One Deep Breath-The Unseen

soft breeze
caresses my cheek
then sighs

spirit’s breath
whispering my name
comforts my soul

When I was out walking today ~ which was a true gift of a day, a cloudless blue sky, and air filled with the fragrance of crunchy leaves baking in the warm sun ~ I stopped for a minute in the park and closed my eyes, letting the cool breeze gently wash over my face. I felt a fleeting moment of true peace, as if the wind carried the gentle touch of an unseen spirit, sent to calm my heart and ease my mind.

Sunday Scribblings-Bedtime Stories

If you want to get a good night’s sleep, the experts say, you should develop a bedtime ritual and stick to it. I’ve been heeding that advice since I was a very little girl, and the main ingredient in my bedtime ritual has always been stories. When I was very small, someone (usually my mother or grandmother) read the stories to me. Johanna Spry’s Heidi, was a particular favorite. When we reached the part where Grandfather and Heidi shared a glass of warm goat’s milk and fresh bread, invariably I would become very hungry, necessitating a trip to the kitchen for a glass of milk and some bread and butter of my own. I also clearly remember one of the “Little Golden Books” that had a picture of puppies on the cover, and I could never go to sleep until I had covered the book up with a blanket so the puppies wouldn’t get cold.

As soon as I was able to read on my own, I kept books and a flashlight under my pillow, so I could read well into the wee hours of the night – which usually turned out to be all of about 11:00. I’m sure I wasn’t fooling my mother at all, who was wise enough to play dumb about my late night reading under the covers. During this time, I remember devouring Madeleine L’Engle’s Wrinkle in Time series, Maud Hart Lovelace’s Betsy and Tacy books, and Louise Fitzhugh’s Harriet the Spy. I also started surreptitiously reading Jane Eyre and Gone With the Wind at bedtime, because, at age 10, my mother thought I was too young for them. (I think I did fool her about that!)

I still go to bed with books – as a matter of fact, we had a power outage last summer and I took my book to bed, even though I couldn’t read it – just holding it helped me fall asleep! Crawling into bed with a good book remedies even the worst of days, and serves as a reward for a day well spent. I’ve probably never gone to bed without a book in my hand. I’m even pretty sure I took books on my honeymoon, although I can’t remember just how much reading I actually did! Books are my security blanket at night, my magic carpet away from the worries and concerns of the day, and my passport into a land of sweet dreams.

my current bedtime reading

How Old Am I Really?

Today’s post is inspired by my inner brat. It seems that in spite of my advanced age, there is still a 15 year old girl dwelling in my psyche, capable of righteous indignation and insane jealousy. I just have to talk about this to someone, and – guess what? – you’re it.

Here’s the backstory, as briefly as I can tell it. I was once a member of a local musical group. There were 13 of us (we were a handbell group, which isn’t really important, but partly explains why we were 13), and we traveled and made CD’s and did concerts, after which there was much wine drinking and general carousing. It was a huge amount of fun, but also a huge time committment. So, two years ago, I (regretfully) resigned, with many promises to return to and subsitute, fill in, etc., which I have dutifully done on several occasions.

It’s impossible not to miss being in a group like that. Oh, I don’t miss the endless rehearsals, with 13 women trying to get a word in edgewise about how things should be done, nor the hours of home practice, trying to emulate the action of handbells by using every last one of my kitchen spoons (don’t even ask!). What I miss the most is – #1, the interaction between talented women, working together to accomplish a common goal; #2, stretching my musical capabilities; and #3, performing for live audiences and being adored and admired!

Now, also a part of this group was someone whom I would consider my best friend, and my musical mentor. She was in the group far longer than I and she decided to “retire” the same time I did. Over the summer, there was a “temporary” vacancy in the group, created by a member who wanted to take a year off for personal reasons. Well, it seems my friend was asked if she would step in and fill this one year vacancy, and she agreed.

Here’s where the inner brat comes in. WHY DIDN’T THEY ASK ME??? They didn’t even ask me. And, without ringing my own bell too loudly, so to speak, I know I am a really good handbell player. So now my friend is telling me about all the things she’s doing with the group, and how they’re preparing for this, that, and the other concert. On the outside, I’m smiling and nodding, and on the inside, I am just fuming.

I don’t consider myself to be an overly sensitive or insecure person. Way back when I really was 15, I wasn’t type to get in a snit because my friend didn’t call me back when she said she would, or invite me to her party. So the jealousy and hurt I’m feeling right now are (thankfully!) quite unfamiliar. At issue is, how do I handle my feelings? The 15 year old says, “fine, if they want to be that way, they can forget about asking me to substitute anymore, and forget about me coming to their dumb old concerts.” Of course, the adult part says, “either suck it up and forget about it, or talk to the group director in a mature adult fashion and let her know you’re interested in returning if another opportunity arises.”

Naturally, I know the right answer. But it’s amazing how easily immaturity rears it’s ugly head from time to time, even when you’re a supposedly “mature adult.” In some ways, it’s kind of nice to know there’s still a little bit of a teenager in there somewhere. I just wish it was the part that weighed 95 pounds and wore a size three!

