Thank You, Mrs. Bunting

If you’re like me and someone asks you, “Who were the mentors who influenced you?” you probably can reel off a few names very quickly. We can all recall those who've had a major influence on our life choices, but how about those who enter your life only briefly?

 

One of those people in my life was Mrs. Bunting. She lived near us in a small white bungalow badly in need of paint, but lovely still, with a beautiful rose arbor gracing the back. When my mother returned to work for a brief time so we could buy our first television, we were told we’d be going to Mrs. Bunting’s house after school until one of our parents came home. I groaned as loudly as my two sisters about the prospect of staying with boring and OLD Mrs. Bunting.

A lady in every sense of the word as described in the ‘40's and ‘50's, she dressed discreetly in a pressed house dress and wore beaded, dangly, earrings, pierced ones, which in itself was a rarity in those days among the locals. Her necklaces always matched the baubles in her ears. Her gray hair, was always modestly waved, with nary a hair out of place. An aura of floral scent surrounded her when she moved.

Mrs. Bunting took her responsibility to care for us seriously. Each day when we arrived home from school, she had a snack waiting. Not the usual cookies we would have grabbed on the run at home, though. Instead, she would direct us to her dining room table where she had placed pedestaled crystal glasses filled with chocolate pudding or jello on small crocheted cloth doilies. A dab of whipped cream adorned the top. Dessert spoons with a “B” monogrammed on the handle rested precisely to the right while a pristine white napkin was to the left of the fluted dish.
 

 Filled with pent up energy from school, we were impatient to go outside if the weather was nice. Mrs. Bunting had a long driveway, excellent for jump rope. We tried to rush through the snack as quickly as we could, but Mrs. Bunting didn’t allow it. “When young ladies eat, conversation is important,” she said, with a frown. “The outdoors will always be there, but manners must be observed.”

Then one day I needed to use the bathroom. “It’s the door off the living room,” said Mrs. Bunting. “Just past my boudoir. Remember, you must never enter my boudoir. No one ever goes into a lady’s boudoir without permission.”

I was fascinated by this additional word to my vocabulary! Boudoir. It sounded exotic and special. After that, I made it a point to go to the bathroom every day so I could peek into the “lady’s boudoir.” In the room, made dark by the heavy closed velvet drapes, the interior appeared lush. I’d pause on my way in and out of the bathroom to catch as long of a glance as I could.
And so, Mrs. Bunting began my more formal education of “comportment.” I practiced walking up and down the sun parlor with a book on my head. “A young lady must always know how to carry herself.” She had a rule for just about everything a young lady should do. I practiced sitting quietly on the porch, hands folded. “A young lady does not fidget.”

My sisters didn’t escape all the instructions, either, as Mrs. Bunting always started her lessons at the table. “Always unfold your napkin slowly and place it on your lap before you pick up your spoon. That’s how a lady conducts herself.

          “And when you are finished, place your spoon beside the dish, not in it. Then, blot your lips with your napkin, even if you don’t think you need to do so. Then fold the napkin and place it next to your plate.”
          And again, she would repeat, “That shows you know how to act like a lady.”
          “Always say thank you as well, no matter how simple the meal or food.”

At this point, my two sisters would ask the prerequisite question, “May we now be excused?”

Mrs. Bunting would nod her regal head and as they scrambled from the table, they always rolled their eyes at me since I chose to remain behind. Years later, I questioned my understanding about the word she used, “comportment.” Had I confused it with deportment, a category on our elementary school report card? I looked up the two words and realized the subtle difference. No, Mrs Bunting was definitely teaching me how to comport myself as a lady. Each time I unfold my napkin, I think of her.

And to this day, if I sit in the sun and close my eyes, I can see myself sitting on Mrs. Bunting’s sun porch, practicing my ladylike behavior. Now, I wish I could have acknowledged the awareness she gave me during that brief time we spent together---the appreciation of common courtesies. If you have Mrs. Buntings in your life, consider letting them know they’ve influenced your life. And so, today, I want to say “thank you, Mrs. Bunting,” for taking the time to teach me the value of manners.

 

And So Today, My Potato Smiles

Every January, I take time to reflect on the past year and think of what I want to do differently in the New Year. While my resolutions always list many of the same goals—eat healthier, exercise more, and weigh less, I also like to add new pledges, too. Last year, I chose intentional kindness. Choosing a similar goal for 2013 was especially hard since the year began with the fiscal cliff, the rising debt ceiling, the aftermath of the tragic school shooting, and the memory of Hurricane Sandy’s devastation. I felt weighed down and arid.

I'm lagging behind and barely making my intentions by the end of January, but I tell myself it's never too late to choose a mode of self improvement or look for  a way to better the world. First, I realized I needed to get out of my funk.

I didn't have to go to Google to search. The answer was right in my kitchen. While foraging in the fridge for salad makings, I realized I wasn’t alone. There, on the middle shelf sat my potato bowl and in it, yes, my potato was smiling. I smiled back and ran to get my camera. That friendly potato lifted my spirits and set my mind farther along on my quest. But I wasn't where I needed to be yet.


The next morning I pulled out my plastic container of Florida strawberries. Plump and delicious, their fragrance beckoned. Lo and behold, inside nestled a strawberry heart. And just like the refrigerator light went on, I knew what course I should take. It was as evident as the smile on my potato's face and the curve of my fruited heart.

This year, I will look for the extraordinary in the ordinary, search for the beauty and uniqueness that a busy life often hides. I will try to view my world through a childlike lens.

That, I realized, was exactly what this year's special resolution should be. I needed to see the wonder of the ordinary. So, my goal this year is to see the world in new and different ways, to seek all its beauty and not permit the state of the world to make me lose an appreciation of what is before me. And so, that is where I am now. I’m pledging to become more childlike.

Rachel Carson said it so well: “A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood.” With a conscious effort, I believe that doesn’t have to be so. And so, I am going to set out to view what was before me in a new and different perspective.

So, I invite you to consider joining me in purposely choosing to see the world through a child’s eyes. Searching for and treasuring the wonders that exist in our every day life won’t solve our country’s larger issues, but it will surely enhance our day to day experiences.

Here are a few more words on the value of nurturing your inner child:

“If you want to be creative, stay in part a child, with the creativity and invention that characterizes children…” Jean Piaget, Swiss developmental psychologist and philosopher

“The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us. When the world seems familiar, when one has got used to existence, one has become an adult.” Eugene Ionesco, French playwright

"We must remain close to the flowers, the grass, and the butterflies as the child is who is not yet much taller than they are..." Friedrich Nietszche

                                                                                       
For more hints on successful goal setting, check out my blog, "How to make (and keep) Resolutions

 

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!