Roses of Winter


God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.  ~J.M. Barrie, Courage, 1922

The day before Thanksgiving, our neighbor, Harry, knocked on my door with an armful of roses from his still flowering garden. "Hard to believe they're still growing," he said.

"Yes," I answered, "But wonderful, too." I clipped the stems and placed the bouquet in a green vase on my dining room table. In the next few weeks, I passed by the roses often. Each time I did, I thought how comforting it was to see them bloom into December.


Harry's lovely bouquet brought to mind Barrie's quote and my thoughts turned to how increasingly important the role memory takes as we get older—not that I'm done making memories—not by a long shot, I hope! After all, I'm only seventy now.

I like to think my "winter" is still far away, but based on how rapidly the years have gone gone thus far, it's much closer than I want to believe. Sometimes, I wonder about what it will be like once I reach what I've always viewed as a barren season.


I visit a senior center once a month to do a program entitled, "Remember When." These seniors, older than I am, of course, are firmly entrenched in their "winters." They prefer sharing memories evoked by old movies, historical events, and songs of their "summers." For them, it seems, memory making is, like their memories, a thing of the past.


Here's a few nonscientific things I've come to believe about memory:

Memory is fluid and dynamic. Each recollection takes on a different hue, tone, and meaning when we view it from a distance created by time.


Memory is a way of holding onto the things we love. It tells us who we are, and is tied to things we never want to lose. As a result, it's only natural that it holds such a larger part in our lives as we age.

Memory smoothes out the edges of the life we've lived. It is the book we write in the silence of our hearts. And like writers, we can discover the freedom to alter our history and tell it a little more like we wanted it to be.

Memories require memory keepers. And as we get older, we may become the only one left, the master memory keeper of our family. An awesome, sad and yet joyful thing to contemplate!

Memory is randomly selective. As Austin O'Malley notes, "Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food." Nora Ephron speaks of this in her new book, "I Remember Nothing." I have a vivid memory of my third daughter, Christina. I had her sitting up on the kitchen counter and was kissing the back of her neck where a curly tendril of hair always nestled. Yet when she asks me about her birthday parties, I remember nothing. Cesare Pavese (The Burning Brand) says it so well, "We do not remember days; we remember moments."

Memory of our childhood remains imprinted in our memory bank for all of our lives. Sometimes, I ask myself: why can I remember all the details of my elementary school yet scarcely remember the hallways of the college I attended when I was forty years old?

Recently, after arriving home after doing a Christmas program for the seniors, the first thing I saw when I came in were Harry's roses, bathed in the winter sun. I thought again about the seniors and remembered their joy in their recollections, their "roses in December."


Whether you're at the same point in your memory timeline as I am or at another, enjoy and savor your memories this season. And as Christmas draws ever closer, my wish for you is that your memories continue to keep you warm through future Decembers and that you enjoy making new and happy ones in 2011.

 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

A Season of its Own

"Oh how we love pumpkin season. You did know this gourd-ish squash has its own season, right? Winter, Spring, Summer, Pumpkin.... We anxiously anticipate it every year." ~Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer, October 2010

If you still have a pumpkin left from Halloween and Thanksgiving, you may be ready about now to pitch it in the trash and start your Christmas decorating. Stop! That decorative pumpkin is loaded with great flavor and lots of vitamins. You can cook it and serve it in a variety of ways – a side dish (it is a squash!), or use it to make soup, pancakes, muffins, bread, or pies.

Here’s the easiest way to cook a pumpkin:

1. Cut the pumpkin crosswise in half. Use a big knife. This is the  toughest part of the whole process.

2. Scoop out the seeds.

3, Place on a cookie sheet with edges, the pumpkin face down. Add a small amount of water to the tray, to help create steam.

Bake at 350 degrees until done. Approximately 30 minute to an hour, depending on the size of the pumpkins.

Test with a fork. When it pierces the skin easily, it’s ready.

After it cools enough to handle, the skin will peel off easily, leaving a lovely golden vegetable ready to be mashed or pureed. The color of fresh pumpkin is so different than that of canned pumpkin! What exactly do they add to canned version? If you have the space, you can package any extra pumpkin in plastic containers and freeze. It keeps well for months. I usually measure what I need for various recipes.

Here’s a few recipes for your fresh pumpkin

Pureed Pumpkin side dish:

Add cinnamon and brown sugar to taste. Maple syrup is also good. You can add some butter and salt if you like as well. Heat in the microwave. Enjoy with pork, salmon, or chicken.

