurants. We discuss different types of food and learn that "Jewish Food" is not possible because it's a religion and not a country. Following futile attempts to explain the diaspora, I sputter, "I think we should talk about something else."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The servings of garlic cheese bread, chicken parmesan and baked rigatoni come. We eat everything in sight, and I am left with double defeat. My caloric intake has been tipped ominously over the recommended daily allowance, and, worse than that, I was WRONG about the portion sizes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When the server asks if we would like dessert, my son says,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Three cheesecakes, please."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oh God.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "No. No. Two cheesecakes."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "I want you to try it. It's the best cheesecake."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "I want to try it too, but I just want one little bite."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "We can take it home!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "I don't want to take it home. In case you haven't noticed, one slice of cheesecake costs $11.45."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">All the while I'm holding two TWO fingers up for the server to see. Back in my day a piece of cheesecake cost 75 cents. I can't bear that it's $11.45. My bathroom scale can't bear that a slice of cheesecake weighs one pound. SOMEONE looks at the server and says,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Three cheesecakes."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I hate this family.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I insist the server bring the cake in a box.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The cheesecake arrives. I try a bite. It's good. It's better than the rigatoni and would have been a more satisfying main course. My son doesn't think it's as good as the last time he had it. He doesn't think it will taste good the next day. Melvin says, "I can bring it to work for lunch!" I forbid him to put it in my kitchen refrigerator. It must be kept in the one in the basement where I won't mistake it for my morning cereal. At this point we have a heated discussion about whose refrigerator it is and what rights I do and do not have about its contents.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My son's cell phone rings. It's his computer date. He's late for their appointment. It's now 7:40, ten minutes past when our movie, a 30 minute walk away, begins. I roll with it gracefully.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "I wasn't that interested in the movie anyway. Really I just wanted a nice dinner with you guys and to try this fun restaurant."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We go to the subway together. When the crowded train arrives, Melvin and I instinctively grab the only two available seats. One wordless glance from our son conveys: What am I, chopped liver that I don't get to sit down? If you really loved me you would not be so selfish and leave me standing in this aisle.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "Well, you could sit on my lap..."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Immediately, all 6'3" of his loving 18 year old man-self plops into my lap, his arm gently brushing the Wall Street Journal of the man sitting next to us. My son has a gynourmous head of fluffy red hair. He is not a person to overlook. Every passenger of the subway car directs his vision to their books or telephones or shoelaces as my son rests his head on top of mine. At the next stop some seats become available. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "There's a seat behind us. Would you like one?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> "No. I'm perfectly happy right here."</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-59099629505846914612011-09-12T07:10:00.000-07:002011-09-17T06:43:22.432-07:00Ellie in Yellow<span style="font-family: Arial;">I remember Ellie in yellow </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> hiding behind her mother's dress,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> afraid to come in for her piano lesson.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now she wears the high heeled shoes of a lady.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> She knows to keep them on for two hours</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> and no longer than that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She knows how to walk with sure steps</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> up to the big black piano</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> where she plays Beethoven.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Her hair is dark and longer than anyone's,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> and in her trim skirt and yellow blouse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> she gives her music to God and Everybody.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-54324975660159751852011-08-24T11:53:00.000-07:002011-08-24T11:53:18.960-07:00Man Mugged for Bible"Authorities are looking for three muggers who punched and kicked a Bronx man before stealing his Bible. The NYPD says the attack in Fordham Heights was captured on surveillance video."<br />
<br />
