#2233 . . . is that a whimper?

Christmas has come and gone. jade page press is officially 10 years old. This is my two-thousand-two-hundred and thirty-third post. I was thinking yesterday that I seem to have lost my blogging mojo, and maybe for good. If this is true, I am going out with a whimper, it seems, because I still like coming back to the keyboard and typing away when the fancy strikes.

I have tried not to be formulaic here. Certainly I have done different things with the blog, keeping some tags going from start until now and letting a few go the way of history. Most posts have kept with the promise of "a writing space . . . nan's musings on the mundane, music & more" - with a few possibly deep or silly thoughts here and there. I have recorded several chapter-lives of my life in these 10 years and it is sort of interesting to see shades of past-mini-lifetimes within this lifetime.

One thing I miss is the time when more people were blogging and reading blogs. There was much more communication and more of a sense of community. This was before there were so many social media outlets (or shall we say, brain-sucks). Even I tend to turn more toward a few quick plays with Words With Friends than to a read a more thoughtful or pithy blog post. These days, when I come here, I tend to just write for myself. I have a few friends who use blog feeds and they see when I have a new post. They will sometimes comment or email. Thanks, for that, you know who you are. Otherwise, my Google Analytics has registered more by-way traffic through Russian servers, likely meaning nothing more than spam traffic or trying to get me to "Vote Trump!" as my Analytics counter has instructed me on the Russian referring traffic URLs since September. Dear God, this world.

I still have my blog reader feed, and do not seem to visit my favorite blogs often  - a big change from my daily reading. My life has taken on some changes this past year. And the changes are not necessarily those things one blogs about. So the blog becomes the place where I can settle in and relax a bit. To place a marker on a song as the internet DJ from WJPP or to talk about a movie. I don't tend to post many family photos anymore (the kids are all growing up and I am keeping those pictures for myself.) I am happy to report that there have continued to be family gatherings, Nutcrackers, times with good friends. Instagram is the quicker place to observe, appreciate and share those images from daily life.

Poetry continues to be a great love, even if I read more than I write. (It's probably better that way, ha ha ha.) Music, and now playing my flute again, is a great love, and joining the concert band is probably the thing that has taken me away from blogging the most as I need to and want to practice whenever I get a spare 30 minutes.

2016 has been a really interesting and difficult year on many levels. Just thinking of the influential people who have died this year and now today the news brings us the death of Carrie Fisher and Richard Adams -- two people who brought me some pleasure with their entertaining gifts. I am finding it hard to have enthusiasm for 2017 in terms of the state of the world and the dawn of a difficult and threatening political era. I feel disappointment with a tinge of fear when I swallow.

And then I take a deep breath and remember to have strength of spirit to move forward. One step. Another step. And another. Smile. Even if you don't feel happiness at first or organically, that smile will create happiness or at least peace. It's true.

So, this isn't goodbye to the blog. On the other hand, I am not making any commitment to continue - or at least continue with any specific frequency or regularity. I have had blog friends who have quit for good (I miss them) and some who quit for a time and came back (I am glad). I may just go out with a whimper - blogging here and there - with gratitude for the space, but letting go of my former disciplined and enthusiastic self. As life's changes cycle through, I may come back here more often again. And who knows? I am going to a movie this afternoon (The Eagle Huntress) that I have been excited to see, so I may be back here tomorrow or the next day. (I am thankfully on vacation this week.)  For now, let's hum that sentimental favorite and keep it in mind:

for auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely you'll buy your pint cup!

and surely I'll buy mine!

And we'll take a cup o kindness yet,

for auld lang syne

thoughts on the sirens

The Writer's Almanac poem yesterday was one of my favorites. Read this through slowly and then again. It brought me to a few reflections, below.

Sirens 

by Billy Collins 

Not those women who lure sailors
onto a reef with their singing and their tresses,
but the screams of an ambulance
bearing the sick, the injured, and the dying
across the rational grid of the city.
We get so used to the sound
it’s just another sharp in the city’s tune.
Yet it’s one thing to stop on a sidewalk
with other pedestrians to watch one
flashing and speeding down an avenue
while a child on a corner covers her ears
and a shopkeeper appears in a doorway,
but another thing when one gets stuck
in traffic and seems to be crying for its mother
who has fled to another country.
Everyone keeps walking along then,
eyes cast down—for after all,
there’s nothing we can do,
and today we are not the one peering
up at the face of an angel dressed in scrubs.
Some of us are late for appointments
a few blocks away, while others
have the day off and take their time
angling across a broad, leafy avenue
before being engulfed by the green of a park. 

“Sirens” by Billy Collins from The Rain in Portugal. © Random House, 2016. Reprinted at The Writer's Almanac with permission.  

At what point(s) in life did I tune out the sirens? Growing up three and a half blocks from a hospital, I would hear the sirens, especially at night, of ambulances rushing to get to it. This was not every night mind you. I didn't grow up in a large city. But it was often enough.