Easy Low Fat Pumpkin Soup: 4 servings (1 1/2 cups each)

1/4 cup chopped onion

2 cups pureed pumpkin

1/4 tsp ginger

1 cup evaporated milk

1 cup skim milk
2 cups hot water
1 tsp maple syrup (can substitute with pancake syrup)

Directions: Microwave onions and 1/4 cup water in until onions are tender in a large microwavable bowl. Add the rest of the ingredients and microwave on high for 6 to 7 minutes or until heated through, stirring every two minutes. NOTE: You can also prepare this soup on the stove

Autumn Pumpkin Bread or Rolls (bread maker recipe)

1/2 cup diced carrots, cooked and pureed (you can use baby carrots to save time)

1/2 cup pureed pumpkin

1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce

*1/4 cup water

1 1/2 Tbsp butter or margarine

2 Tbsp honey

1 1/2 tsp salt

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1 1/2 cups bread flour
1/4 tsp allspice
2 tsp active dry yeast

Place all ingredients in bread pan according to your bread machine directions. Select medium crust setting and the whole wheat cycle or the dough cycle for 12 dinner rolls.

For the rolls, when the dough cycle is completed, shape the rolls and place in 9 inch round pans or on a cookie tray. Cover and let rise in a warm place for 20-30 minutes. Hint: preheat your oven to warm or 200 degrees, then TURN OFF before you put the rolls in to rise.

Enjoy this special fruit with a season of its own. Bon appetit!

A Pumpkin Pie Sort of Woman...

Recently, my friend, Beth wrote an excellent piece on OpenSalon.com, entitled "I Like the Pie" All about coconut cream pie. Such a delicious and funny story that I e-mailed her to tell her how I could taste her pie.

Just reading her essay, I added, resulted in a weight gain even though I didn't like coconut cream pie.

She wrote back and asked me what kind of pie I liked. I didn't hesitate. Why, pumpkin, of course.

My answer didn't seem to surprise Beth since she could visualize me as a "pumpkin pie sort of woman." That got me thinking. What exactly is a "pumpkin pie sort of woman?" Could I be on the track of a whole new way to define personality? I decided to test it out by asking some family members and friends what kind of "pie man or woman" they were. Some of the answers surprised me; some didn't. One thing I did discover was how much fun it can be to consider ourselves in a light hearted and unexpected way.

Pick a color: Grandson John's answer didn't surprise me. Color helped determine his choice: Blue. "A relaxed color," he says, "I am very laid back and blueberry is low key, but delicious." A sophomore in college, John is the only person I know who seems both laid back and focused. That's not an easy feat!

Laura concurs with John, but takes it a step further. Then again, what can I expect of a fellow writer who wrotes both prose and poetry? "Blueberry is so vivid, decadently gooey and rich as King Arthur's Court…blueberry is earthy and darkly mysterious. It smacks of fingerpainting and opulence, wild bears in Alaska—all neatly packaged into an oozing purple mess. Blueberry pie is contradictory and complicated…"

Consider a singing apple: Jackie, who I've always seen as an upbeat person had this to say: "The apples of a new season are crisp, sometimes a bit tart, but pleasing. That's me, and apple pie, desiring to please and surprise, to bring a smile. (Do apples "sing?" I do!)"

Dare to dissent: Beth, my favorite niece, is always honest and she didn't disappoint when put to the pie test. "The real truth about what kind of pie I would be —None! I'm more of a homemade chocolate cake. Soft, comforting, friendly welcoming, true to the end, and it gets you through the best and worst times. Why would I want to be a pie that only comes out during the holidays when chocolate cake is there all year long—day in and day out?"

Search for versatility: Tracie, who provides help whenever she's at the library desk, chooses cherry. "Each piece of fruit is compact, individual, and always offers a surprise. Sometimes sweet, sometimes not, but definitely not always what you're expecting."

Go for the unexpected: Richard and Sandy, both fellow bloggers, went for pecan. Individualists, these two, who look beyond the traditional fruit pie mindset.
Richard says, "Like I see myself, pecan pie is a little nutty, but sweet. Crusty, too. "

Sandy, who also happens to be my daughter, on the other hand, opts for the view that "it is the sort of sweet that makes you feel at home and that's what I want to do for my partner, Julie." She has loved the "brown sugary flavor" of pecan pie since she was young. One of my favorite pictures of all times is with her holding our grandson, Joe, and looking with adoration at one of my home baked pecan pies many Thanksgivings ago. I think Joe is also looking at it, too!