- From news servicesDianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-13821815621449725912011-08-11T05:44:00.000-07:002011-08-16T17:32:40.285-07:00Rose Gardens<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thirty years ago w</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">e walked in the rose garden at Hartford's <a href="http://www.elizabethpark.org/rose_garden.htm">Elizabeth Park</a>. It's an amazing place, but we thought it was ordinary because it was just, you know, the park. There was a pond where we fed leftover bread to ducks. We brought apples for a snack, and ate some bread if we were still hungry.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then we walked to his apartment and watched the shades of light change on the wall as the sun went down. We ate smoked gouda and canned asparagus on a wooden table with a red and white table cloth. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We have only rarely been apart from each other since that time. And when we are apart, we have a letter (remember those?) or a telephone call.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In 1981 we were just finishing college. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This fall our 18 year old son will begin college. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We wish him academic success, good friendships, gardens, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">and rose colored sunsets.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-23859497805284194222011-07-28T15:13:00.000-07:002011-07-31T03:29:38.883-07:00The Woman With One and One Half Legs<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My friend, Fern, teaches yoga for all abilities. She works with older people and not so old people who sometimes do yoga sitting in chairs and moving what they can. When they finish class, they've had good yoga practice filled with healthy, mindful breathing, stretching and loving attention for their bodies and souls. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The yoga studio I go to is more of the sexy-hot-pants variety. This is unfortunate since I'm more of the fitting-into-my-pants variety, but I work with what I've got.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This morning at sexy-hot-pants yoga we practiced in a circle, each student a spoke of the wheel facing center. Most were lithe young women. A few people taking the class were also teachers. I spot them not only by the quality of their movement but by the quality of their focus. They don't follow the teacher's lead, but follow their "inner teacher", noticing what their body requires in each moment. This morning that meant while the rest of the class was standing in Warrior I, one teacher/student was in a kneeling lunge.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This beautiful yogini had intensity and focus that made you notice. Her practice was 100%. She gave herself over to glory. She also made massive adaptations to her poses. That inspires me since the fitting-into-my-pants practice is such a work in progress. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The beautiful yogini wore black knee length shorts. One of her legs ended at the hem line. She was missing the portion of her leg from the knee down. A round plastic nub was at the bottom of her shorts. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I've been thinking a lot about legs and motion. Last week I happened across</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?hl=en&sugexp=bvre&xhr=t&q=meditations+from+a+movable+chair&cp=19&qe=bWVkaXRhdGlvbnMgZnJvbSBhIA&qesig=9sX6tFWIri37w9JJQf3G-g&pkc=AFgZ2tlqEDOlbmDoePq_2lhS_fJzX_QYcuww-pDzSQkMd83KBYLtgvqZpwXjlOCDL28af9ZmDbSmDFbn09hPxFRJVH-AXoVycw&rlz=1W1ADSA_en&biw=792&bih=394&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&wrapid=tljp1311948758890016&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=shop&cid=9455421279409935862&sa=X&ei=3L8yTt7KDoHVgQe7kaGODQ&sqi=2&ved=0CGMQ8wIwCQ#">"Meditations from a Moveable Chair"</a>, a beautiful collection of personal essays by Andre Dubus about his life as lover, father, person of faith, writer, and accident victim/survivor. One of his legs had been amputated and he could not use the other. Dubus so craved the feeling of his body in motion that each morning after daily Mass he wheeled his chair around the slopes of the church parking lot for an hour while singing at the top of his lungs. (he sang torch songs)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thank you, Andre Dubus for your beautiful essays. Thank you, teacher for your inspiration.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-72724345451807842732011-06-24T07:36:00.000-07:002011-07-07T05:24:00.309-07:00True Worship<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="t1" style="width: 494px;"><tbody>
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</div><div class="p2">Be a gardener. </div><div class="p2">Dig a ditch,</div><div class="p2">toil and sweat, </div><div class="p2">and turn the earth upside down</div><div class="p2">and seek the deepness</div><div class="p2">and water the plants in time.</div><div class="p2">Continue this labor</div><div class="p2">and make sweet floods to run</div><div class="p2">and noble and abundant fruits</div><div class="p2">to spring.</div><div class="p2">Take this food and drink</div><div class="p2">and carry it to God</div><div class="p2">as your true worship.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p2"> - Julian of Norwich</div><div class="p2"><br />