I would pause and say a silent prayer, "go with God" to that person or persons in the ambulance and to the driver and paramedic. This exercise went on for about 10 years from that childhood bed before I headed off to college. I wasn't a particularly religious kid. Like most kids, I was just "me." I imagined that maybe other people did this too and together, we helped send some comfort, some hope. No one taught me to do that. It was instinctive. I guess you could say it was automatic, momentary spirituality. I would send a brief moment of imaginary light toward the ambulance. It was all in my head. (I played a lot with light there...)

During my first two years in college, I don't recall hearing the sirens. I was in a busy, happy place, (immature place) and it definitely wasn't the real world. Then, some friends and I moved into the small city nearby our university. When college students move off campus, they move into city neighborhoods, and the homesteads I had over the next couple of years into my grad school years could be described as student slums. I started to hear the sirens again, and my old habit returned.

As an adult in a small college town, I hear the sirens now and then. I mostly pay attention and say my little prayer. Sometimes my imagination gets the better of me and prayer turns to worry and empathy as I have an 18 year old who drives. And sometimes I hear the sirens and I am just too busy to say a prayer, to engage in other people's pain, to recognize what those sounds I am tuning out signify. They mean emergency, urgency, frailty of life. And I head to my meeting? Write a report? Get a cup of tea?

After this election, I hear the sirens. I say a prayer for the ones who need the life saving as well as for myself to keep listening. Keep engaging. I may have the privilege to go on with my ordinary life due to my skin color, educational level, decent job and socioeconomic status. (Then again, I may not . . . ) Please, let me keep hearing the sirens and let me not just get used to them as something ordinary and expected in this world.

of sailors and whales

Do you have 20 minutes for some imagination at sea? This is one of the pieces my band is playing next Sunday. It is called "Of Sailors and Whales" and was written by a great symphonic band composer, W. Francis McBeth, who was on the faculty at Ouachita Baptist University. This is a 2012 performance by the Ouachita Wind Ensemble in honor of McBeth who died earlier that year. Of Sailors and Whales is a really cool piece in multiple movements, and a lot of fun to play (and sing in one movement). Our concert will also feature a very fun Gershwin medley piece and two other more traditional concert band pieces along with the usual America the Beautiful and Stars and Stripes. Usually we play nine or ten pieces, but this and the Gershwin are both quite long.

Whine alert: I so wish I didn't have to travel for work this coming week so I could practice more. I could practice in the hotel room, but it would disturb others. (I am reminded that I used to practice between 90 min. to 2 hours a night in high school to the point where it would get on my mom's nerves and she would call up to my attic bedroom asking me to "stop all that toodling for the night." How many kids got asked to stop practicing? I don't think it was because I played badly... I was just relentless.)

flute-tastic and a few reflections

This morning was made for coffee and listening to Emma Resmini. While Emma isn't yet on the Wikipedia list of child prodigies, she should be. For whatever reason, wind instruments get a stingy side glance from those that deem who is prodigious and who is not. She debuted at the age of 10 (well actually at age 7, but at age 10 back in 2010, she started getting major attention). She is now 16 and studying at the Curtis Institute (the conservatory that recruited my grandfather, who declined the opportunity in order to stay home to work and raise his family.) I have been following Emma on YouTube for nearly six years now and she has developed further. What an incredibly fine musician she is! I am posting a couple of pieces for you here. The first, above, is a beautiful piece by Ian Clarke called Hypnosis. This was recorded two years ago when Emma was 14. The other, below, is a briefer piece by a composer I really like that shows Emma's incredible technical ability. Estländler by Arvo Pärt is a piece designed for unaccompanied flute. This was recorded last year when Emma was 15. 

I started playing the flute at the age of 9 and in some ways, grew up with flute players. There really is a diva thing that goes on with many flutists who have decent abilities. I couldn't stand it, actually, as much as I loved to play. When I would go to solo competitions, I would go off by myself to stay away from the "head game" girls and the "nervous nellies." I just wanted to play, do my best, and then have some fun. I mostly succeeded. Except for the part where others would be jealous of my good marks when the scores came out. I disliked and was hurt by the jealousy the most. For whatever reason, I was consistently first flute and I just wanted to have fun and have people like me. Again, I think I mostly succeeded. Walking away from all the flute stuff mid-college was  freeing and a bit sad at the same time.

Now that I am back to playing again, I am really happy to be playing second flute. I look forward to getting back (hopefully mostly) all my technique and tone. My new flute is a joy to play. I am even doing some duets with a woman who works on my campus for an event in a couple of weeks. Having a musical outlet, for me, is a way to pause other life stresses, be in the moment, and breathe.

Off to the day. WJPP here, signing out.