Feed the world: I loved all the answers, but my all time favorite has to be my neighbor and friend, Steve's. "As someone who has always liked to be liked, I would want to be a pizza pie. Who doesn't like pizza? One of my fantasies is to be able to start a huge pizza manufacturing company. I would then ship pizzas all over the world, especially to the most impoverished areas. It would all be done anonymously and freely under the banner of 'Pizzas for Peace.'"

As far as me, Beth is right—I am a "pumpkin pie kind of woman." Like pumpkin pie, I search for authenticity in my life and relationships—no drama, please, just pure, uncomplicated and unconditional love. Yet, I hope to always add some spice to my interactions, too, just like that wonderful taste and aroma cinnamon brings to that dear pumpkin.

So, what kind of pie woman or man are you? If you're having trouble deciding, one of my interviewees told me while she was pondering her answer, a coworker googled the concept and found the following website:
 http://www.blogthings.com/whatkindofpieareyouquiz.
I resisted checking it out until I finished this entry. Now I think I'll go see what it suggests…

And by the way, Beth, what kind of pie woman are you? I have trouble seeing you as coconut cream pie…

Imagination Migration

"He who has imagination without learning has wings but no feet." Joseph Joubert

Learning usually does enhance our imagination. But sometimes the reality new knowledge brings can leave us with feeling we've lost a little wonder. Has that ever happened to you?

 Before you say no, think Easter Bunny, Santa Claus. While we usually associate these experiences with childhood, losses like that can happen at any age.

Recently, I learned the Monarch butterflies that leave our Island before the winter sets in do not fly all the way to Mexico. That discovery was a bit like losing Santa Claus all over again. My friend, Stu, explained, "It's several generations later that get there." 

My first reaction, disappointment. My second, questions: How did I live this long and never learn this fact? Was it because I never really wanted to know? Or was it because I chose to embrace the mythic concept that this very small fragile being could fly all those miles?

Although, this is my second post that mentions the Monarch butterfly, I'm not usually that absorbed with nature. I have no pets, and unlike my grandson, Joe, who could remain glued to the Animal Planet channel in his younger years, I never watch those shows. For me, I guess the fascination with what I thought was the true Monarch story was the tenacity and bravery the small creature exhibited.

There's definitely an allure to winged creatures—consider angels, Superman, birds, in addition to butterflies—soaring high on a mission. They spark our imagination as we envision them far above us.

I reflect again on what I've learned about the Monarch and how it takes several generations to reach their destination, and the succeeding generations it takes to return to our Island in the spring. And I find I can relate the promise their migration holds to that of our human story.

Like these butterflies, we hold the promise of our future with the knowledge our children and our children's children will accomplish what we first set to do. Yet, our role is key, too, for without us beginning the journey, that could not happen. I now view the Monarch's odyssey in a new light and appreciation. It, too, can ignite the imagination of our own migration.

Thanks, Stu! 

The Last Harvest of Summer

"Lord, it is time. The summer was very big. Lay thy shadow on the sundials, and on the meadows let the winds go loose. Command the last fruits that they shall be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them on to fulfillment…"

-     Rainer Maria Rilke

Several days ago, while driving home from my writers' group meeting, I saw a most beautiful sight — monarch butterflies floating through the sky like gigantic orange snowflakes. So lovely, so fragile, these harbingers of fall. Like me, they also do not want summer to end. Some linger on the goldenrod on the sand dunes drinking in the sweet nectar of the still warm sun.

Yet, it is time for them to go. Autumn will begin as it always does. But before I put the summer season to rest, I go outside to pick the last vestiges of basil. I bury my nose in the sweet fragrance. I love basil; it's the essence of summer. And I lament its passing.

I read a gardening article once in which someone referred to basil as the wimpy herb. I don't agree. It's a robust, wise herb, a distinctive and discriminating herb that chooses not to continue growing once the cold sets in, just as the monarch is wise enough to migrate.

Before the basil grows woody and the leaves drop, I pick as much as I can to give it that one last hurrah. I've tried freezing and drying, but the wonderfully unique taste pales, so instead, I celebrate basil's royalty by making pesto.

