espresso, foam topped with a swirl
the ocean, birds, surf talk, birds of paradise
fresh vegetables in the garden, people from Australia
tequila, kayaks, fresh fish with garlic
stolen clothes, stolen herbs, loss of friends, diinner with friends
sisters and mother on an adventure
srping flowers unbelievable
loves gained, loves lost, big hearts
no home sweet home, oh home sweet home
whales, dolphins, eagles, hawks
angels
sorrow, joy
hope, faith.
wherever we are right now
can we hold our true self up and know our own happiness
in the midst of all the chaos
can we hold our true self up and know our own happiness
in the midst of all the beauty
can we hold our true self up and know our own happiness
in the midst of all the universe
can we hold our true self up and know our own happiness?
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Images
the images are there -
you can change them whenever you want to.
just hit the rotate button,
and you can sit the whole world right on its side.
you can change them whenever you want to.
just hit the rotate button,
and you can sit the whole world right on its side.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Walking on Water
Frozen water, that is. I ventured out today after having to stay in yesterday due to inclement weather. One day of not going outside, and I already had cabin fever. Could have gone out yesterday but it was 5 below and the wind was howling at 40 - 50 mph. Crazy, isn't it? Wind chills of 35 below. Now that's cold. And, not safe to go outside.
But today it was 9 degrees when I left the house, my destination, the public library 5 blocks away. Normally about a 10 - 15 minute walk. But today, after the big ice and slush storm and then the immediate drop in temperature to below zero, everything, and I mean everything, was solid ice. Thick, uneven ice such that you get when deep slush freezes sudden and solid. Even the tree lawns and the yards, though looking deceptively safe and snow covered, were solid ice. I could crash through for traction with the heel of my steeled shank boot, but it was jarring and one time, felt like my knee was going out from the force.
The only "safe" place to walk was the middle of the road, and it was sketchy. The trucks came out last night and spread some material as they call it, but it was no match for the frigid temps and the extremely thick ice that has formed. Some stretches of sidewalk look invitingly safe, but in actuality are coated with clear, thick, super smooth ice, the kind of ice the Zamboni driver can only dream of, and would be great for ice skating. Watch out!
Walking down the middle of the street was the only way, but when a car came along, I had to get over to the side, the side that was bumpy, super slick solid ice with a coating of small ice chunks that had fallen out of the trees during the wind yesterday. I would gingerly ease my way over, never taking my eyes off my path for to do so could mean that nasty fall that really, really hurts either your knee, your elbow, your wrist or your hip; sometimes your head if you fall and get that back lash that sends your head to the ground. Be very, very careful.
The walk took 45 minutes of tense, mindful walking but the warmth and welcome of the library was worth it. Picked out a couple of books, a lovely one by Rachel Carson, and sat in the comfortable chair reading and relaxing, getting warm and listening to a child remind the librarian which books he had checked out. Stocked up on some good titles and even found three free books in the free boxes in the foyer. Gotta stock up for the next ice storm heading our way and arriving tomorrow and into Wednesday.
Then the walk home. Stayed right on the main streets this time, right down the middle, and made it in a half hour. The sky was a brilliant blue and the tops of the trees sparkled with ice that hadn't been blown down. It was a visual gift from Mother Nature, a phenomenon unparalleled by anything I've ever seen. I kept having to stop and look up and around, for the sun shining on that ice was awe inspiring. That could contribute to the longer amount of walking time as well, all the minutes I stood looking up and around with my mouth hanging open.
Made it back safe and sound, no falls and only one slight slip, but deeply moved by the beauty of the ice and deeply awed by the power of nature and the weather.
And the humans think they are in control.
But today it was 9 degrees when I left the house, my destination, the public library 5 blocks away. Normally about a 10 - 15 minute walk. But today, after the big ice and slush storm and then the immediate drop in temperature to below zero, everything, and I mean everything, was solid ice. Thick, uneven ice such that you get when deep slush freezes sudden and solid. Even the tree lawns and the yards, though looking deceptively safe and snow covered, were solid ice. I could crash through for traction with the heel of my steeled shank boot, but it was jarring and one time, felt like my knee was going out from the force.
The only "safe" place to walk was the middle of the road, and it was sketchy. The trucks came out last night and spread some material as they call it, but it was no match for the frigid temps and the extremely thick ice that has formed. Some stretches of sidewalk look invitingly safe, but in actuality are coated with clear, thick, super smooth ice, the kind of ice the Zamboni driver can only dream of, and would be great for ice skating. Watch out!