Thanks for listening…

Poetry Thursday – Everyday Inspiration

The poems I love best are homages to the “everyday” – a sunset, a favorite tree, birds singing, a fulfilling pastime or a special relationship. These things add small touches of pleasure to our lives, so it makes sense to memorialize them with poetry, which should itself be another of life’s everyday pleasures.

Every Afternoon

Along about four o’clock
every workday afternoon
I begin to think about my chair.

You know the one –
the soft old green one
just there by the window
with an oven warm spot

baked in the late day sun.

Everday after work
I fold my weary bones into its lap
lean my aching head against its neck
and sigh.

It fits me just right, this chair.
Although it is large enough
for a small boy
to curl up at my side,
snuggle in close to my heart
and hear a story or two ~
these days it’s just me.

It could be that one or both
of the dogs might come
and vye for a spot on my lap,
a loyal, forgiving soul
to share this comfort with.

Either way,
I begin to think about it ~
my chair, my book,
maybe one dog or both~
along about four o’clock.

Teaspoon Tuesday – My Life in Magazines

I’m deviating from Deirdre’s suggestion just a little bit and borrowing an idea from one of the magazine’s I read. Every month they feature a celebrity column titled “My Life in_________”, for instance, “My Life in Hairstyles,” or My Life in Jewelry,” and once it was “My Life in Lipstick” for pete’s sake! So, here’s a little history of “My Life in Magazines”.

1. Late 60’s-Early 70’s: An avid reader of Teen Beat and 16, to catch up on all the latest news about the mysterious death of Paul McCartney or cut out pictures of Mickey Dolenz (my favorite Monkee). I also read 17 for fashion tips, although fashion was not a big issue in those days, since I dressed in some version of the school uniform every day – blue plaid skirt, royal blue blazer, and saddle shoes!
2. Late 70’s-Early 80’s: As I moved through high school, I lost interest in the celebrity thing, and started reading Madmoiselle and Glamour. Madmoiselle was my favorite, especially after I became a Sylvia Plath groupie and read about her famous internship there;
3. Late 80’s-Early 90’s: My domestic goddess days had me reading all the women’s mags – Redbook, McCalls, Ladies Home Journal, Good Housekeeping. That’s right, just me on the couch with the bon bons, magazines, and soap operas (NOT!);
4. As the century changed, so did my reading tastes. I began to realize that I no longer fit the target demographic for those women’s magazines – I had outgrown the young wife and mother role. I gradually let all the subscriptions run out, and for a while, there were no magazines at all in my life. But then, the publishing houses got smart, and realized there were a bunch of women out there heading into midlife with a totally different focus. I came across a copy of More, which focuses entirely on the needs and interests of women over age 40. At first, I resisted classifying myself in the “over-40” group. But before long, cruel reality set in – along with grey hairs, wrinkle, bulges in odd places, and hot flashes – and I was desperate for advice of getting rid of all the above! So, the subscription card went into the mail;
5. And, in a curious display of symmetry hearkening back to my days of Teen Beat and 16, I allow myself the guilty pleasure of reading People on flights to Florida.

Back in the days when I was reading lots of magazines, I often did as Deidre suggested – I passed them along to my mom, who in turn, passed them along to her neighbors. In the years my grandmother spent in a nursing home, I took great piles of them there, for visitors and staff to enjoy.

One Deep Breath-Mystery

invisible artist

traces crystal patterns

on my window

~

icy filagree

frosting the lawn~

nature’s lace

I’m fascinated by the intricate patterns created by frost and snow, as if a mysterious artist were at work all night, patiently etching these delicate designs on the earth.

for more haiku, go here

Sunday Scribblings-Good

Okay, I admit it – I was a good girl. I was the kind of girl whose mother never had to say, in her most exasperated tone of voice, “Why can’t you just be good?” I was always good.

Most of the time, being good came easily. My parents were good people, and we lived in a good neighborhood. I went to moderately good schools, and I had good and true friends who weren’t likely to lead me astray. Being good worked for me – as an only child, it served me well to stay on the good side of my parents. They rewarded me with all the good things of life -books, bikes, cool clothes, and plenty of loving attention.

My mother was a good girl too, and she became a good wife. At least, what was considered a good wife in the 1950’s. She kept a good home, cooked good food, and raised a good child, while her husband made a good living. She was also an only child, and was “raised right” according to the standards of her small southern town . She suppressed her own dreams and desires, whatever they might have been, in deference to the needs of her husband, her child, and eventually, to the care of her elderly parents.

But then my father displayed his really bad side, and left my mother after 42 years of marriage to run away with his 45 year old secretary (I know, it sounds like a very bad movie). In the early days of her despair, my mother would say in puzzlement, “I always just tried to be a good wife.” As despair turned to anger, my mother would tell me “Don’t bother being good – it doesn’t get you anywhere.”