Pesto is a great way to use up your basil as well as your tomatoes. You can freeze pesto in ice cube trays and use a small amount in a dip, soup, pasta, on grilled chicken, or in bread recipes.Here's a few of my favorite recipes:

Tomato Pesto Sauce: This also helps use up some of the parsley and tomatoes in your garden. Serves approx. 8
1 cup fresh basil leaves .
½ cup parsley

2 garlic cloves

¼ to ⅓ freshly grated Parmesan or Romano cheese (I prefer Romano)

1/4 cup olive oil
3 Tbsp. pine nuts
2 cloves of garlic
1 large seeded tomato
2 Tbsp chicken broth (Add less or more depending on how thick you like your pesto sauce)

1. Place all ingredients in a food processor and blend, either chopped or smooth depending on preference.
2. A serving is usually about ¼ cup per person. Mix with pasta or baste grilled chicken or fish.

NOTE: This pesto sauce recipe is not the characteristic green because tomato is added.

Pesto sauce: For the purists who prefer the traditional green. Serves approx. 4
                                      

      1 cup fresh basil leaves

       2 cloves of garlic

       ⅓ cup freshly grated Parmesan or Romano cheese

       3 Tbsp. pine nuts                                    

      ⅔ cup chicken or vegetable broth (Add less if you like a thicker sauce)

  

1. Place all ingredients in a food processor and blend, either chopped or    smooth depending on preference.
2. A serving is usually about ¼ cup per person. Mix with pasta or baste grilled chicken or fish.


Bread Machine Pesto Bread: Another wonderful way to enjoy the bounty of your garden.

1 cup buttermilk (I always keep powdered buttermilk on hand for recipes)
⅓ cup dry white wine
3 Tbsp freshly grated Parmesan cheese
3 Tbsp pesto
3 ⅓ cups bread flour
2 cloves of garlic
1 Tbsp sugar

¾tsp salt

1 tsp active dry yeast or bread machine yeast

Add ingredients to machine according to manufacturer's directions. I prefer using the dough cycle, then shaping rolls or use a bread loaf pan, but this bread works just as well on the basic baking cycle. If you use the dough cycle, when finished, punch the dough down, then shape, place in a greased pan. Cover and let rise for 30 minutes. Bake at 350º for 10 to 15 minutes for rolls, 20 minutes for a loaf, or until brown.

NOTE: Pesto can also be made using a mortar and pestle if you don't have a food processor. It will take a little longer, but definitely burn more calories! I have an Italian friend who wouldn't do it any other way.

Once my pesto is ready, I pour a glass of wine to toast this last harvest of summer. I look out the window and see a few stray monarchs floating by. "Go," I whisper, "Go. It's time. Fly away to your next summer place."

For "…now in September the garden has cooled…
The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart
from the intense midsummer relationship that
                    brought it..."                           Robert Finch

Collections Happen

"One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach. One can collect only a few, and they are more beautiful if they are few." Anne Morrow Lindbergh 

While my knowledge of Anne Morrow Lindbergh is mainly from her wonderful book, Gifts from the Sea, this quote suggests she's a minimalist. A wonderful "less is more" approach to life, but not the image of a true collector. I see many seashell collectors since I live at the beach. And none of them limit themselves to "collecting only a few." Their shell theme goes much further. Their houses are filled with pictures, dishes, towels, shower curtains, and furniture covers, inside and out, with a shell motif.

Collections happen. I came to this conclusion after some time of study. My education began innocently enough at our local library where a rectangular case with the sole purpose of displaying collections resides in the lobby. The collections are often unusual. Consider a sea of Smurfs. Remember those funny looking little blue…men, boys, elves, martians? Marionettes and Pez containers were two more exotic displays.

Why do we feel compelled to collect? And why do we choose the things we do? Or do our collectables choose us? Some anthropologists suggest our need to collect may be connected to an earlier point on our evolutionary journey. Susan Pearce, author of Interpreting Objects and Collections, says one in three North Americans collect something. Where are you on the spectrum? Before you say you're not the one in three, check your drawers and closets. Do you accumulate photos, ticket stubs, CDs?

After conducting further nonscientific research, I realized collectors are not born on the same motivational paths.

Consider the following groups:

The Indiana Jones: For this collector, it's all about the quest. Fellow blogger, Sandy, collects fine musical instruments and confesses, "For me, it's all about the conquest. I enjoy the ones I have, but my mind is already moving onto what I want next." On her search list: an antique banjo.

The Accidental Tourist: This is my category. I don't know how my collection of small bunnies began, but like real life rabbits they've multiplied rapidly. My two favorites sit on each side of my computer and I consider them my Muses since they always smile encouragement when I sit down and sweat in front of a blank screen.