Walking down the middle of the street was the only way, but when a car came along, I had to get over to the side, the side that was bumpy, super slick solid ice with a coating of small ice chunks that had fallen out of the trees during the wind yesterday. I would gingerly ease my way over, never taking my eyes off my path for to do so could mean that nasty fall that really, really hurts either your knee, your elbow, your wrist or your hip; sometimes your head if you fall and get that back lash that sends your head to the ground. Be very, very careful.
The walk took 45 minutes of tense, mindful walking but the warmth and welcome of the library was worth it. Picked out a couple of books, a lovely one by Rachel Carson, and sat in the comfortable chair reading and relaxing, getting warm and listening to a child remind the librarian which books he had checked out. Stocked up on some good titles and even found three free books in the free boxes in the foyer. Gotta stock up for the next ice storm heading our way and arriving tomorrow and into Wednesday.
Then the walk home. Stayed right on the main streets this time, right down the middle, and made it in a half hour. The sky was a brilliant blue and the tops of the trees sparkled with ice that hadn't been blown down. It was a visual gift from Mother Nature, a phenomenon unparalleled by anything I've ever seen. I kept having to stop and look up and around, for the sun shining on that ice was awe inspiring. That could contribute to the longer amount of walking time as well, all the minutes I stood looking up and around with my mouth hanging open.
Made it back safe and sound, no falls and only one slight slip, but deeply moved by the beauty of the ice and deeply awed by the power of nature and the weather.
And the humans think they are in control.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Big One Arrives
Well, okay so much for my wishful weather forecast thinking. The BIG ice storm did, in fact, make it here, in fine fashion. Everything covered with an inch of ice. Winter wonderland, but war zone as well.
We went out walking early in the morning after the storm and all around us we saw and heard giant whole trees and giant limbs splitting and breaking and crashing down to the ground. We walked by one stretch of street and right behind us, I mean right behind us, a huge limb came crashing down onto the street, blocking car traffic for sure. The noise was weird and otherworldly. Power out to most of town for about 8 hours, live wires sparking and dancing in the ice.
Every weed, pine needle, fence wire, street sign had icycles hanging from it or was coated in ice. Yesterday the sun came out for a bit and the scene was dazzling!
Was thinking of my friend who owns an apple orchard and hoping the damage was not too great. Another friend, in his 70's, said he could only remember 2 or 3 storms this intense with ice. My folks remembered the big ice storm of the late 60's when we all had to huddle up in front of the fire place for a few days without power. I think that one was accompanied by a blizzard, too.
We spent the day after our walk sawing and dragging the giant limbs that came down, somehow missing the house by inches, into the street. Whew! We, along with most other residents here in this little Indiana town, have giant maple, oak, tulip trees in the yard that just couldn't handle the immense weight added by an inch of ice on their huge branches, more like small trees when you are standing next to one with a hand saw.
Felt a little sore today from our efforts, but there is something invigorating about being out like that, waiting to hear the splitting sound that means run like hell, the trees blowing and crackling with the ice.
Today, 0 degrees with 30+ mph winds, raining ice down like small frozen projectiles, the wind sounding like a train pulling into the station. I was thinking of the indigenous people who lived here, through ice storms, floods, blizzards, cozy in their homes made of logs, sitting by the fire and not worrying about when the power will come back on, or if the pipes will freeze, or getting to the store for a gallon of milk. Telling stories of their people, wrapped in the warm hides of the buffalo, just waiting out the weather and probably grateful for all the fire wood that the breaking trees are offering up.
We went out walking early in the morning after the storm and all around us we saw and heard giant whole trees and giant limbs splitting and breaking and crashing down to the ground. We walked by one stretch of street and right behind us, I mean right behind us, a huge limb came crashing down onto the street, blocking car traffic for sure. The noise was weird and otherworldly. Power out to most of town for about 8 hours, live wires sparking and dancing in the ice.
Every weed, pine needle, fence wire, street sign had icycles hanging from it or was coated in ice. Yesterday the sun came out for a bit and the scene was dazzling!
Was thinking of my friend who owns an apple orchard and hoping the damage was not too great. Another friend, in his 70's, said he could only remember 2 or 3 storms this intense with ice. My folks remembered the big ice storm of the late 60's when we all had to huddle up in front of the fire place for a few days without power. I think that one was accompanied by a blizzard, too.