9/11 prayers

It's been 15 years. I remember where I was. I remember the days that followed. The ache - then and now - remains. At the 10 year anniversary, I wrote this poem: layers of ash. At 15 years, all I have is a quiet moment of blinking. Love to all still suffering.

spaces of memory

My Facebook feed is full of cute memes and profile photo filters celebrating 50 years of Star Trek. I have very happy associations with the show as it reminds me of my cult-nerdy first couple of years of college. The show was already nearly 20 years old when I was in college. I was always attracted to the show in high school, but I hadn't watched it all that religiously before college. I fell in love with the show my freshman year, and when I think back to those times, I conjure up the feeling of lightness and fun and community that Star Trek thoughts have come to mean for me.

In my dorm, it was a rare student who had a television in their dorm room. (Heck, very few of us even paid to have a phone in our room for the year... there was one pay phone in the lobby we took turns using to call home once a week.) Watching television was not a big thing except for late night when a small subset of dorm residents. We were maybe 20-30 people out of 200. I'd like to think now that we were the equivalent of what "hipster" is now. Monday through Thursday evenings, in the dorm lounge, in slippers and sweats, toting blankets and pillows (or in my case, wearing my famous green plaid wool blanket poncho with the diagonal zipper at the center) and we would watch Star Trek followed by The Twilight Zone before programming went off for the night. (Cue the multicolored bar graph icon followed by black and white t.v. snow on the screen.) I can't even remember if this was 11:30 p.m. to 1 a.m.? I think it was.

Anyway, we had a lot of fun enjoying and poking fun at the show at the same time. My friend Susan and I were more "ironic trekkies" than some of the assembled. We saw the sexism in the show and just laughed. I loved Kirk's bad acting. I loved Mr. Spock, my favorite character. I loved the drama and the ethical and moral dilemmas.

These days it is hard to imagine that college students could have this kind of experience. Cell phones are ubiquitous. People can watch Netflix on their phones or laptops. There isn't the kind of community gathering we had, even though there are still dorm lounge events. Our dorm lounge was our living room except on weekends when it became the party place. I would like to think today's college students have something equivalent. For their sake, I truly hope they do!

Anyone who remembers Star Trek really, REALLY, needs to watch Other Space on Yahoo streaming. I have watched the series 2x now (there are only eight episodes). Brilliant and so funny. It is today's cult-nerdy offering for those who might have fond Star Trek memories. If you watched the original MST 3000, you will see a familiar character in this series.

the beauty of the lake

I am sitting here just thinking about the beauty of the lake and the scent of the Adirondack breezes. Here are a few more photos from the 2016 collection. It is amazing how one week back to work and routine makes the distance from that relaxing time magnified. It feels like weeks since I was there, and it has only been 7 days.

An American Painted Lady Butterfly -- this beauty likes the mountains.

Can you hear the lapping waves? Can you feel the lovely breeze?

Even cloudy days bring muted beauty -- shades of blue and gray and green.

on the genius of tom petty and other memories

With my daily micro-poem writing over at tiny river splash this month, I haven't been spending much time here. But after going on a Tom Petty video watching marathon last night (streaming YouTube on the television screen), I knew I had to post a video or two today here. (My) Tom and I had read an article on the seven most underrated Tom Petty videos since we both agree he presents as just one of the coolest human beings ever. (Do you notice his detached observation mode in almost every performance? The videos somehow capture that ethos.)

Anyway, from the moment I first set eyes on him singing Refugee on Saturday Night Live in 1979*, I have felt a strange kinship with a rock and roller I will never meet. There is a deeper level to his lyrics and videos than the surface might show. He seems to have an understanding of suffering, pathos, and mistreatment of human beings in this world and yet, his songs and countenance portray the necessity that we still exist within and among this array of emotions and scenes, this crazy world.

Anyway, feel free to scan the article linked above and search out the seven videos. You might certainly be thinking of some of the more famous videos like Last Dance With Mary Jane... that one doesn't appear because it certainly isn't underrated. I will embed two below that I found interesting, disturbing and brilliant, each in different ways. These videos remind me of the MTV era of my younger days when there was a layer of interpretive art added to what would otherwise have been more two dimensional listening of music. We have been mainly back to just listening and watching live or studio performance videos with only the occasional true art video in recent years. Enjoy Swingin' and Walls. You will see a few cameos in Walls if you look carefully.

*Watching Tom Petty on his SNL debut is a very clear memory. Just recalling it now, I am transported back to the family room of the Moritz's home on W. Pine St. in my hometown where I was babysitting into the wee hours of the morning most Saturday nights. I was 14 years old with fairly conventional and strict parents. I would otherwise not have been allowed to be out at night at that hour and I wouldn't have been up allowed to be up watching SNL on the family TV. I loved babysitting at the Moritz's. Not only did they have great snacks (and always macaroons during Passover), the kids were nice, went to bed by 10, and I had hours of freedom after dark in a fun home. Sometimes I would call the late night radio host and request songs, in the days before caller ID, preserving my anonymity. My guess is that the DJ did not know how young I was or he wouldn't have flirted with me the way he did. The family paid pretty well (although babysitting wages were abysmal), and they came home happy and toasted. It was definitely one of my better babysitting gigs.

an early memory: ethical dilemma #1

[Still in draft form. This may need some work.]