The Reluctant Joiner: This is a person who never wanted to be an accumulator. Someone told me about a woman she met who had a bird house collection. "You must really love birds," my friend said to her. The woman looked at her. "Birds? Why would you think that?" It all began one Christmas when three people gave her the same gift. You guessed it — bird houses. Before she could return them, her birthday arrived, along with — right again — more bird houses.

The Sensualist: Stu, a member of my writers' group, collects fine porcelain Madonna figures. I saw his collection when it graced our library case. Stu is a discriminating connoisseur. He only adds to his collection when he sees an exceptional piece. His joy is in the loveliness of the art.

The Banker: My significant other, Will, began collecting commemorative quarters in 1999. He's sure they'll be worth more than a quarter each once the Treasury completes the series. The way the economy is going, I think he'll be lucky to break even. Still, it's nice to have something financial to think you can fall back on…

The Torch Carrier: The last display in the library case was a multitude of egg cups. One was labeled "Ginger." Aha, someone else to question. Ginger happens to be the library person with the challenge of setting up displays. "I began collecting egg cups because my mother collected them," she explained. So she just fell into her collection, so to speak. It's nice to know her mother's passion will live on. I wonder if one of Ginger's children will continue the tradition.

The Identity Seeker: The minute she saw the red satin pig with rhinestone eyes in Neiman Marcus, Nancy had to have it since it was time to do something nice for herself. Her Independence Pig became the first of many. Years later, when she was in a different emotional place, she was ready to move on. The defining moment, she says, was when a friend said, "Every time I see a pig, I think of you." Definitely time to find her menagerie another home.

The Memory Seekers: There's a little bit of this in all of us. Photos, ticket stubs, concert programs, but especially pictures evoke memories of our lives. My screensaver consists of a rolling picture show. California trips intermixed with Florida winters, cruises, family members at various ages, and even images I've used in blog postings. Walter Benjamin, a German writer and essayist, said it best: "Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector's passion borders on the chaos of memories."

The Knowledge seeker: I read once that everyone should be an expert on something. Do you have enough knowledge to speak to a particular topic? The Gettysburg battle? The life cycle of Barbie dolls? This is my wannabe collector status. All I have to do is find out what the one thing is that I'm more interested in than anything else… But maybe that's a blog for another day.

Seriously, if you haven't started collecting, think about doing so. It helps people know what to buy you for your birthday, gives you a reason to go to flea markets and yard sales, and hides the dust on your window sills. Join the ranks of the many!

Saturday Morning Reflections

There is not such a cradle of democracy upon the earth as the Free Public Library, this republic of letters, where neither rank, office, nor wealth receives the slightest consideration.  ~Andrew Carnegie

 During my busy working years, we only had the Sunday paper delivered. Saturday was the catch up day – laundry, cleaning the house, and shopping. Now, I savor Saturday mornings. We've added Saturday delivery and Will delivers the paper to me in bed, along with a cup of coffee and a kiss. He heads downstairs to read the sports section. Both of us enjoy our routine and solitude in starting the weekend.

I read slowly and usually, it's a peaceful time. No super news – a bit of a rehash of what's been on the TV news all week, plus more local news and views. Even the reports on the declining economy and the war seem a little more distant when viewed only in print, still upsetting but somehow, less so with a only through the eyes look, without the sound effects of the screen.

This Saturday, however, on the New Jersey page in the Atlantic City Press, this headline blared without any need for TV backup.

Camden library, running out of funds, prepares to close.

             Carnegie Library, Camden, circa 1914

Being a frequent library patron, I began to read, initially thinking this must be a closing of one branch, still tragic, but perhaps it's a branch seldom used. Sadly, that isn't the case. Instead, Camden, one of our nation's poorest cities, is going to close all its libraries by the end of the year because funding has been slashed so deeply it cannot afford to keep operating.

This requires more attention than my usual Saturday morning inertia. So, I go to the computer to learn more. What I found made the headline and article hit even harder.

• I learned that less than one third of Camden residents have high-speed Internet. Adults use the libraries to go online and look for jobs.
• Children depend on the library to access schoolwork research, attend book reading, and learn to play chess, a unique part of that sytstem's offerings.
• The homeless seek its respite during extreme weather and it can provide a refuge for those who don't have air conditioning during extreme heat conditions
• By closing all branches, the more than 150,000 annual visits to a library will no longer be possible. 