We spent the day after our walk sawing and dragging the giant limbs that came down, somehow missing the house by inches, into the street. Whew! We, along with most other residents here in this little Indiana town, have giant maple, oak, tulip trees in the yard that just couldn't handle the immense weight added by an inch of ice on their huge branches, more like small trees when you are standing next to one with a hand saw.
Felt a little sore today from our efforts, but there is something invigorating about being out like that, waiting to hear the splitting sound that means run like hell, the trees blowing and crackling with the ice.
Today, 0 degrees with 30+ mph winds, raining ice down like small frozen projectiles, the wind sounding like a train pulling into the station. I was thinking of the indigenous people who lived here, through ice storms, floods, blizzards, cozy in their homes made of logs, sitting by the fire and not worrying about when the power will come back on, or if the pipes will freeze, or getting to the store for a gallon of milk. Telling stories of their people, wrapped in the warm hides of the buffalo, just waiting out the weather and probably grateful for all the fire wood that the breaking trees are offering up.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Waiting for the Big One
This may be something that is peculiar to the midwest, I'm not sure, but a big ice storm is predicted so organizations, schools, churches, athletic organizations and service clubs, to name a few, begin to cancel their upcoming events that have been scheduled for the next 24 - 48 hours.
Right now, it is clear and sunny, but according to the weather stations, the big one is coming. Right now it is cold, 16 degrees, much too cold for freezing rain, but they have assured us that the temperature will be rising and the ice will be coming. The text feed that goes across the bottom of the TV screen is full of cancellations, winter storm watch postings, and the occasional latest political scum bag drama.
However, the doppler radar shows clear skies clear across our state and the sunset is beautiful.
I'll bet the stores are packed with people getting those gallons of milk, loaves of bread, bottles of water, packages of hot dogs. The real bummer is if the power goes out. And especially if you have no fireplace or woodstove. It's dark and you are cold and you can't even read a book comfortably and obviously, the entertainment choices go way down after dark. Lay in bed and shiver, wait for the sun to come up around 8:30. Makes for a very long night since it gets dark now around 4:45.
So, this is one of those times when I am hoping the weather men are wrong and that all the ice goes somewhere else or fizzles out before it comes here. A nice warm day in the low 40's with sunshine is what I'd like to predict.
Guess we'll see what happens.
Right now, it is clear and sunny, but according to the weather stations, the big one is coming. Right now it is cold, 16 degrees, much too cold for freezing rain, but they have assured us that the temperature will be rising and the ice will be coming. The text feed that goes across the bottom of the TV screen is full of cancellations, winter storm watch postings, and the occasional latest political scum bag drama.
However, the doppler radar shows clear skies clear across our state and the sunset is beautiful.
I'll bet the stores are packed with people getting those gallons of milk, loaves of bread, bottles of water, packages of hot dogs. The real bummer is if the power goes out. And especially if you have no fireplace or woodstove. It's dark and you are cold and you can't even read a book comfortably and obviously, the entertainment choices go way down after dark. Lay in bed and shiver, wait for the sun to come up around 8:30. Makes for a very long night since it gets dark now around 4:45.
So, this is one of those times when I am hoping the weather men are wrong and that all the ice goes somewhere else or fizzles out before it comes here. A nice warm day in the low 40's with sunshine is what I'd like to predict.
Guess we'll see what happens.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Shifting Sands
I wait with anticipation for the return of my true love.
Alone, I have watched the sky turn orange and pink in a salute to the day.
But this cannot fill the void of my love's absence.
Alone I have walked upon the shifting sands, distracted by the glint of sea washed stones.
The shorebirds hunt for their morsels in a group, yet solitary in their struggle for existence.
They seem to know what they must do.
Alone I sit and watch the egret shuffle in the tide pools for her dinner,
The vast Pacific the backdrop for her efforts.
Alone I sleep and wake and face the day,
Surrounded by people who live their own reality,
Busy in the superficial tasks of their survival.
I watch the sea and think of those who watched the sea for the return of their true love.
The aloneness is becomming familiar yet more abstract
As the time apart has stretched from days to weeks to months.
The big bed is now my own, seeming huge and empty,
Now a place where I flop about and hug my pillow.
When my love returns,
We shall watch the egret together,
And fill the expanse of our bed with our love.
Alone, I have watched the sky turn orange and pink in a salute to the day.
But this cannot fill the void of my love's absence.
Alone I have walked upon the shifting sands, distracted by the glint of sea washed stones.
The shorebirds hunt for their morsels in a group, yet solitary in their struggle for existence.