These days, I tend to hover somewhere between those two extremes. Usually, the good girl wins out – I keep showing up at work, taking care of the people and things I’m supposed to take care of, saying “please and thank you” at appropriate times. Being good feels right to me – most of the time. Sometimes, though, I sense that there’s an inner girl in there that isn’t quite so good. That’s the one that loves driving too fast, that goes out with girlfriends and drinks a little too much, that has allowed bad language to creep into her once pristine vocabulary. I know, this stuff is mild according to real bad girl standards, but it’s borderline decadence compared to the way I was raised.

As I get older, I find myself getting irritated at the good girl, because sometimes her goodness intereferes with my real desires. Women face this dilemma all the time. We’re trained to be pleasers and caretakers, even when that means sacrificing our own needs. But, I’ve decided to heed my mother’s warning and let the “bad” girl out a little more often – the one that thinks about me first, about putting duty and responsibility aside momentarily in favor of some (good) fun. I have a sneaking suspicion that both girls will be a lot happier if I do!

Just Say Yes!

In an effort to pull myself out of the doldrums I’ve been in lately, I snitched this idea from Michelle (who copied it from Andrea)….Happy Friday, everyone!

yes to eating a classic Sanders hot fudge cream puff in spite of my diet~yes to Magic and Molly taking turns lying in my lap while I’m watching tv~yes to our first concert at school, with lots of great songs about autumn~yes to my new brown belted sweater and flared jeans that actually look pretty good~yes to my haircut, now that all the dreaded layers have at last grown out and so I’m back to my classic bob~yes to Jane Kenyon’s Otherwise, the latest addition in my burgeoning poetry library~yes to the Fat Bastard Chardonnay (and yes, that is the name!) chilling in my fridge~ yes to Mario Lopez on Dancing With The Stars (sooooo cute!)~yes to the Detroit Tigers finally making it to the World Series~yes to homemade chicken pot pie for dinner~yes to an amazing performance of Our Town at the high school where I work, with some of my favorite students in leading roles~yes to Gray’s Anatomy and ER on Thursday nights, so I get my fix of medical dramas all in one evening~yes to Leave The Pieces, my new favorite song by The Wreckers, a country girl duo~yes to a wonderful network of blogging friends, whose inspiring words always lighten my heart and feed my soul~and yes to a Saturday with nothing planned – a sure sign of being middle aged when Saturday night at home is preferable to Saturday night on the town!

A Teaspoon-ful of Soup

Who can eat just a teaspoon-ful of soup? Certainly not me, especially on a cold, rainy day like it was today. I want to fill up on a heaping bowlful of something hot, rich, and satisfying!

Deirdre, one of my favorite blogger buddies, has a neat new site called Teaspoon Tuesday, and every week she offers us a chance to share a little something sweet about life in general. This week, the topic is soup, and I’m looking forward to picking up some new recipes for one of my favorite comfort foods.

Just a while ago, on another cold, rainy, Michigan day (unfortunately, I fear a weather pattern is developing here!) I shared one of my all time favorite soup recipes. Today, I’m offering a brand new one – I haven’t made this yet, but I just ate a big bowl of it at the home of one of my best friends (who also happens to be a gourmet cook, lucky for me!) It is rich, creamy, soothing, and delicious. She served it with hot Parkerhouse rolls, a leafy green salad garnished with blue cheese, dried cherries and dressed in a simple vinaigrette. Scrumptous! and even better when enjoyed in the company of friends.

Black Bean Pumpkin Soup

In a food processor, coarsely chop 3 cans (15 1/2 oz each) black beans, rinsed and drained; and 1 cup chopped tomatoes, also drained.

In a big 6 quart soup kettle, saute ( in 1/4 cup of butter ) – 1 1/4 cup chopped onion, 1/2 cup minced shallots, 4 minced garlic cloves, 1 1/2 tablespoons ground cumin, 1 teaspoon salt. When the onion has softened, stir in bean puree.

Add 4 cups beef broth, one 16 oz can of pumpkin puree, and 1/2 cup dry sherry. Simmer, uncovered, for 25 minutes.

Just before serving, add 1/2 pound diced ham and 3-4 tablespoons sherry vinegar. If necessary, simmer, stirring until heated through.

Serve garnished with sour cream or plain yogurt.

One Deep Breath-Simple Pleasures

I heartily endorse indulgence in life’s simple pleasures, and the older I get, the more simple my pleasures seem to become! If I were to plan an entire day for myself filled with favorite little luxuries, this might describe it:

life’s little luxuries
a haiku series

small treasure of life
indulgence well deserved
refreshes the soul

weekly bookstore idyll
perusing shiny new tomes
book lovers delight

café awaits me
double espresso please ~
tiny cup of fuel

lunch with a friend
secrets shared heart to heart
afternoon delight

hot tea by the fire
dispels winter wind
warms body and soul

steam curls from the tub
wafting troubles away
relaxing long soak

day of small pleasures
renews my weary heart~
how lucky am I?

for more simple pleasures, read here