Ironically, Andrew Carnegie, a great proponent of the value of libraries (see quote above), donated $100,000 for the first library to be built in Camden. Now the New Jersey Library Association suggests that amount might be enough to save the library a century later. But where will that money come from? Who will step forward to help?
To read more about other libraries in trouble, go to the NJLA or to the New Jersey Save My Library website

A few quotes on the value of libraries:

What is more important in a library than anything else - than everything else - is the fact that it exists.  ~Archibald MacLeish, "The Premise of Meaning," American Scholar, 5 June 1972

Libraries:  The medicine chest of the soul.  ~Library at Thebes, inscription over the door

Perhaps no place in any community is so totally democratic as the town library.  The only entrance requirement is interest.  ~Lady Bird Johnson

We may sit in our library and yet be in all quarters of the earth.  ~John Lubbock

A great library contains the diary of the human race.  ~George Mercer Dawson

I love the place; the magnificent books; I require books as I require air.  ~Sholem Asch

The richest person in the world - in fact all the riches in the world - couldn't provide you with anything like the endless, incredible loot available at your local library.  ~Malcolm Forbes

...the world is before me - a library open to all - from which poverty of purse cannot exclude me - in which the meanest and most paltry volume is sure to furnish something to amuse, if not to instruct and improve.  ~Joseph Howe, 1824

A library, to modify the famous metaphor of Socrates, should be the delivery room for the birth of ideas - a place where history comes to life.  ~Norman Cousins

Nutrimentum spiritus (food for the soul).  ~Berlin Royal Library, inscription

And a final thought...

I think the health of our civilization, the depth of our awareness about the underpinnings of our culture and our concern for the future can all be tested by how well we support our libraries.  ~Carl Sagan, Cosmos

Five Reasons Why Writers Should Belong to Book Groups

"Reading is the whetstone on which a writer hones his sword."

(Writer's Little Book of Wisdom by John Long)

On my way home this past week from our monthly book group meeting, I thought of how many different views of a story entered into our discussion. This month, we read The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. For me, a wonderful read! For some others in the group, not so great! But, then, the beauty of the group is sharing differing opinions and feeling comfortable enough to express them.

My particular group is not composed of writers. In fact, I think I'm the only writer who attends. Each member brings a unique perspective to our discussion. If you are a writer, joining a book group is a great way to build skills.

By being part of a book group, you can learn more about:

1. Character and Motivation:
We ask each other what motivated this character. And was this character believable? Why did the author choose that particular motivation and was it strong enough to carry the reader through?

2.  Analytical skills:
Sharing your views about what you've read enhances your skill to step back and view the book as a topic of discussion. Attaining that distance helps much more than the solitary pursuit of studying other authors.

     3.  Plot and structure:
No author can get a poor plot past a book group's collective eyes! We ask: was there enough action, enough conflict? Did the ending work for us? We question what theme the author intended us to take away from the story.

     4.  Voice and point of view:
The Help by Kathryn Stockton was a classic example of how to use voice and point of view to tell a spell-binding story. She did a masterful job of using dialect, as well, to bring her characters to life.
   
     5.  Marketability:
For aspiring writers, there's nothing better than learning what other readers like. Part of our discussion always involves how easy or difficult it was to get caught up in the book and why. Most of us are pretty committed to finishing the book so we can contribute at our meetings, so it's really telling when the consensus is that something didn't work to draw us in.
    
So, consider joining a book group to help hone your skills. I recommend looking for one that reads all types of genres.

Here is a list of some of my favorites from our group:

          To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
          The House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus
          The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
          The Life of Pi by Yann Martell
         The Color of Water by James McBride
         The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night by Mark Haddon
         Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
         Master Butcher's Singer's Singing Club by Louise Erdrich
        Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
                                              A Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus

In Search of Shampoo

"How can I control my life when I can't control my hair?" Author Unknown

It all began innocently enough last January. We were getting ready to head south for the winter and one of my last tasks was my usual haircut. I'm not sure why, but I asked the hairdresser, "Do you think I should consider changing my hairstyle?" Maybe it was the cumulative effect of seeing myself in that hairdresser dull drape with the same short hair style for nearly fifty years. Is it time for a change?

"A bob," my hairdresser said, "it's a cut for all ages. You'd look good in that style." She said it would take about seven months to complete the transition. Being away seemed the perfect time to start. The first couple months were uneventful, with an occasional shaping to keep it in some semblance of order.

As my style change advanced, I began to realize a woman's relationship with her hair can be a complicated thing, and I begin to question whether how one chooses to wear it says something about where she is along her life journey. My daughter, Christina, believes a woman who never changes her hair is leaving it in the era where she was most happy.