They seem to know what they must do.
Alone I sit and watch the egret shuffle in the tide pools for her dinner,
The vast Pacific the backdrop for her efforts.
Alone I sleep and wake and face the day,
Surrounded by people who live their own reality,
Busy in the superficial tasks of their survival.
I watch the sea and think of those who watched the sea for the return of their true love.
The aloneness is becomming familiar yet more abstract
As the time apart has stretched from days to weeks to months.
The big bed is now my own, seeming huge and empty,
Now a place where I flop about and hug my pillow.
When my love returns,
We shall watch the egret together,
And fill the expanse of our bed with our love.
Shake it up Baby
In the college snack bar where I work, we have one of those free-standing Coke coolers with the clear glass doors so you can easliy find the Coke product of your desire. It has oh, I guess, about 7 shelves with 10 rows on each shelf and each row holds 10 of your favorite Coke products from classic Coke to Rockstar!, an energy drink which contains the caffene of 10 regular caffinated soda drinks.
Yesterday, about 10 minutes into my shift during "meal exchange" - the time when students on the regular meal plan can eat in the snack bar because either 1) they missed the regular meal time due to class or whatever or 2) they don't like what's being served in the regular cafeteria - a student commented that the Coke cooler seemed a little sticky. Yesterday the line was out the door for 2 straight hours. "Just don't look up" was the advice I received when I first started working there. Anyway, I came around the counter to investigate.
Oh my gosh! The wall and ceiling and floor around the cooler as well as the whole entire 6 foot by 3 foot cooler was covered with a nice splash pattern, such as would be created by someone vigorously shaking up a large bottle of Coke and then putting their finger over the hole to increase the explosive impact of the carbonated liquid, carefully aiming to ensure total coverage. Coke was all over the inside of the cooler too, on the front of the bread case, which is a clear glass warmer that displays the different kinds of bread you can choose for your sandwich or pizza, on the wall back behind the counter where we work and clear over by the register.
"What the hell......." I said, mostly under my breath. The cooler door was stuck shut and took two football player types to help me open it. "What happened?" I asked my co-workers, who had been there all day.
They knew nothing and it was time for their shift to end. They left quickly with their heads down. I could hear their shoes making that sound shoes make when walking through something sticky on a tile floor.
About that time the supervisor decided to stop by. She must have had a bad day because she lit into me about the importance of keeping the area clean and looking good and how could I just let this happen and do nothing about it? What could I say? She was right. I just stood there and took it.
My shift ends at 11pm and normally I leave there by 11:30. Last night I got home at 1am feeling like I had left a war zone. Every bottle of drink in that cooler was covered with sticky dried Coke, not to mention the shelves, the things that hold the shelves up, the whirring vent thing, the exhaust slats on the front. I am now intimately aquainted with Coke cooler model XFG4106.
It's a nice big cooler but it has a lit of little parts.
Yesterday, about 10 minutes into my shift during "meal exchange" - the time when students on the regular meal plan can eat in the snack bar because either 1) they missed the regular meal time due to class or whatever or 2) they don't like what's being served in the regular cafeteria - a student commented that the Coke cooler seemed a little sticky. Yesterday the line was out the door for 2 straight hours. "Just don't look up" was the advice I received when I first started working there. Anyway, I came around the counter to investigate.
Oh my gosh! The wall and ceiling and floor around the cooler as well as the whole entire 6 foot by 3 foot cooler was covered with a nice splash pattern, such as would be created by someone vigorously shaking up a large bottle of Coke and then putting their finger over the hole to increase the explosive impact of the carbonated liquid, carefully aiming to ensure total coverage. Coke was all over the inside of the cooler too, on the front of the bread case, which is a clear glass warmer that displays the different kinds of bread you can choose for your sandwich or pizza, on the wall back behind the counter where we work and clear over by the register.
"What the hell......." I said, mostly under my breath. The cooler door was stuck shut and took two football player types to help me open it. "What happened?" I asked my co-workers, who had been there all day.
They knew nothing and it was time for their shift to end. They left quickly with their heads down. I could hear their shoes making that sound shoes make when walking through something sticky on a tile floor.
About that time the supervisor decided to stop by. She must have had a bad day because she lit into me about the importance of keeping the area clean and looking good and how could I just let this happen and do nothing about it? What could I say? She was right. I just stood there and took it.