What we know about our early selves often comes from our elders. Few people have clear and cogent memories of  themselves as babies or toddlers. Often we've heard stories about what we were like as infants or seen photos, and together those  become "memories" of who we were as little acorns. I know well the story of me playing my first ever joke on someone because my mother has shared it with me several times. Apparently, my mother was hurriedly trying to get two children under the age of 18 months all dressed and out of the house. I had hidden one of my shoes and then when my mom asked me where my shoe was, I toddled into the bathroom smiling and pointing and saying "toilet" (or whatever my language for that thing was at that age). As the story goes, my mom panicked and went running in to look. When she looked and nothing was in there, I started laughing. And then I went and got my other shoe from my bedroom.

I know well the story of how my mother found me pacing in the hallway with worry at my grandmother's house when she came to pick me up to bring me home after my second sister was born (I was 3 and a half years old and my grandmother had told me I had to help my mother as the "oldest" of three). Again, I know this about myself because my mom has told me the story. Actual memories kick in around age 4 and 5, and those memories seem to be associated with sheer joy, pain, or dilemma. This makes sense to me based on the limited knowledge I possess about the brain and learning/memory and emotion.

A couple of weeks ago I attended a two-day Ethics Institute on my campus. Working in my small group on some case studies, the memory of my first ethical dilemma came bubbling up. It wasn't exactly the classic Heinz dilemma, but in its own way, illustrated similar reasoning for when a person breaks rules in order to mitigate against (perceived) harm. My colleague and friend Kathy encouraged me to write it down, and why not? I have a blog after all. This is a place for musings, so here goes.

My youngest sibling was born with a minor, correctable problem with his feet/legs. When he was a baby, and I was nearly five, he first had to wear plaster casts to help his feet turn outwards and up. The casts didn't seem to bother him too much because he had some mobility while lying in his crib or sitting up.  After the casts, he was outfitted with special hard-soled baby shoes that were mounted on the bottom of either end of a maybe 12 inch steel bar. In the middle of the bar was a screw that could set for the angle necessary for keeping his feet apart and turned out. The screw, when tightened and when the shoes were laced up kept his little legs immobile. I imagine this felt like . . . not pain, but a constraining and immobilization when he wanted to kick and move. He had to wear this contraption for so many hours per day, and I actually think, overnight.

I remember my baby brother crying when he would be put in his shoe-brace. I remember my mother telling me (and presumably my two younger sisters) that this was good for the baby and was going to help him. She told us this wasn't hurting him and to not worry. I remember her telling us not to touch the brace because it was set "just so," and I remember thinking that there was no way this wasn't bothering this little baby. Even though I knew I had been specifically told not to, I distinctly remember sneaking into his room on several occasions when he was lying in his crib and loosening the screw in the middle of the steel brace so that he could move a bit more. I remember my sisters and I stroking his head and arms to sooth his crying. I also remember my mother saying after one of these episodes that she didn't know how in the heck this child was loosening the brace! (She recently told me that my brother made regular progress at his check ups, so either he didn't need all that brace time or the time he had was sufficient . . . ). As it turns out, he was not only "fine," he went on to become a gifted athlete in high school, college, and even beyond college traveling the world on an Olympic and World Cup teams.

Did I think then that I did the right thing by breaking the rule that had been set in front of me? Yes, I think nearly five-year-old Nan reasoned it out. I made a decision in my young brain and heart that just because my mother said something was good and right didn't mean that it necessarily was. I loosened the screw because it seemed like the "more right" thing to do at the time. I did have a bit of guilt and some inner struggle, and I think that is why I remember this so clearly. I only confessed to this "crime in the name of something more important" years later. The fact remains that the brace may have been the more right thing after all. I guess we'll never know. The good news is that my mom laughed pretty hard and it all worked out well.

Post script,  There are a few other early memories in the bin. Early on in the history I wrote about sneaking under the Christmas tree at age five or so when everyone was asleep. Perhaps another time I will tell the story of the events that occurred in the hospital just prior to my tonsillectomy at age 4 or lying to the priest in the confessional at age 7 or 8 (so that I was doing the sacrament of First Confession correctly, you know?) Like this story of the first ethical dilemma, these early memories are not just "everyday" occurrences. They are the ones seared in by powerful emotional reaction - joy, pain, angst, shame. I'll bet even if you don't think you have many early memories, if you think back to your earliest memories, they may bring you back to some time, some emotion worth revisiting.

waltzing flowers

Yesterday evening I drove to my home town, picking up a sister along the way, to watch two of my nieces dance in the annual Nutcracker. The dance school in my hometown does a wonderful job with this annual production, and watching my older niece each year progress through the new parts and dances is exciting. She has gone from a little bon bon, sprite, candy cane, etc. to now the roles for the older
dancers... flower, snowflake, Spanish or Chinese principal dancer, Clara's friend and Clara's cousin. This year she got her own "bow" and was presented with a bouquet at the end of the show. She did a beautiful job and I can't help but glow with happiness to see her joyfully dance so well. My other niece was adorable too... a candy cane and small Chinese dancer.