Hmm. That's interesting. I first cut my hair short when I started nursing school (see picture). I know I'm much less serious these days than I was then, much more content with life, but let's face it, age 19 is a pretty exciting, carefree time in our lives. Or is that I'm merely older and less passionate about life now? I hope not.

In 1985, Hubert de Givenchy wrote in Vogue magazine, "Hairstyle is the final tip-off whether or not a woman really knows herself."(for more hair quotes, go to http://www.quotegarden.com/hair.html)  Sorry, Hubert, but I don't want to believe that. And yet...

And so, I began my pilgrimage of growth. Hair, that is. In the past, I paid little attention to my coiffure. Once I combed it in the morning, I figured it was on its own. Suddenly, I now find myself checking every mirror to make sure the ends are smooth, not sticking out in all directions. When I wake up in the morning and sit up in bed, I can see myself in the large mirror directly opposite my bed. My hair is definitely beginning to look just like that of the caricature on the vase my granddaughter, Julia, gave me about five years ago. Does she have some sort of forecasting power, I wonder?

                   
I'm noticing the color, too. Again, something that never concerned me before. It's white, has been since I was in my 30's so I've never seen white hair as part of my own aging, but now, I notice some yellow tinges creeping in. Not blonde, much more like slightly used dish water. Most likely it's due to the annual flushing of our water lines here on our island, but somehow, that never bothered me as it does now. This hair thing is getting more and more complicated.

So I trek over the bridge to the mainland in search of shampoo, the kind for silver hair. I've seen it before, even bought it once or twice on sale. Funny how they never call it shampoo for gray or white hair. Another sign of ageism in advertising. That discovery is reinforced when I notice even the lady getting into the tub with the side door on the TVadvertisement is younger than the real women who need this assistive device, as are those lucky ladies on the Viagra commercials.

See how this whole hair thing is mushrooming. Ah, if only my hair would grow as fast. I am beginning to ask myself: why a change now?  Is it to prove some sort of flexibility point or only my exceptional stubbornness in not knowing when to fold this whole hair quest?

Back to my search for shampoo. CVS has lots of shampoo, as does Walmart. None for white, excuse me, silver hair. Target wins the variety award, hands down. More than one long aisle is full of shampoo – for coarse, curly, fine, oily, limp, dull, dry, damaged, stressed, or straight hair. Flavors, too. Lemon scented, strawberry, watermelon. It's possible, I think, to end up smelling like a fruit salad just by shampooing your hair. Such variety, but no shampoo for silver hair, none to get the yellow out, though, lots for blonde hair that needs a lift.

As I drive home from my fruitless shampoo search, I wonder whether my quest is really for shampoo or a new style. The journey, for sure, has led me to a greater awareness of how women perceive themselves and how self image and worth are affected by our image driven media.

I think about all the brave women who have shaved their heads in defiance of the impending loss of hair as a result of chemotherapy for breast cancer. I think of my granddaughter, Grace, who at age 13, grew her hair long enough to donate it to Locks for Love ( http://www.locksoflove.org/).  And the absolutely beautiful young woman with alopecia who is running for Miss Delaware. She definitely has a strong sense of self.

Their courage in the face of  adversity inspires me, and I think, perhaps my search for shampoo isn't really that at all, but a seeking for something much more than a simple bob.

For more information on how to donate hair for women and children with illness, go to: http://www.pantene.com/en-us/beautiful-lengths-cause/default.aspx.  or http://hair.lovetoknow.com/Donating_Hair_for_Cancer_Victims

The Elusive Nature of Satisfaction

 Most mornings, unless it's raining, I hop on my bike and ride to the south end of our island. It's a good way to start the day and get my daily exercise. Today, I hesitated. We're in the midst of one of those beastly heat waves unrelieved even by the usual ocean breeze. No, I decide, better to go since the day will only get hotter.

I grind out the miles on the way down and when I turn to ride back, the wind picks up, its full force in my face. For a moment I welcome the blessed hint of coolness it brings, then, dissatisfaction begins to set in. I have to work harder now to peddle the remaining two miles.

A bit of remorse hits me. How hard it is for me, and others, too, I think, to ever be fully satisfied! And if we manage those moments of complete peace with who and where we are, how hard it is to hold onto that satisfaction.

As I ponder my ungratefulness, Mick Jagger's "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" plays in my head. I've always loved that song , but never really incorporated it into my psyche before as a social statement. Mostly, I connected it with dancing and sex (or the lack thereof!). Now the song lyrics buzz in my head to tease, to torment, and to remind me of the elusive nature of satisfaction .

