small change

mind you

This last week I faced a situation that tested my understanding of mindfulness. Not meditation as such, but an awareness of the lengths to which the ruminative mind goes to keep one a captive audience for its little melodrama. The ham in my brain, exposed to too many silly TV shows, decided to put on a play in which it was going to star as a seer of catastrophes, large and small.  As the week went by, this impostor of an inhabitant of the sensory world, slunk to new lows to demonstrate and wow me with what it can do, including damaging some of my more cared-for property. Here is how this act played out:

I was on my way to attend an artists’ reception at the gallery at the College of Marin, happily snapping pictures of the campus along the way, in spite of the literal and the more ephemeral dark clouds gathering above me, when I suddenly had this notion that my camera could fall and break on the concrete walkway. I tried to brush this thought away, but the image of the damaged camera stuck, the way static can hold random bits and pieces to each other.

That I also happened to have a case of camera envy, after having seen what Lorianne’s new toy could do, though it passed through the metal (or should I say mental?) detector of my awareness, but it obviously didn't set off any alarms.  So I went on my way to the gallery, my worries flanking me, and the mind doing it's thing -- and sure enough, as soon as I snapped the first picture of the work which drew me there and then proceeded to put the camera back in my purse for a moment to write something down, the camera fell to the floor with big thud. And yes, the bottom of the camera was damaged, but not enough to put it out of commission as far as snapping pictures was concerned.

Still, there it was, the ruminative mind, that third-rate thespian, crying out in triumph: See, see, I told you this was going to happen. Just wait now until the next bad thing happens, because it will, I tell you. And now you can trust me, really trust me, because I just proved to you that I am good at this… Well, you get the picture!

It wasn’t until the next day, and in a moment of worry of the worst kind that something made me stop, as if to look away from the stage dominated by this mind bent on drama. For that moment it was as if I could see the ruminative mind for the poor actor that it was.

And, for the same moment, I also could see that I had the power and ability to provide this actor with a new script, if what I really wanted was to see a play unfold. If I could conjure up these fearful scenarios, I could also conjure up much happier outcomes.

Or, I could leave the theater altogether. And for that one moment I did exactly that, going nowhere, which, after all is the perfect place for change!

tea leaves

There is an expression, “the agony of leaves” that refers to the process whereby the desiccated tea leaves dropped in hot water, slowly unfurl themselves. Some tea leaves do this quietly and en mass, each broken bud and leaf moving and growing along with its similar neighbor. Others, the ones picked a little more carefully, with budding flowers intact, and then tied into special bouquets, make a spectacle of themselves during this process. Well then, why let such a show go to waste? Here is the tea flower, post-agony, the brew long downed by me.

It could be just my current distractedness, but I find something odd about this tea bud, settled into dryness long after they gave up the sap of life, now finding itself in hot water, going for it all again, by unfurling with the pressure of the alien sap running through its veins. If there is agony, it’s not in the unfurling of leaves, but in the leave-taking of that second second of hope.    

a matter of taste

While I have been putting in double duty in the fitness area by going to the gym with spouse (as well as pursuing my regular yoga practice and classes), I have also been cranking out healthier meals to help the afore-mentioned spouse get healthier and shed pounds. This dinner I cooked the other night, happened to taste pretty good, but more than that, it also pleased my eyes, besides appeasing the palate. The cauliflower, purple to start with, turned a deeper shade through steaming, and the asparagus went a deeper shade of green through the same process. The local black cod, cooked with turmeric, took on a bright yellow glow. All these colors played off each other beautifully (well, at least for my eyes) on the pristine white plate. That every bite also tasted great was a bonus, for the eyes! That I chose to photograph the meal with a copy of the magazine, aptly titled “Marin: Extraordinary Living,” is a bonus of sorts for you guys to dismiss this whole thing as one of those moments that give Marin county in California its particular and peculiar reputation.

fine

Chesely B. Sullenberger, who landed that jet on the Hudson River so skillfully and with such professional aplomb, turns out to be a patron of libraries. This came to my attention as I leafed through my copy of Canada’s  National Post (well, the Weekend Post), which reported that “Sully,” after his hero’s welcome in his hometown, alerted the library that he no longer had the copy of the book he borrowed and asked for an extension. The library not only forgave the overdue and replacement fees, but also will replace the book with a bookplate dedicated to Sullenbreger.

According to the piece, the general subject of the book Sullenberger borrowed was professional ethics!

1238

If memory serves me right, that is the number of us, young old and in between, that took the citizenship oath this Wednesday morning in Oakland’s ornate Paramount Theater. We hailed from some 97 countries, from Afghanistan, to Bhutan, to Nepal, and Yemen. As if to mark the occasion, the skies that have been heavy with clouds and torrential rains, opened to blue and sudden sunshine.

We were greeted by the friendliest bureaucrats I have ever had the pleasure to deal with, as they streamlined us through the doors and ushered us to our seats. We were spoken to in 5 languages (Spanish, Chinese, Tagalog, French, Russian, and Hindi), regaled with jokes, and sung to, all to welcome us . We stood for the oath and then we sat to hear an eerie rendition of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address narrated from the giant screen. Then, within an hour of having streamed into the auditorium, we were spilling out into the street, lined with vendors hawking ornate display cases for our certificates that were legal proof of our brand new citizenship.