One of my earliest memories as a child was waking up in the middle of the night on Christmas and finding a very special gift under the tree. I had asked for this large ballerina doll that spun like a top when you rotated a dial under lace on the top of the doll's head. What I found instead was a smaller, finer ballerina doll, dressed in a light blue tutu (instead of the pink on the larger, chunkier doll), and with it, a 45-rpm record and small portable record player. The record had Tchaikovsky's The Waltz of the Flowers on side A and The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy on side B from The Nutcracker Suite. My parents and sister were asleep (the others not born yet) and I actually quietly put the record on the player, listened to both songs, and played with the doll, before quietly putting it all back and going back to bed (dreamily happy). I woke up and pretended to be surprised and delighted. I can't believe a five-year-old child could pull that off, but that is how I remember it. My mother says now she can't believe she didn't wake up. I do know I put that volume on less than 1 on the dial. Quiet as a mouse I probably was. Last night's Waltz of the Flowers reminded me of this memory, because the principal was in the same baby blue costume and the music was really beautiful. There was my niece as one of those waltzing flowers. It was special.

Anyway, I have a real affinity for the music of The Nutcracker. I enjoy watching the dancing each year. I did some dancing when I was younger from the time I was maybe 7 until I was about 13 before I quit to pursue other interests. I enjoyed recitals, costumes, makeup and dancing with point shoes. I think that dancing was very helpful for my brain and body during those developing years. It was worth the late night's drive back home last night to have seen the show - not only to support family members, but also for the boost it gives my right brain.

After two very late nights in a row, I am feeling tired today. (I worked the midnight breakfast on campus until 2 a.m. on Friday night then did a full day of errands and shopping yesterday before heading to The Nutcracker.) Thankfully, I don't have a lot on the agenda. I will cook a crock pot full of party food for a work party tomorrow and maybe do some wrapping. Mostly I need to try to relax today for the week ahead. I will travel tomorrow night after work for a work training out of town Tuesday. Holiday baking is on the schedule for Wed. night to drop off for a fundraiser on Thursday, and hopefully some revelry next weekend. I have a huge report due by year's end that I hope to have finished so I can take planned vacation the week between Christmas and New Year's. Time will tell on that... hoping the work days I get in the office this week will be productive and allow me to get that done.

Sorry for the rambling post. This happens when I am punchy tired. Off to more coffee, and I think, more blogging later... as it is so nice to blog on the lap top in front of the pretty tree.

remembering

I believe I will forever pause on September 11th. I will light a candle of remembrance and support. One of my favorite sites is gratefulness.org. To see the candle flicker for the next 48 hours, you can visit this link: http://www.gratefulness.org/candle/136221/. Screen capture below...

This doesn't mean that healing doesn't occur. Over time it does. 9/11 is a birthday for many. It will be a day of celebrations as well as remembrances, because life does go on. I re-read some of my previous September 11th posts this mornig. I re-read layers of ash. And I move to the rest of the day ahead, and fun plans in the evening (a birthday gift to go see a band in Ithaca tonight). Part of my heart keeps those pebbles of pain tucked away for safekeeping, to pull out and polish when I need to. The majority of my heart is reserved for the capacity for joy.

like a ball and chain

It's only Monday, but I feel like throwing it back just a little. I have been thinking of my old friend Jim, and that got me thinking about our shared love of Annie Lennox, and that got me thinking about how I have enjoyed her music since the mid 1980's. A little YouTube surfing led me to several songs that I have already posted here. And then I came across this one that I haven't posted. This is Annie Lennox, live, singing "I Love You Like A Ball & Chain." Man, is she good? Such an entertainer. Jim, this one is for you!

sour cereal (aka savory cereal) - a recipe

My city has a new local foods market and I checked it out yesterday afternoon. Especially nice is their loose spice section. I picked up some powdered fenugreek seed and some powdered coriander seed... and started thinking about a recipe I used to make with some regularity in the late 1980s to mid 1990s that I haven't made in years.

Let me preface this recipe by saying that it may not sound all that appealing, but if you open your mind to some tastes from India, and that breakfast cereal can be savory instead of sweet, you might find this as delicious as I do. I first came into contact with this spicy porridge-like breakfast dish back in the yoga days. It is ashram food that was replicated by a smaller group I got together with to do chanting and meditation. I miss those days, actually. What a sweet thing it was to get together with friends, spend some time looking inward with like-minded people, and then having some chai tea and sour cereal together before getting back to ordinary life.  (My teenager thinks that this is a very strange and embarrassing part of my past... and like Joe Walsh, all I can say is that everybody's so different, but I haven't changed.)