From there, my mind drifts to Goldilocks and The Three Bears. Am I destined to constantly find my life too hard or too soft, and never just right? How about you? Do you, too, find yourself often stuck in the land of "no satisfaction?'

While I push my bike into the garage, I recall buying it several weeks ago. It's a hot pink $99 Schwinn from Walmart's. What a bargain! Of course, at the time, I groused about the fact that Schwinn bikes are now made in China, but then, isn't almost everything else?

The fact this was my first brand new bike hits me. What strikes me even more is the realization I never hungered for a new one, or put it on my Santa list as a child. Only one "rich" boy In our neighborhood had a shiny, new bike and he was considered an "outsider." How could I envy him since he and his family seldom attended neighborhood parties? Maybe I should have felt sorry for him, but that never occurred to me, either. Partly due to "kid" callousness, and partly because his parents "imported" playmates from some other place.

Now, for a moment, I'm truly satisfied as I realize my childhood was such that I didn't need a new bike to be happy or to belong. If we could recapture the wonder of our early years, perhaps, we could take an unreserved joy in that sudden, swift, cooling wind in our face. And ask why was Goldilocks so worried about too hot or too cold porridge. After all, wouldn't it cool or couldn't she warm it up? Who would ever eat porridge anyway?

(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, http://www.keno.org/stones_lyrics/satisfaction.html.

A Place to Nourish Your Soul

"You mix it with your love and emotion to create magic. Through cooking, you raise your spiritual level and balance yourself in a world that is materialistic." Laura Esqiuvel, Like Water for Chocolate

Everyone has a favorite room in their house. Mine is the kitchen, though, it wasn't always so. Several lifetimes ago, as I approached my wedding day, my then-future husband began suggesting that perhaps I should be spending time with my mother learning how to cook. I brushed off his increasing insistence, saying, "If I can read, I can cook."

After we'd been married for a few months, he confessed his parents had been teasing him, telling him he would starve once we were married since I didn't know how to cook. "Just a pretty face," my future father-in-law had said, "That isn't going to keep you from getting hungry."

I must admit for the first few months of our marriage we did exist mostly on love. My meals were definitely substandard, but dear Will quickly learned not to tell me so. Ah, discretion, another secret of a long, happy marriage. But that's a subject for another time…

Gradually, my skills improved until even my in-laws, especially my father-in-law, looked forward to coming to Sunday dinners at our house. Still, it wasn't until I returned to work that I truly realized my kitchen as a refuge and my spiritual place. I'd come home frazzled by all the work politics and problems, too tired to cook, I'd think, until I started to prepare the food.      

I began to notice that by the time dinner was ready to put on the table, a smoothing of my frayed nerves had occurred. The simple task of making a salad, peeling potatoes, or stirring the spaghetti sauce became the respite I needed to reflect on the day and my life.

A few years ago, I bought a small book entitled The Mindful Cook by Isaac Cronin. Cronin says "you can nourish your soul, develop your mind, and eat well at the same time!" That sentence, as well as, the rest of this neat tome gave me a new perspective on the everyday task of time in the kitchen.

The idea of combining those three elements into necessary tasks intrigued me. And the author gave what I already knew a voice and a mindfulness I didn't realize was possible - that by intentionally putting myself in a spiritual frame of mind, my kitchen would be even more the place where I could always retreat and find harmony.

Here's some tips on how you, too, can bring mindfulness to your cooking:

1. Make the kitchen uniquely yours by adding a color you especially like. My favorite is teal and the backsplash is the area I see most.
2. Put favorite pictures or paintings where you can view them while you're preparing food. I've placed pictures of my two sets of grandchildren, over my stove so I can send them my love, thoughts, and prayers. Somehow, I know those thoughts do fly across the miles to kiss them even though my positive regard may not be consciously received.
3. Be fully present by centering on one task at a time. Multitasking may be in vogue, but it's definitely overrated and more stressful!
4. Mentally quiet yourself so you can really see the color of deep red summer tomatoes, smell the pungent aroma of rosemary, and feel the texture of  papery parchment covered onions.
5. Be good to yourself even if it's a meal for one. In the early Julia Child TV shows (I'm talking black and white here, at least at my house), once the meal was ready, she sat down alone, wine glass in hand, to eat and savor what she'd prepared. 

So, whether you're toasting a bagel, making sticky buns (one of my favorites), or roasting a turkey, eating alone or with others, you can bring spiritual nourishment to the kitchen and table. Somehow, the food tastes even better when mixed with joy and mindfulness.

Bon Appetit!