My shift ends at 11pm and normally I leave there by 11:30. Last night I got home at 1am feeling like I had left a war zone. Every bottle of drink in that cooler was covered with sticky dried Coke, not to mention the shelves, the things that hold the shelves up, the whirring vent thing, the exhaust slats on the front. I am now intimately aquainted with Coke cooler model XFG4106.
It's a nice big cooler but it has a lit of little parts.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
There Is No Peace
I stopped at the liquor store in the small beach community on my way out of town to the Baja. I’d only been there twice before under similar circumstances.
This is a typical corner liquor store – it has just about anything you might need, maybe even a little hardware. One thing I like about it is that you can pull right up in front and then right back on to the street when you go.
Another thing I like about this particular store, mostly just like so many others in so many ways, is the beautiful eastern European (perhaps Russian?) woman who owns the place and all the times I’ve been there, has been working behind the counter.
American Spirit non –filter cigarettes, which she assured me she is never out of, and bottled water are the items that I bought this time, and all the other times as a matter of fact. This time, as I was standing in front of the many choices of bottled water, actually wondering if one could possibly be any better than the other, remembering a book on labeling that I had just finished that reminded me that fancy doesn’t necessarily mean better, I thought of the days when there was no bottled water. There were just those stainless steel water fountains with the foot pedals that dispensed really cold water, and if you were lucky, the water stream was strong and far away from the place where it came out of the fountain.
As I stood there contemplating the water, a more contemporary thought, or rather question, came into my mind – why don’t the terrorists just put poison in the bottled water? Everyone drinks it; it could have a devastating effect. Just infiltrate the bottling company plant, add the unauthorized additive when no one was looking and voila! I voiced this aloud to the beautiful woman behind the counter – we were the only two people in the store.
The woman seemed shocked and quite taken aback. She vehemently said, “Why would they do such a thing? There are many different people living in America. They would also then be killing innocent bystanders, maybe even some of their own kind!” She spoke passionately, her eyes searching mine, her accent seeming to add ancient struggle to her words.
“Why would they want to kill anybody?” I asked, looking at her beautiful, animated face.
We looked at each other for a few moments and I watched as the expression on her face changed from shocked indignation to realization to resignation.
“There is no peace,” she said softly; she looked so sad.
The tinkling of the doorbells brought us both back out of our reverie. I paid for the water and cigarettes and started for the door.
“Think positive! Think positive!” the beautiful woman cried out as she raised her fist strongly into the air. I smiled at her and said, okay! and walked out into the sunshine.
One Clear Moment
The built up reality was really
Nothing more than wishful thinking.
When the realization came,
The world seemed so foreign.
Wading through all the emotion,
Knowing that it only serves to muddle the situation,
Moments of clarity begin to come through -
The clear picture is emerging.
One clear moment, a gift of love,
Gives the reminder of the real purpose.
Giving up everything leaves cleanness,
The heart of the matter reveals itself.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Corn on a Nail
We decided to feed the squirrels and the birds here in our little back yard. I remember, I think, my Dad or was it my father-in-law, pounding a nail in a tree and putting an ear of corn on there for the squirrels, so we hammered a nail into the top of the fence post and stick on ears of corn we pilfered from the nearby fields during harvest time and that my best friend gave me from her private stash. Those precious ears of corn that are now not being used to feed the world but rather being used to create ethanol to fuel our SUV's.
Anyway, we have three types of squirrels here in our neighborhood: Reds, grays, and blacks. When one gets on the corn, another color will chase him off and while he's chasing him off through the tree tops, yet another color will sneak in and get on the corn. Sometimes they somehow get the whole cob off there and take it away somewhere. We have never seen this happen. Even the international students get a kick out of watching the squirrels. The young man from Nigeria, when asked if they had squirrels in Nigeria, said yes, but not really in town because if any squirrels make it into town, they also make it into the soup pot.
We also hung a bird feeder with a real long metal pole from the deck. Chicadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, sparrows, no cardinals yet, blue jays, starlings, have all made a visit there. The squirrels thought they might want to get in there too, but they couldn't figure out how to get over to the actual feeder, apparantly not liking the long metal pole for getting over there. It's real skinny. We watched them hang from the deck from their hind legs and stretch way out to try to reach it, but they couldn't. They tried and tried, but couldn't get to it.
One day I happened to be at the window getting some coffee and here came one of the little black squirrels. He scampered up the deck and sat on the top rail. He walked back and forth a number of times and then finally made the jump over to the feeder. The whole thing came crashing down, breaking the feeder and surprising the heck out of the squirrel. All the other squirrels must have been watching because there was a mad dash for all the seed that was now spilled all over the ground, the corn on the nail forgotten for the moment. It seemed like they had discussed it and either chosen this squirrel, or perhaps he volunteered, for the bird seed suicide mission.