Sour Cereal

ingredients:
6 c. water
1 t. salt
1 t. cumin
1 t. fenugreek powder
1/2 t. coriander
1 T. butter
1/2 c. wheatina or instant buckwheat or millet (I use instant buckwheat - which is wheat free)
2/3 c. oats

masala:
1/4 c. onion, chopped fine (I actually use 1 small-medium onion and don't measure)
1/4 c. shredded coconut
1 tomato chopped
2 dates pitted and chopped (I didn't have dates, so I added more coconut)
1 jalapeno, seeded and chopped or 1 small can green chilies
2 t. ginger root, peeled and chopped

garnishes:
nutritional yeast
chopped onion (optional)
cilantro

1. In a large pot, add salt and spices to the water; bring to a boil and boil for a minute or two uncovered

2. Meanwhile, mix masala ingredients in blender, adding a little boiling water for mixing. Mix until smooth

3. Add butter, grains and masala to boiling water and spices and boil uncovered for 20 minutes

4. Cover and let set 5-10 minutes

*Before serving, add cayenne pepper if you have used canned chilies. Add nutritional yeast to taste


[Recipe Note: I found this recipe in my recipe folder... printed with the dot matrix printer I had in grad school on that kind of paper that was zig-zag and you had to tear one sheet from the next (with peg hole strips on the side that would also tear off). Oh my goodness, I had forgotten about that stage of technology in my life... so funny to see!]

For wonderful chai, in a large pan, brew a strong black tea. Boil in cinnamon, cardamom, clove, ginger to taste -- I like a lot of cardamom! Add brown sugar and milk to taste. Yum!!

rhiannon

For "TBT" (otherwise known as Throw Back Thursday) I have a little something old and a little something new by way of my music-loving cousin Lisa. She and I were pen pals growing up. We are two months apart, and she was growing up outside St. Louis, MO and I was growing up in Central New York. We would see each other in the summers, have sleepovers, declare ourselves the best of friends, and then live apart ... but DNA is strong. In our letters to each other from probably 1975 to 1983 we would talk about favorite books, activities, school, friends and boys, and share with each other our "lists" of favorite songs at the time. It may have been a top 10. I don't remember exactly. We had a lot in common, and I sense we still do.

Anyway, I got this sweet message and a video link from Lisa today via Facebook:
Wanted to make sure you saw this. I remember this song stayed on your list for a very long time.

I am so glad she sent this video of Rhiannon. I don't watch much television and I hadn't seen this Jimmy Fallon Show performance with just piano accompaniment by an older yet still beautiful Stevie Nicks. Rhiannon never sounded so good! The tempo is slowed, the sound is richer and more evocative. This song, and Stevie, have aged well. (She was promoting her recently released new album, 24 Karat Gold: Songs from the Vault. As far as I can see from the track listing, this song does not appear on the album.) [And you will find some trivia on the meanings behind the song title, here, and here.]

I was not able to get the embed code to work on Blogger... oh wonkiness, you can't thwart me. Click this link, take a deep breath, and take in this gorgeousness:

Rhiannon

thoughts on high school reunions

My 30th high school reunion is about two months away, and I am trying to decide if I will attend. I graduated with nearly 500 others from a public high school that prepared me well for life -- socially as well as academically. I had a great time, was involved in a variety of things, and truly remember those years as "smiley" years . . . I would walk down the halls, happy, engaged, and smiling at friends, acquaintances and teachers. Does it sound too good to be true? Perhaps. But the truth is, it was largely that for me. I had some hurts, but I had resilience, and that too was foundational.

Another friend of mine from high school had a different reaction when I asked him if he would travel to the reunion. He said "Seriously? I hate everybody from high school." (Which is not true, of course, he was just being funny -- this is the kid who used to say at the age of 18 that "everything has been downhill since 3rd grade," and he meant it. Sort of.) My take is that a couple of other things about the prospect of returning across country to his one-time home were the source of his aversion. One, he would be directly faced with painful memories by returning to the town where he suffered some of life's greatest losses, earlier in life than most people have to. Another reason, likely secondary, is that the people he most wanted to see would probably not attend. I get it. My class has had five other reunions since 1983, and I have attended three of them, most recently five years ago. It was disappointing that several people I really hoped would attend did not.

The last reunion was a bit surreal. I enjoyed the Friday night bar event that had no structure, was somewhat random, and it was noisy, chaotic, and I had a few really nice conversations. The Saturday night more formal event was not as much fun. I sat with a table of fun people, but I didn't know them that well, and they didn't know me. I felt confined by the sit-down dinner, and felt a more like an observer than a participant. It was interesting. I left early and hung out with my family for the evening in a storm, which was a lot of fun! I am thinking this coming year, I will likely just go on the Friday night . . . with the hope that it works the way it did last time.

Anyway, I have been thinking about nostalgia and reunions and have come up with a few guiding principles for myself. What do you think?

