In The Pursuit of Knowledge

When I was about 7 years old I had the experience of going out to fetch the newspaper early one morning at the very end  of summer. I returned to the kitchen with a big smile on my face:" It smells like it's time to go to school outside," I exclaimed to my mother. What my nose experienced, but my 7 year old vocabulary could not express, was that the air smelled that cool, crisp aroma of the promise of Autumn that is a sure sign the first day of school is very near .I still use that expression with my kids and grandkids: "It smells like it's time for school out there," I will tell them as we make plans for shopping trips to obtain the necessary new backpacks, lunch bags and school supplies.

I loved school. I was born wanting to know "why," and, "how?" I'm still asking those same questions, just on a bigger scale. I don't think I'll ever stop asking nor would I want to. That's why every year around this time I pick a subject or conceive of an idea and make it my "school project" for the year. I treat myself to a brand new notebook, it's pages bare and white, just waiting for the first stroke of my pen; a bunch of really cool pens, and a box of pencils which I sharpen immediately and place standing like soldiers in the cup on my desk that says, " I Love Grandma" as they await their orders (what better sensory memory of the first day of school than the smell of freshly sharpened pencils?).

One of the gifts of growing older is finding oneself with free time that we didn't have before the chicks left the nest and our lives suddenly became our own for the first time in years. Here, now, is the opportunity to explore and to learn. What are you curious about? What makes you want to ask "why," and, "how?" I've studied everything from quantum physics and the God Particle to re-learning how to knit. Last year I took on the huge task of reading A Course In Miracles and doing the workbook. If you don't know what this is, I suggest you Google it and be prepared to lose yourself in the story of how this philosophy for a life filled with love and joy came into being. I am told that there are people who have spent decades studying this book and I can tell you that I will be picking it up again this year. In addition, I have decided to learn all there is to know about nutrition and alternative ideas about how we should eat. I am especially interested in foods that combat inflammation, going wheat free and dairy free, and why people who lived their lives on the Mediterranean Diet live to such ripe old ages with more energy than I had at 30.

Pursuing knowledge shouldn't be reserved for the young. Studies have shown that learning new things as we get older helps us to live healthier and more productive lives not to mention helping to ward off diseases of the brain that are associated with aging. I believe that an inquisitive mind is a healthy mind.

For the next few weeks I am going to learn all about green smoothies and juicing even though I am not at all fond of kale, nor the idea of drinking something that looks like garden clippings in liquid form ... but I will continue on my quest to conquer yet another landscape in this journey called life. Won't  you join me? What would you like to learn? Go for it!

And so it is.

Conquering The World Single Handed

This is going to be a short post this week. The reason? I can only type with one hand. The Universe decided that I needed a case of tendinitis in my left wrist caused by lifting a chair in what was obviously the wrong way.. I was sure that there was a lesson to be learned from this experience and as soon as I was able to get beyond the screaming in pain, trip to the doctor, professional wrap job and pain meds, I settled myself down to figure out what it was.

The first thing that came to mind was having to learn to do things with only one hand. Showering wasn't too difficult but washing and drying my hair was a challenge. Add putting on my makeup to that list. Then there was dressing myself. Obviously I went for things that were really easy to slip on and off ... thank heaven for sports bras (no clasp, just slip it on over your head). Summer means sandals to slide into, and I even own a pair of sneakers with Velcro straps so I could still go walking.

The real test was getting myself to work on the bus with purse and tote bag in tow, not to mention actually working which entailed answering the phone, computer work and assorted office tasks. I was able to master all of them although by the end of the day I was pretty tired and the good hand was starting to ache. As for feeding myself, the magic of microwaves saved the day although my daughter and granddaughter had to come over and work the can opener for me which absolutely needs two hands.

So what did learning to do things with one hand teach me? It taught me that we do not have to be daunted by what seems like physical or psychological limitations when attempting to learn to do something new. So many people I know that are my age deny themselves the excitement and opportunity to learn new things because they think that their age or some physical issue - or perceived physical issue - puts them out of the game. They think they are too old to learn, period. Nothing could be further from the truth. The best thing we can do to guarantee a healthy, happy mind and body is to keep learning new things. I see evidence of that everywhere, from reports in the news and online from studies done on this very topic, to the folks I see around town who are busy attending classes for this or that and having a blast. Never, never, tell yourself that there is anything you cannot learn. You only need to believe in yourself and give it a try.

As for me, obviously I am getting better at this one-handed typing than I realized because the post wasn't that short after all. Right after I microwave my veggie burger I think I'll tackle one-handed vacuuming. How hard can it be?

And so it is.