We were pissed, so we have been starving out the squirrels, leaving a cleaned off corn cob on the nail just to mess with them, which they continue to visit every day. Now it has snowed, and I kind of feel sorry for the squirrels, so I may put out another cob today.
Anyway, we have three types of squirrels here in our neighborhood: Reds, grays, and blacks. When one gets on the corn, another color will chase him off and while he's chasing him off through the tree tops, yet another color will sneak in and get on the corn. Sometimes they somehow get the whole cob off there and take it away somewhere. We have never seen this happen. Even the international students get a kick out of watching the squirrels. The young man from Nigeria, when asked if they had squirrels in Nigeria, said yes, but not really in town because if any squirrels make it into town, they also make it into the soup pot.
We also hung a bird feeder with a real long metal pole from the deck. Chicadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, sparrows, no cardinals yet, blue jays, starlings, have all made a visit there. The squirrels thought they might want to get in there too, but they couldn't figure out how to get over to the actual feeder, apparantly not liking the long metal pole for getting over there. It's real skinny. We watched them hang from the deck from their hind legs and stretch way out to try to reach it, but they couldn't. They tried and tried, but couldn't get to it.
One day I happened to be at the window getting some coffee and here came one of the little black squirrels. He scampered up the deck and sat on the top rail. He walked back and forth a number of times and then finally made the jump over to the feeder. The whole thing came crashing down, breaking the feeder and surprising the heck out of the squirrel. All the other squirrels must have been watching because there was a mad dash for all the seed that was now spilled all over the ground, the corn on the nail forgotten for the moment. It seemed like they had discussed it and either chosen this squirrel, or perhaps he volunteered, for the bird seed suicide mission.
We were pissed, so we have been starving out the squirrels, leaving a cleaned off corn cob on the nail just to mess with them, which they continue to visit every day. Now it has snowed, and I kind of feel sorry for the squirrels, so I may put out another cob today.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Students for Food
While at work yesterday, I had the great good fortune to work with a young woman from Nepal and another one from Vietnam.
We were discussing the terrible amount of food that gets discarded by the organization for which we work. Outdated stuff, left over stuff, uneaten stuff. We tried to think of solutions to saving this food and reducing the waste, when so many people go without food - something we all know unless we have been living in a cave since we were born.
The young woman from Vietnam said, in her family and culture, if you waste even one grain of rice on your plate, "It bad!" They both went on to say, that there is very little, if any, food waste in the lives they left to go to college in a small Indiana town.
I said, well maybe you could create some sort of student organization, I know, "Students for Food!"
There was a slight pause, and then they both said, laughing, students for food? ALL students are for food!
We all had a pretty good laugh.
We were discussing the terrible amount of food that gets discarded by the organization for which we work. Outdated stuff, left over stuff, uneaten stuff. We tried to think of solutions to saving this food and reducing the waste, when so many people go without food - something we all know unless we have been living in a cave since we were born.
The young woman from Vietnam said, in her family and culture, if you waste even one grain of rice on your plate, "It bad!" They both went on to say, that there is very little, if any, food waste in the lives they left to go to college in a small Indiana town.
I said, well maybe you could create some sort of student organization, I know, "Students for Food!"
There was a slight pause, and then they both said, laughing, students for food? ALL students are for food!
We all had a pretty good laugh.
The Eagles are Back
I recently returned to the land of my birth, a small town along the great Wabash River. Home of the Miami's, friends of Tecumseh, the great Shawnee warrier who relentlessly fought against General William Henry Harrison until he (Harrison) fradulently purchased millions of acres of land, including most of Tecumseh's homeland, from the Iroquois and soundly defeated the Indians in the infamous Battle of Tippicanoe. The Iroquois managed to convince the British that all other Indian tribes were subserviant to them and sold land to the highest bidder without remorse and probably with some degree of smugness. Land they had never seen, land they didn't even know existed until the British came to them and offered to purchase it.
I wonder what they got for payment. Some beads? Some rancid pork? A few blankets laced with smallpox perhaps?
Anyway, this land onced teamed with bald and golden eagles, buffalo, bear, wolves, elk, beaver, the streams and rivers flowed clear and clean with abundant fish, a land that easily sustained the native population with plenty to go around for all.