Top 10 Things to Remember When Going to Your High School Reunion

1.Go into it with low expectations, plan to open up your smile, and don't try to impress people. Feel yourself "be home," and allow yourself to enjoy your time together with old friends. Too many reunion attendees focus on conveying how they have succeeded in life or return with something to prove or to impress. What is success, anyway? For some people it means material wealth, for others it's educational achievements or the job title. For others it is a happy marriage or a number of children (or no children), or what our kids have done. Whoever we are right now, the likely reason we are going to this reunion is that we are nostalgic, and high school had some kind of meaning to us.

2. Remember that everyone has changed, and despite this fact,  many people will say, "you haven't changed one bit." AND remember that some part of each person always remains the same even if who we were in high school was just a seed of who we have become. You may not remember some people, and some people may not remember you. And that is okay.

 3, "You look great!" can be an annoying platitude.  I promise not to tell anyone they look great when what I mean to say is "I am so happy to see you and I like how you've aged. I hope life has been good to you." Some of us have gone through struggles, recently or in the past -- chemo, loss of loved ones, depression, divorce, etc.  Our struggles make us grow, but they don't always make our bodies "look great." Why focus only on the external, right? I know I have put on a couple of pounds in the last year. No crash dieting for me. I am healthy and fit in my clothes. That's enough for me. I don't care if my friends have gained weight, lost their hair, color their hair or are gray. I just want them to be happy and healthy. (Of course, if people say either I haven't changed or I look great, I will be gracious and smile and remember that they mean they are happy to see me.)

4. Regardless of how we experienced high school  -- whether we were happy and involved or shy or unhappy -- whether we had fun or just got through it, we all shared an experience. So a reunion is a chance to say hello to old friends and remember shared experience of sorts, recognizing that each person experienced the same time and place differently.

5. You can't rekindle 30 years in one or two evenings.  You can enjoy nostalgia. I hope to have some nice conversations, greet people I like, and have a few laughs. I hope to re-bond with people who I really care about even beyond the distance of time and space. It can be sweet to tap into that part of us that has not changed and be with those people that I cared about then and still care about now.

6. Go in knowing that no matter how much fun you have or don't have, the reunion lasts only a few hours. Whether or not you go off to a quiet place with just a few friends at the end of a loud bar party or whether or not it just gets real and you have to get out while the going is good, we will likely be left with a feeling of wishing we could see some of these people again  -- or more often -- or for a longer period of time and there will be some people that you'll be left thinking, "yeah there's a reason that we were just acquaintances in high school. Good to see them, but it will be okay if I don't see them again for a while." Let's face it, we all have kindred spirits, that were it for a different set of circumstances, we would be good friends. We will be reminded of this, and yet, time and space and circumstance do separate kindred spirits, and that is life.

7. James Taylor has a line in a song I like (Fire and Rain) that says "I always thought that I'd see you again." Remember  that a reunion might be the last time you see someone, and it may be the last time they see you. I recognize that and will appreciate the time we have together. By all means let's have a few laughs. Those are the feelings that really stay with us in our hearts

8. We all have different memories. I have flipped through my old yearbook and love to read what others wrote. It helps me remember them. I sometimes wonder, what did I write in others' yearbooks? How do they remember me? It can be fun trading memories with old friends. It might be surprising to hear what it is others remember most.

9.  Let go of past hurts - if you have them. Forgive. Remember the good and that we were teenagers then, for heaven's sake. People grow and grow up. For some, life has been great, and for others, it has unfolded differently. Some have stayed in the same town all these years and others have not been back for many, many years. Be kind. Be here now.

10. When it is time to go, remember that we can choose to stay in touch (hey, there's always Facebook), or we can choose to see our classmates in five years if it works out, or we can just choose to have closure and put it all in the past. I think Viv Savage from This is Spinal Tap said it best when he said, "have.a.good.time.all.the.time."

remembering our grief and our prayer

“Though we encounter it as suffering, grief is in fact an affirmation. The indifferent do not grieve, the uncommitted do not grieve, the loveless do not grieve. We mourn only the loss of what we have loved and what we have valued, and in this way mourning darkly refreshes our knowledge of the causes of our loves and the reasons for our values.

Our sorrow restores us to the splendors of our connectedness to people… It is the yes of a broken heart. In our bereavement we discover how much was ruptured … and also how much was not …"

- What We Affirm, by Leon Wieseltier [The context for these remarks was a remembrance ceremony for the ten year anniversary of September 11th, 2001.]

adoration

in the church organ loft

adoration shines

and not just for God

Copyright © 2012 Nan P.