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</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Photo by Catherine Anderson</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-5765020764354688192011-05-16T09:20:00.000-07:002011-05-17T10:50:22.330-07:00Sacred Objects<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The structural engineer declared our house sound. He also gently suggested the slight sag in our bedroom floor could be eased by lightening the attic load. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mel and I both want to clean out the attic which is stuffed with old life vests, holiday mugs, a turn table, 2 Monopoly sets, a penguin lamp, a wooden duck, a food grinder, 60s T.V. trays, and much much more.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yesterday I learned that Laurie, whose baby was due last Wednesday, did not have a rocking chair, and so I was very happy to pull ours out of the attic for a worthy cause. Mel and I bought the chair when our son was just a few weeks old, and since he was the orneriest non-sleeper, he and I spent MANY hours in it - him nursing and me reading novels, or just kissing and sniffing his head.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I didn't tell Laurie, but there is a little milk stain on the chair. How could I give the rocker to a stranger when it had this precious mark that had passed between my son's mouth and my body? Laurie and I were both happy with the exchange - she for getting a free chair and me for giving the sacred artifact to someone I hold in affection. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The little guy that I used to rock in the chair is going away to college this fall, and I still kiss his head when I have a chance, now through a massive red afro. And I still give it a little sniff sometimes as well.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-20062609672198401582011-03-28T05:50:00.000-07:002011-04-15T16:44:53.860-07:0040 Days of Yoga<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Sacred Ordinary is on retreat for Lent.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Read 40 postings at: </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://www.40daysofyoga2011.blogspot.com/">40 Days of Yoga 2011</a></span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-23076004913157388362011-02-26T06:18:00.000-08:002011-05-28T09:15:58.190-07:00Spirit Shed<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today's Washington Post has an article about a high school in Chantilly, VA with a marvelously inspired outbuilding called a Spirit Shed. The reason the Post found it newsworthy was that it is being demolished to make room for road improvement.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I wondered, "What's a Spirit Shed"? and then, "How nice that a high school in Chantilly had a Spirit Shed." And finally "Maybe I need one for myself." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In the past, when I've thought about a dedicated space for prayer or meditation, the structure had the shape of a Japanese Tea House, eventually involving gardens of moss and stone with koi ponds, arching bridges and 40 year old wisteria vines.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now I see that I need a more practical approach. It will be a simple structure. Neighbors will walk by and ask, "What's that in your backyard?" and I'll say, "Oh, that's the Spirit Shed." I can even paint the alley side with large lettering that reads, "SPIRIT SHED". I'll invite people in to take a look. The newspaper will come and do an article on it. Before long people up and down Veazey Street and 37th and from even further away will be constructing Spirit Sheds of their own. They will become so popular that Home Depot and Sears will have them pre-made and available from their on-line catalogues. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For the Spiritual Do-It-Yourselfer</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Handsome 12 x 12 Spirit Shed. Guaranteed for Many Lifetimes. Fits perfectly into any backyard. Customer reviews report that once spiritual lives are in order, everything is in order. This must-have for your spiritual tool box is maintenance free, creating even more time for your spiritual needs. Do yourself a favor and order your Spirit Shed today. Assembly Required.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-83391612309632048602011-02-02T12:09:00.000-08:002011-05-28T09:15:32.327-07:00Intentions<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the beginning of yoga class, teachers often say "close your eyes and set an intention for your practice." Again at the end of class they will ask the class to recall their intentions.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My intentions vary. Originally they were along the lines of, "Intention? What the hell's an Intention?". After a few months of that I began setting the intention, "To Survive the Class". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now my most common intention has been "Healing for Myself." Some days I practice at a higher level and intend, "Healing for Others" or "Being a Good and Holy Person All Day Long" or the simplified version of that, "Not Being a Snot to My Family". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Today the intention that came to me was "Strength". To be strong in class and after class. I'm not the strongest practitioner. I'm a back row weenie. I do chaturangas on my knees and side plank with one knee down. Headstands are science fiction. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But today was my Strong day. Even so, there came a point when I substituted a "Fuck That Asana" and just lay on my back while the rest of the class did ab work. Still, it was a great practice - one of my best. I like practicing next to Josh who also modifies all of his poses. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm going to start keeping a list of my yoga intentions in the word processing document where I keep a daily weight log. Today will read:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">February 2, 2011 STRENGTH 142 pounds</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">(Which is not really my fault. It must have been last night's salty Gruyere and Sausage Stratta that did it, or maybe it was the third serving. So much for good intentions.)