Morning Glories and Moonflowers

When I began my journey into the world of gardening, I was overwhelmed with all of the possibilities that were open to me. I had a vision of my back yard mirroring those beautiful English gardens I saw on HGTV with all those amazing flowers gracing the landscape in such a seemingly random order,  yet knowing that each and every plant , and every shrub, had been lovingly planted in a particular spot for a particular reason. In my minds eye I walked down the rows of succulent, colorful veggies as I plucked a sun-warmed tomato off the vine or some dark, leafy greens ready to make a summer salad. The reality, of course, was that I didn't have a clue what I was doing and didn't know where to start. All I knew was that I didn't want to inadvertently kill anything. So the first things I planted were Morning Glories and Moonflowers.

The entrance to my half of the house had a trellis on both sides of the doorway. I had seen the Morning Glories and Moonflowers growing in someones yard and thought they were just beautiful. I was told that they were super easy to grow and that if you planted both, you would have flowers to greet the day and flowers to end the day. I thought that this was a perfect metaphor for my new life as a country girl so I went out immediately and bought the seeds. I started them in little cups on the window sill in the kitchen and when they were sturdy enough to go outside, I planted them with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal procession.

They did indeed become a metaphor for my life in so many ways. I would fly out of the door in the early morning to watch them open their beautiful purple petals to the sunlight and rise to meet the day. I felt that all the way down in my soul as if they were encouraging me to start the day with my head held high and filled with anticipation for the endless possibilities that lay before me that day.

In the evening, when the Morning Glories had closed their petals and bid the world good night, the Moonflowers would glow white against the waning light as dusk settled in. It reminded me that even in the dark of night (or the sometimes the darkness in our spirits), there is beauty to be found if we just open up and look for it. When one things ends, another one begins, just like the phases of our lives.

One of the hardest things I've had to deal with as I've gotten older is dealing with endings of all kinds, be it divorce, death, physical separation as when the kids grow up and move on, or even the end of our jobs and our lives as we've know them for so long. One day we wake up and they have closed up like the Morning Glories at dusk, and we are left asking ourselves:  "what do we do now?"

Taking my morning walk one day last week I came upon a fence filled with Morning Glories and took this picture with my phone. I touched the velvety petals and could feel the smile start deep inside me as it made its way to my face. I was sure that coming across those flowers was no accident. It was a reminder that we need to start each new day by throwing our arms open wide, lifting our heads to the sun, and expecting miracles. That, I have found, is how we make room for the new and miraculous to happen. Even at the end of the day, when the sun goes down, there is still the possibility of beauty in our lives.

And so it is.

Is There A 12-Step Program For This?

(This post is dedicated to those of my friends and family who have said that I have been too serious lately and have lost my sense of humor ... I beg to differ with you. Please see below).

Hi. My name is Barb (Flower Bear is my alter-ego ... she’s the good one), and I am a purse-aholic. I am a compulsive purse shopper. I’ve made the decision to come out of the closet, so to speak, and seek the help that I need. The other reason for coming out of the closet is because the shelf with the purses on it is sagging and about to collapse.

I don’t know when I was afflicted with this disease. It’s not like my mother was very big on purses. She had a good, sturdy one for every day, a nicer one for Sundays and holiday visiting, and one little black number for weddings and other important occasions. The only other bag she ever carried was a shopping bag. I keep thinking how much she would have loved the current fashion of reusable tote bags, all those cute styles with the logos on them and ... but I digress  I think it was somewhere in the middle to late ‘60's when The British Invasion came to our shores and people like Twiggy and the Beatles’ girlfriends had those neat bags: big ones, little ones, shoulder ones, wild colors and designs, those great geometric patterns, the Mod Look ... oh, sorry, I got carried away again. See what I mean?  Anyway, I think that’s when it started. It was about the same time I started buying wigs and hair pieces but I was able to let those go. This one is tougher.

I’ve brought in some “tough love” help on this one. My oldest granddaughter (the one who is making me a great-grandma soon) has become the Purse Police. She made me swear an oath that if I bought a new purse, I had to give one away. I did it to make her happy (how can you deny a women who is Momma-To-Be beautiful one minute and in Hormone Hell the next?). Whenever we are in a store and I get near the purse and accessories department, I break out in a cold sweat and my eye starts to twitch. Before you can say Vera Bradley there is a death grip on my arm and she is pulling me in the opposite direction (it must be those pre-natal vitamins - she’s got a grip like the wrestler she used to be in Junior High). “You don’t need another one and you know it,” she says to me in the voice I used on her when she was 5 and wanted another cookie ...don’t you just hate it when they use it back on you?

Recently I was in a store all by myself. I was looking for a new pair of sneakers. The Kids Department was between the Shoe Department and the Accessories with a divider in-between, but that did not stop me from getting a whiff of that heady aroma that can only be described as ... leather purses

I am here to admit to you all that on that day I actually thought to myself, “She’ll never know. She’s not even here. If she looks in the closet, I can say I was just trying to decide which other one I was giving away. Besides, who’s the adult here? I used to change her diapers. Now’s she’s policing my closet? No one has to know ...” It just got ugly after that.