We Write Poems asked us to write a poem in 12 words. Process notes: The original instructions said to"count fingers plus two," and instructed us that this process was obviously about brevity -- and breathing in and breathing out. The combination of fingers plus the moment of breathing in and breathing out brought me back to a moment of my childhood. I used to ride my bike to church by myself so that I could climb the long, winding stairs into the church loft at St. Mary's Church to watch my grandfather play the organ for mass. I would take part in mass, but I was really there to hang out with my grandpa. I adored him.

days of grace

It has been a whirlwind couple of days. We left early Friday for Vermont after one of Matt's baseball games went late Thursday night. I had work events there Friday and Saturday, and Matt had the option of joining us or staying with his cousins that live about an hour and a half away, relatively on our way to Vermont. He chose cousins and had a blast spending day and night #1 with one aunt and uncle and two cousins, day #2 with another aunt and uncle and two cousins, and evening #2 with my parents and another aunt for dinner, swimming and playing cards. (As oldest cousin/grandchild, he is somewhat of a celebrity, and he got to do a lot of fun things, all the while cushioned by a lot of love and affection.)

Meanwhile, Tom and I were on a nice jaunt to the beautiful Green Mountains where we had a great staff dinner with my wonderful colleagues and then after-gathering at a nice place on Lake Bomoseen, called The Lakehouse, where we got to watch the sun set over the water. It was really peaceful and fun. Saturday's weather was perfect for the 30th Anniversary annual picnic of the agency for which I work. I was able to see several of the people I worked with throughout the year and it was a really happy event.

We headed home late Saturday to pick up Matt and head home so that we could celebrate his 14th birthday Sunday in his current style: sleeping late, hanging out, and then heading to a Syracuse Chiefs ball game in the late afternoon with a friend. It was a perfect night for baseball! It was hot, sunny, fading to a nice sunset. Both teams had home runs, but the home team had a much stronger offense and won the game handily. We got to see a rare triple play, and we had fun with ballpark food. I even managed to get Matt's name put on the birthday screen during the game, and he was amused/ if a little embarrassed. Baseball fanatics can read more about the game, here.

After the game, it was peanut butter pie (Matt's favorite that I had made early that morning), using good friend Paula's recipe (she started the trend back in about 2001 when Matt was 3, and he has requested it every year since), followed by a most terrific thunder storm. We were glad to get a perfect evening of baseball in before the rain and storm!

I ended the day as it began... with a little tearful recollection of 14 years ago that day, Tom and I became parents of an amazing baby boy, who has been a wonderful child, and is now growing into a fine person.

I am incredibly grateful. I had posted a similar status like this on Facebook in the morning, and my heart was warmed by the good wishes of family and friends near and far who were remembering with me and wishing a happy birthday to Matt. Grace takes its forms in both the immediate surroundings and in the community of friends near and far. Words just can't touch that. 

the danger was real

[the danger was real]

It was March. She made seven consecutive weekend trips to and from cancer, driving two and a half hours each way. In between she thought of little else, moving through stages of grief . . . mostly denial and negotiation.  By herself, she lit candles and prayed. In his presence, she was light and made him smile. Her façade was cheerful and her heart was brave and strong. In the small tin-can car, with its four-speed stick shift, she listened to music to alleviate the distance of time and space. It was a good car stereo. She had invested in that above nearly all else. One day in April, two weeks before he passed, her car hit a patch of ice on the rural road. She spun, and spun, and spun, with no one to witness it but her, as the psychedelia of Pink Floyd’s Sheep filled her ears. When the car stopped, facing absent oncoming traffic, her heart pounded louder than the music. She drove the remainder of the trip in silence.

after the spin-around

suspended and still --

everything was different

Copyright © 2012 Nan P.

Written for We Write Poems. Thanks, Neil, for using the prompt, and for the timely and gentle nudge to remember to write.

[Process notes: I'll admit I have been in a bit of a writing funk lately. Just when I decided to hang it up for a little while, I happened to notice that We Write Poems was using a prompt I had submitted back in October. I had actually forgotten that I submitted a prompt idea. It seemed like I couldn't not participate in my own prompt, especially since I find haibun interesting. So, this pulled me back into writing at the moment. I decided to further explore something that actually happened back in 1988. I have written about it once before on this blog, and thought it might be interesting to move it further into a realm of poetic expression. The distance from it helps me appreciate the experience as a defining moment.]

letter pyre

I can almost picture the handwriting.

she remembered the letters
from pen pals
in Canada, Finland, and Spain --
and the ones from college friends
during summer vacations
when a distance of even four hours
seemed an eternity away.

some writers penned what she expected
and others wrote of their loss and pain.
a couple kept her in stitches with their wit.
most conveyed affection and some,
I miss you,
plumbing the depths of her feeling.

one day, she took them out,
tied in yarn, some yellowed
and tattered, and she pictured
time drifting pages in the wind,
making the letters meaningless
and ephemeral.

wanting to live only in the present
she impulsively put a match to the pile
and before she could stop it,
paper burned to ash to be shoveled and lost.
now all she can do
is conjure fragments and remember,
I miss them.


Copyright © 2012 Nan P.

[Note: This was written a bit late for The Sunday Whirl. The twelve words were: drift, plum, expected, stitches, letters, loss, sweaters, yarn, friends, stop, wind, and shovel. I took a liberty with "plum" and couldn't naturally work in "sweaters."]