Recently the bald eagles have returned. When my brother told me this, I immediately wanted to know where they were. He drove me along the Wabash and we saw, roosting along the river in the giant sycamores, bald eagles. We watched them fishing and preening and just sitting there, so beautiful and majestic.
My heart soared and I was actually brought to tears. I thought about Tecumseh and how hard he fought to maintain some semblance of normalcy for his beloved people as he watched, helpless, his land become overrun with outsiders who had no regard for the natural resources nor respect for the people already living there. I felt that he might have felt joy at seeing the eagles return to his old haunts along the mighty Wabash river. I tried to imagine what this land must have looked like covered with ancient hardwood forests and clear, clean rivers. I stood there and gazed into the polluted, brown water of the once great river. I hoped that the eagles could withstand the toxins they were ingesting by eating the fish they were so deftly catching.
I felt remorse for the way my ancesters allowed greed to control them and convinced themselves that the native inhabitants were less than human.
There is still a small population of Miami Indians living in this area. One of my roommates, a childhood friend of mine, is one of those Indians. He has taken me to places that I never knew existed, to land that still belongs to the Miamis, land that has not been cleared for agricultural uses, land that has stands of trees that are hundreds of years old. Land that must look somewhat like it used to in the days of Tecumseh. Land where the bald eagles have again come to nest and call their home.
I wonder what they got for payment. Some beads? Some rancid pork? A few blankets laced with smallpox perhaps?
Anyway, this land onced teamed with bald and golden eagles, buffalo, bear, wolves, elk, beaver, the streams and rivers flowed clear and clean with abundant fish, a land that easily sustained the native population with plenty to go around for all.
Recently the bald eagles have returned. When my brother told me this, I immediately wanted to know where they were. He drove me along the Wabash and we saw, roosting along the river in the giant sycamores, bald eagles. We watched them fishing and preening and just sitting there, so beautiful and majestic.
My heart soared and I was actually brought to tears. I thought about Tecumseh and how hard he fought to maintain some semblance of normalcy for his beloved people as he watched, helpless, his land become overrun with outsiders who had no regard for the natural resources nor respect for the people already living there. I felt that he might have felt joy at seeing the eagles return to his old haunts along the mighty Wabash river. I tried to imagine what this land must have looked like covered with ancient hardwood forests and clear, clean rivers. I stood there and gazed into the polluted, brown water of the once great river. I hoped that the eagles could withstand the toxins they were ingesting by eating the fish they were so deftly catching.
I felt remorse for the way my ancesters allowed greed to control them and convinced themselves that the native inhabitants were less than human.
There is still a small population of Miami Indians living in this area. One of my roommates, a childhood friend of mine, is one of those Indians. He has taken me to places that I never knew existed, to land that still belongs to the Miamis, land that has not been cleared for agricultural uses, land that has stands of trees that are hundreds of years old. Land that must look somewhat like it used to in the days of Tecumseh. Land where the bald eagles have again come to nest and call their home.
Friday, November 21, 2008
International Flavor
At this point in my life, I thought I'd be living in a nice house, having my grandkids over to bake cookies and spoil them, sitting on the couch holding my husband's hand while we watched the news hour.
Instead, I live in a big house close to campus with an old friend and two international students, one from Africa and one from the West Bank.
The African student likes to cook his native food and drives everyone else out of the house with the smell, something between dead billy goat and sour milk with onions. I said, one day before I had experienced the smell, gee! I'd love to taste some of your native food someday So, he prepared this dish and then I just could not get past the smell to taste it. He said he understood.
The young man from the West Bank is like Steve Martin in the Saturday Night Live skit, Those Wild and Crazy Guys. Remember them? It's true, he loves to go after those beautiful American women, leaves his phone on speaker so we can hear the girls turning him down while he shouts into the phone, and loves to party.
Not exactly the image I conjured up when I was a young bride of 23.
Now, a few decades later, I'm just going with the flow and life is an adventure and maybe if I am patient, I can get on in the dish room.
Instead, I live in a big house close to campus with an old friend and two international students, one from Africa and one from the West Bank.
The African student likes to cook his native food and drives everyone else out of the house with the smell, something between dead billy goat and sour milk with onions. I said, one day before I had experienced the smell, gee! I'd love to taste some of your native food someday So, he prepared this dish and then I just could not get past the smell to taste it. He said he understood.
The young man from the West Bank is like Steve Martin in the Saturday Night Live skit, Those Wild and Crazy Guys. Remember them? It's true, he loves to go after those beautiful American women, leaves his phone on speaker so we can hear the girls turning him down while he shouts into the phone, and loves to party.