</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-34467823481612090312010-12-31T08:58:00.000-08:002011-05-28T09:15:10.922-07:00The December Devil<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Holiday weight gain is the devil and I work hard to gird myself against this wickedness. Our cupboards are full of yummy gifts from friends, students and choristers. I also baked like a maniac this month filling their cupboards with similar temptations - Sugar Cookies, <a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Iced-Pumpkin-Cookies/Detail.aspx">Pumpkin Cookies</a>, <a href="http://www.bakeorbreak.com/2010/02/black-bottom-coconut-bars/">Blackbottom Coconut Bars</a>, Cranberry Nut Bread, Banana Nut Bread, and the previously posted Montana Monster Cookies (see Simple Gifts). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Today my weight is one pound below normal. (not below ideal, but below normal) It is the magic 139. I have two diet tricks that I can recommend to any of you wishing to be one pound below your normal weight:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Diet Trick # 1 - Delay breakfast as long as possible. That way, instead of 2nd breakfast you can eat lunch. There is also a special rule that if you eat a certain food that is not ordinarily in the house, such as the homemade fruitcake Pat sent from Georgia, it doesn't count for either breakfast or 2nd breakfast.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Diet Trick #2 - There are invaluable "No-Calorie" foods, such as celery, grapefruit and skim lattes. Samples at Whole Foods also have no calories, so this morning I tried no-calorie Tzatziki as well as Roasted Red Pepper Hummus on Pita Chips. The store also offered no-calorie Cranberry Pound Cake and samples of no-calorie Irish Butter (salted or unsalted) served on baguette.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I decided to pass on the samples of no-calorie Hand Lotion.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735093600189556178.post-70186025010722730642010-12-10T12:48:00.000-08:002011-05-28T09:14:52.403-07:00Simple Gifts<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gift-giving is annoyingly complicated. We have so many THINGS already. If I give them a gift they'll feel they have to give me one. She gave me a pair of earrings. Now I feel bad that I didn't bring something for her. Even presents for children are complicated. Plastic toys. Plastic packaging. The children I know have the equivalent of toy stores in their rooms already.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Today though, for a moment, gift-giving was simple and joyful. I bought a 49 cent thrift store tin and filled it with homemade cookies. I tied a ribbon around it and taped a label on it. To Sam. Happy Holidays. From Diane.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sam is the manager of <a href="http://hotyogausa.com/">Hot Yoga</a>. He's the person who checks students in. He's the one who fields complaints about the music, the room temperature or the new teacher. I talk to Sam a fair amount since I always arrive early and often leave early as well. Do I complain? Let's leave that between me and Sam. But I hear about Sam's pleasure in hot weather and his pleasure in the cold. I hear about his family and his accomplishments at his job. One day Sam even gave me a hand massage! He has such Aloha spirit that I asked where he was from. Who would have thought they grew them like that in Minnesota? It must be all the yoga.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And so it was a blushing pleasure to give him a little box of cookies on December 10. A surprise to make him even happier because somebody thought about him, likes him, and brought him a gift.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">MONTANA MONSTER COOKIES</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Warning: This recipe requires a VERY VERY large mixing bowl.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ingredients:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">2 lbs brown sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">2 cups white sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 T vanilla</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">8 t baking soda</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 lb butter, melted</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">3 lbs crunchy peanut butter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">18 cups of quick oatmeal, which = 42 oz plus 3 cups (or some regular ok too)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 lb chocolate chips</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">15 oz (2 1/2) cups raisins</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 dozen eggs</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mix together butter, sugars and eggs. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Add peanut butter and vanilla. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Add soda, oatmeal, chips and raisins. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Chill. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dough also freezes well. (small containers for small batches of cookies are nice)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Form dough into medium sized balls and flatten slightly onto greased cookie sheets. Bake at 375 degrees for about 10 minutes. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thank you, Jane, for this much-loved recipe.</span>Dianehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00018917942970893892noreply@blogger.com0