Old cynic that I am, I have to confess that I was moved. Moved by the ceremony, but more than that, moved by rereading parts of the Declaration of Independence, that magnificent document of hope and belief in the human spirit in worldly affairs -- a document that laid the foundations for my being part of the ceremony!

scaling back

The spouse, who has a bit more mileage on his life journey than yours truly, has been put on a regimen of exercise and healthy eating by various doctors and health care providers. So, like a good partner and team player, I am doing my bit to ensure his success. This means going to the gym with him (in addition to my own regular yoga practice) and cooking old favorites of his in brand new – and healthier – ways. So, appropriate to our situation and the holiday of hearts, I went looking for the perfect gift: a magical kitchen scale that will not only measure the food, but also, will tell us just how healthy it is by showing its nutritional values.

True enough, there was just such a scale to be had (for a hefty price, too), promising instant digital readouts of whatever you weighed on it. Now, as a veteran of nasty cuts and scrapes of bleeding edge technology, I should have known better than to fall for this scheme by simply looking at the box. Forget the 15 minutes or so that I tried to learn how to use this thing from the manual – yes manual. I should have paid attention to the ludicrous and tiny LCD display next to the big round nothing of a screen that looks hauntingly like a well-lit portable DVD screen.

Memo to manufacturers forced to go after the money of an aging population: seeing is believing, so make it visible. Take a hint, maybe a chip or two, from the digital revolution and build a computer dedicated to the task of nutrition. Think different, and instead of imitating the Mac power button on the scale, but relying on phone technology for pushing buttons for letters (with that annoying delay), offer the option of a keyboard. And, here is the rub: make a screen that is visible in most, if not all light, and make it big enough to see not just by 12-year-olds or testers in a well-lit lab.

If you make such a scale, think of all the applications you could sell with it. From recipes to having your scale scour the Internet for the latest in nutritional studies, or check out your neighborhood for restaurants with the right fare for your fair appetite….

Until you do that, you can have your wondrous scale back. Which means that we have returned our purchase and exchanged it for a version that does nothing but weigh. Old fogies that we have become.

By the way, I made a chocolate souffle with egg whites, nonfat Greek yogurt and top quality bittersweet chocolate, a creation incredibly rich and complex in taste, in spite of the suggested poverty and simplicity of its ingredients!

the virtual path

UPDATE: Naturally (as my gut tried to suggest, but was blunted by the fast for a procedure) it was NOT the Dalai Lama who set up shop on Twitter. (via Gretchen Rubin)

OMG ... the Dalai Lama is on Twitter!

If you can't follow the Path, at least you can follow his updates.

pinching pennies - state style

Well, yesterday was the first “furlough Friday” in the fair state of California. This meant that a good number of state offices were closed for the day, among them that prime gauntlet that is the DMV, or Department of Motor Vehicles. Of the offices remaining open on this last furlough Friday were the “One-Stop Career Centers.” A bit ironic, but it makes perfect sense in that Californian way, doesn’t it?

Since the DMV offices are no longer open on Saturdays in general, this means that with the additional closure on every second Friday of the month, you’ll have some serious time to do waiting in line for your car-related business. And since here in California our cars seem to be the only mode of transpiration near and far, there’ll be lots of cussing coming down the road – so to speak.

Last time I went to my local DMV, a couple of weeks ago for work-related business, I had to wait in line for 1 hour and 20 minutes. Luckily, I had my Spanish book with me and managed to learn the conjugation for a few more verbs, none of the choice variety for cussing, though!

I wonder if the DMV would be amenable to small entrepreneurs with a big spirit in these lean and tough times and allow them to set up “shop” at the DMV to sell food and services – perhaps even massages – and so turn the dread of waiting in an interminable line into the delight of an escape of sorts. Ah, it’s just so much more California dreamin’, ain’t it?

when getting older is still news

Yikes… as 2009 gets well under way, I am finding myself sliding ever closer to the end of yet another decade of life. Not so long ago, or so it seems, when I started blogging in 2002, I thought of documenting the year that was to be my 50th. Since then, those impending indignities of old age I feared back then seem like child’s play these days. Child’s play because back then, like a child, I assumed all sorts of things about them. On the one hand, I believed there was nothing I could do about them. On the other hand, I assumed I had the power to change them.

I was wrong on both counts. There was – and is – plenty I can do about the ways in which the processes of aging affect me. And, there is nothing I can do about the facts of aging. Except be grateful that right now I have the option of being here (and in reasonable health) to complain about growing older. Which means that when I speak here I also have to stop hiding behind the cutesy transitional objects of children, such as stuffed teddy bears, and speak to and about and for the community that is my offline world, and which, online goes by the moniker of elder bloggers. No one has done more to bring to consciousness the processes of aging through a blogging platform than Ronni Bennett of "As Time Goes By" has. She has documented the processes of aging in direct ways and, in so many other indirect ways she has fostered a growing community of elders blogging about being elders.

Yep, I am an elder. It’s time to stop worrying about being hip, and start taking care of the hip!  It’s time to stop worrying about the stand I make in the world, and make sure that I can still stand in the world well into old age. It’s time to stop worrying about the changes aging brings and bring about changes in aging. That is, change the accepted wisdom about the powerlessness, the loneliness, and the infirmities traditionally declared the province of the old and marked as badlands territory.

I’ve started in small ways to do just that. Change, that is. True to my nature, I've been taking the first steps literally, so to speak. I am speaking of a new exercise regime, inspired by the book (and website) Younger Next Year, on the recommendation of my septuagenarian yoga buddy. As also true to my nature, I have been exploring several ideas on elder community living in a society that shuns the old -- not to mention community, in general. Since my nature is such that the ideas come a lot faster and more easily to me than the grunt work of deep research and the mastered and mustered skills of community outreach, these ideas remain just that. Perhaps these ideas can be explored further through the “small change” banner of this blog.