I am happy to report that I was able to put the purse down and walk away (but it was so cute, a red one ... I don’t have a red one ... with little pockets on the front for my MP3 player and keys...)but I don’t know if I’ll be that strong the next time. So I am starting a Purse-Aholics Anonymous group so we can call or text each other whenever we find ourselves in that situation and need someone to help us out of the store. For that matter, we have to pledge that we will not enter a department or specialty store that carries purses without a sponsor or chaperon.

It’s a tough world out there and it’s about to get tougher - the Fall styles are coming out!  Won’t you join me and help stamp out this disease? Bless you.

And so it is.
P.S. If you crochet the purses yourself, does that count?

Something To Chew On

For every gardener out there who has planted their blood, sweat and tears along with their seeds, August is payback month. For all those long hours of weeding, watering, feeding, praying while watching the formation of dark clouds over the horizon and trying to encourage their local wildlife neighbors to dine in someone else's yard, the time for reward has arrived.. Tomatoes turn a bright, luscious red, eggplants hang plump and purple, summer squash and cucumbers are shiny green behind bold orange and yellow flowers...ah! Everything is ripe and beautiful and we tell ourselves once again that it was all worth it. We still have much more harvest time to go with the coming of Autumn - pumpkins, apples, winter squash and other cool weather crops. Oh, yes, life is good and bountiful.

August is also the time when I begin to shed my usual persona and turn into a completely different person. From now until Christmas I change into a form unrecognizable to my family. Quite simply, I cook.

Now, just to clear up any misunderstanding, it's not as if I never cook or that my poor children and grandchildren have ever or will ever starve in my presence. I was raised in a typical Italian family which meant that we women all cooked from the time we could reach the stove. Food was much more than just nourishment. Food was also how we showed our love to our family, friends and the world in general. As a card-carrying member of this family I cooked, and cooked, and cooked: dinners, birthdays, holidays, and every day in-between. I always cooked more than we needed because you just never knew who might stop by or how many kids would follow my own children home from school and need to be fed (never mind that they had mothers that were perfectly capable of feeding them ... they were all too skinny, anyway). But after my kids were grown and had flown the next, and my husband and I went our separate ways, I decided to give myself a break. For me, names like Betty Crocker and Good Housekeeping were traded in for names like Swanson and Healthy Choice. Cooking was that which was restricted to what I could pop in a microwave, or boil on top of the stove with the exception of frozen pizza which didn't fit in the microwave (I like a brown, crispy bottom). All that changed when I moved out on my own and stared out the window of my new home for the first time at the backyard ... and was inspired to grow something.

With the coming of the first of the summer crops came the sounds of dicing and chopping, freezer containers to be washed out and reused, spaghetti sauce to make and freeze, zucchini bread to bake and salads, oh, the wonderful, beautiful salads. Beans are picked, corn is shucked, and everything is used. As soon as the mornings start to take on that cool, crisp scent, the one I call "the smell of back-to-school in the air," out come the soup pots and the apartment is filled with the aroma of veggie soup to be cooked and frozen for a cold, winter day when I long for the days of summer and the taste of fresh produce. Even the herbs are dealt with, either dried or frozen, to add zest to my winter feast. No more Swanson for me.

Last year I made the commitment to give up beef and pork. I eat very little chicken and turkey, which I may also phase out, but still eat fish, especially salmon, and some dairy such as eggs, yogurt and, alas, ice cream, my all-time weakness. I have been having a blast researching recipes for using other sources of protein like soy, beans and legumes in imaginative ways. I am currently looking for a cookbook with a title something like "Cooking With Tofu For Dummies," since I love the stuff but have had some less than successful incidents such as a stir fry than came out looking more like pudding. If anyone knows of such a book, please let me know.

Since changing my diet I find that I feel so much better. I sleep better. My digestion is better. I no longer feel lethargic after a meal. I'm discovering new uses for old, standby herbs and new ones I never used before. I've fallen in love with Rosemary. Turmeric is just downright exciting. All this from someone who thought Healthy Choice frozen meals was the greatest invention after sliced bread ... and, oh, maybe Pop Tarts, but that's another blog.

I've also decided that I deserve to treat myself better in other ways. I deserve to sit down at the table in the evening to eat a good, healthy, home-cooked meal off of real plates and not either the black plastic dishes the frozen meals come in, or the kids Dora The Explorer plates. I deserve to have a nice glass of wine out of a real wine glass (the ones I was saving for company ... hey, I'm company, too), and to drink only organic, locally made wines (a plus to living in Upstate New York on the edge of wine country). I deserve to be the worthy recipient of the bountiful harvest even though I only cooked it and didn't grow it myself this year ... except the lettuce and herbs in pots on the porch which the cats liked to nibble on as well; everything else came from the farmer's market or my sister's garden. I deserve to end my meal with fresh fruit grown without pesticides. Most of all, I deserve to treat myself like the Queen of my home because, like the old L'Oreal commercial used to say, " ...I'm worth it."