Not exactly the image I conjured up when I was a young bride of 23.
Now, a few decades later, I'm just going with the flow and life is an adventure and maybe if I am patient, I can get on in the dish room.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The Dish Room
Personally, I think the people in the dish room hold all the power. Need those 4 inch pans? The wire whisks? How about those precious plastic food storage containers? If they don't like you, they will shove all the tools you need over to the side and pretend they can't hear you over the noise of the automated dish washers. Maybe they really can't.
I just asked them the first day, what is the correct proceedure for leaving dishes in the dish room? They all happily told me. I always profusely thank them for their very hard work. Sweating, lifting those huge stock pots and heavy skillets, trying to keep up with the meal hours when there are several thousand students piling endless dishes and eating utensils, glasses, coffee cups and discarded paper products into the conveyor that is sheilded by a nice wall so you can't actully see the dishwashers. But they are there, just on the other side of that wall. Yes they are, and if they don't like you, you can just forget it.
The dishwashers in this particular dish room have been in their positions for over 10 years, all of them. One of them, for 20 years! When I first wanted to work there, I wanted to work in the dish room, but they said, well there is a waiting list for the dish room. And, my college degree didn't mean shit.
I just asked them the first day, what is the correct proceedure for leaving dishes in the dish room? They all happily told me. I always profusely thank them for their very hard work. Sweating, lifting those huge stock pots and heavy skillets, trying to keep up with the meal hours when there are several thousand students piling endless dishes and eating utensils, glasses, coffee cups and discarded paper products into the conveyor that is sheilded by a nice wall so you can't actully see the dishwashers. But they are there, just on the other side of that wall. Yes they are, and if they don't like you, you can just forget it.
The dishwashers in this particular dish room have been in their positions for over 10 years, all of them. One of them, for 20 years! When I first wanted to work there, I wanted to work in the dish room, but they said, well there is a waiting list for the dish room. And, my college degree didn't mean shit.
we found this place
We found this place not too long ago, an old abandoned limestone quarry, but someone had made a little hang out there by the turquoise water of the deep hole where they dug out the limestone.
The place was solid limestone and we wondered if it would be possible to build a stylely home there and how would you put in your septic and how would you drill for your well?
I refused to believe that it would not be possible, but my hiking partners insisted that there was no way to get through all that limestone to dig your foundation, etc.
Blasting caps, right? Remember when they used to warn the kids about finding blasting caps and if you found one you should immediately turn it over to a grown up? You could get your little fingers or your little hand or your precious eyes blown off if you weren't careful.
The place was solid limestone and we wondered if it would be possible to build a stylely home there and how would you put in your septic and how would you drill for your well?
I refused to believe that it would not be possible, but my hiking partners insisted that there was no way to get through all that limestone to dig your foundation, etc.
Blasting caps, right? Remember when they used to warn the kids about finding blasting caps and if you found one you should immediately turn it over to a grown up? You could get your little fingers or your little hand or your precious eyes blown off if you weren't careful.
Barking dogs with snow
It is snowing like mad and the dogs are barking, at the snow perhaps or what they think they see in the snow perhaps?
Do the dogs turn their barking on and off at will or is there some sort of mechanism they posess that, when a certain stimulus is received, the barking starts, beyond the control of the dog?
This is probably a question that has already been answered by dog scientists.
Do the dogs turn their barking on and off at will or is there some sort of mechanism they posess that, when a certain stimulus is received, the barking starts, beyond the control of the dog?
This is probably a question that has already been answered by dog scientists.
well alrighty then
It is just that easy to set up a blog. How do the people find your blog? Guess that will come to light soon.
I was walking around in the neighborhood the other day and there was this house with a sign that said "Johnny Appleseed Tree Location" on a placard hanging from one of those metal sign posts. I wondered just exactly where the location of the alleged tree might have been. I walked around to the alley and peeked into the back yard, but I saw no historical landmark sign or an old looking stump or anything that might indicate where that tree might have stood.
And I was just left wondering.
I was walking around in the neighborhood the other day and there was this house with a sign that said "Johnny Appleseed Tree Location" on a placard hanging from one of those metal sign posts. I wondered just exactly where the location of the alleged tree might have been. I walked around to the alley and peeked into the back yard, but I saw no historical landmark sign or an old looking stump or anything that might indicate where that tree might have stood.
And I was just left wondering.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