Now that's something to chew on. Excuse me, but there's a dish of grape tomatoes and some hummus in the frig calling my name.

And so it is.

Dear Munchkin ...

Yesterday we had a baby shower for my oldest, #1 granddaughter, Courtney, who will be presenting me with my first great grandchild in September (although after yesterday there is now a betting pool going as to whether she will make it to September ... we don't do "little" babies in this family). As part of the celebration, each guest was given a card and asked to write down some advise about being a parent to help the new Mom. I took one look at the card and decided that it was just too small for what I wanted to say. So I thought I would jot down a few thoughts here for her, and for any other new parents-to-be out there. 

My nickname for Courtney is "Munchkin" after the little people in the Wizard of Oz. That was because I always thought she was a very old spirit in such a little girl. We shared a love of gardening and nature, and it is this vein that I want to pass on what wisdom I have received over the years:

Dear Munchkin,

What I know about babies is alot like what I know about gardening. You remember that, don't you, because you were there with me every step of the way. It all starts with giving the new little plant the best possible environment to grow in. That means not only good nutrients and water, but plenty of sunshine, protection, warmth and love. Babies need the same things: healthy food, a safe and happy home, lots of sunshine(not just actual sunshine - although they can use the Vitamin D - but a home without the sounds of arguing or anger),  and love. Tell them every day how much you love them; even if they don't understand the words, they understand the look on your face and the tone of your voice. They feel it in the way you hold them in your arms and cuddle them.

I remembered when I first started gardening, I read that talking to your plants was healthy for them and encouraged them to grow, so I would tell them all the time how beautiful they were, how they were going to grow up to be the most beautiful flower in the whole garden, and that I was very proud of them. Children need the same encouragement. Remind them every day that they are loved, wanted, beautiful, talented and simply the most wonderful thing that ever came into your life. Encourage their curiosity, their explorations, and their adventures into this sometimes scary new world, always reminding them that you are right there to protect and guide them when they lose their way.

.

I think the biggest thing I've learned about raising children, and raising a garden, is that this is a huge commitment. It's not something to be taken lightly, or to do better than someone else as if that were the reason for doing it in the first place. It takes time, patience, lots of hard work, days when you are so tired you don't know how you can take one more step, and nights when you question your sanity at ever having thought you could do this, let along do it right. This is where the analogy between a garden and children  parts company: if a plant does not thrive where it is planted, you can pull it out and start over. Babies do not come with a "do over" button.

So that's about it, Munchkin. That's what I know about babies, and being a parent, and a grandparent for that matter, except for this little piece of advice: I hope when little your little one gets older, you will tell him what I told you all those years ago, that there is nothing he can say or do that would ever make you stop loving him, and that he will always have first place in your heart (just like you have in mine).

Love,

Grammy

And so it is. 

A Little Older, A Little Wiser

I'm a little late with the blog this week. I usually like to have it posted on a Friday - no deadline but my own. However, this week I gave myself a few days off in celebration of my 64th birthday. Unfortunately, I have been told via emails and Facebook that I've had enough time off and it's time to get back to work!

I don't know what it was about this particular birthday that had me so fixated on it. It's not like it's a very momentous birthday like turning 30, 50, 60 or even 65 (I cried for a week when I turned 30 but by 50 I was throwing parties for myself). At first  I thought maybe it was because it wasn't a very significant birthday ... unless you had a different definition of what "significant" means. So I looked back over this past year to see what, if anything, of significance had occurred. As it turned out it was a very special year:

• I found out how very little I needed to be happy. In fact, I discovered that all I really needed was me
• I found out that I could step outside of my comfort zone and nothing bad would happen to me. In fact, something wonderful happened - this blog was born and it has been a blast so far.
• I learned how to sit in total silence for 30 minutes and meet myself again for the first time.
• I learned that when you stop looking for miracles, you find them everywhere.
• I regained my sense of wonder at the world and found that believing in the magic is not just for kids (can I hear some clapping for Tinkerbell here?)
• Most of all, I learned that letting the laundry pile up and the apartment go undusted in exchange for a really good book, an iced latte, a cat on my lap and birds singing outside my window once in a while was not the end of civilization as we know it ... and no, the Housework Police did not show up. If they did, I would have pushed the clothes aside, wiped off the table and offered them a latte.

Every year, every day, every moment of our life is significant. Every day that we wake up, take a breath, and greet the day is significant. How we choose to use that day determines our experience. Looking back now I realize what a significant year it has truly been and I thank each and every one of you who helped to make it so for me. May every day ahead be amazing.

And so it is.