Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Sunday, September 14, 2008
burlington farmer's market
I know I haven't posted in a while. Here's my attempt to get back on track! Nourishment is: having Colin home on a Saturday, seeing lots of beautiful things at the market, nesting.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
strength and beauty in sweetpeas and life
By Sally A. I. Wall
This afternoon, the storm clouds broke up for a few minutes, minutes enough for me to go out to the veggie patch and gently pull the newly rooted baby crab grass, which was threatening to choke out the courageous sweetpeas, who had braved the stormy blasts of May and early June. The day I planted out those tender seedlings in early May, the North wind came with a vengeance, bringing with it freezing temperatures, blasting out the life from my little sweetpeas, and laying them on the ground. Most of them succumbed. I left them alone, not believing that they'd come back, but I just didn't have the heart to turn them under. It's now the middle of June, and I'm astonished that something so fragile as a sweetpea can turn its nose up at the North wind, and with a little sunshine, plenty of rain, and some lovely muggy warmth, pick itself up by the bootstraps and start again from the ground up! That is precisely what has happened to about half the row. The roots were unscathed by Jack Frost's kiss, and they simply formed 'tillers', an Old English term meaning by-shoots, forming a stronger plant by way of a rotten trick of fate carried on the wings of the wind.
It can be that way, too, for humankind. Fate's ugly hand can come knocking at your door, and before you know it, there you are, lying alongside the fallen sweetpeas. Some really do succumb, like the little seedlings, too weakened by the blow to form 'tillers'; but many, even if they lie there for a while, will be brought back to health by the warm love of friends, the encouragement of those who have been there before, and by the grace of God find new life, stronger life, in this far friendlier environment. It's very important to make sure that this new strength is not choked out by even the tiniest, tenderest baby 'crab grass' of life; it must be kept clear and clean. Before too long, that poor devastated life has branched out, reached out, and has become far stronger than it could ever have imagined. Now that life is an encouragement to others, rather than the victim of circumstance, and people draw from that well and are nourished.
In the same way, in a month or so, I shall draw in my breath deeply, as I take in the delightful aroma of the beautiful sweetpeas, and be nourished. A scent full of memories of my childhood, so long ago, yet so present in this dear, tendrilled flower.
This afternoon, the storm clouds broke up for a few minutes, minutes enough for me to go out to the veggie patch and gently pull the newly rooted baby crab grass, which was threatening to choke out the courageous sweetpeas, who had braved the stormy blasts of May and early June. The day I planted out those tender seedlings in early May, the North wind came with a vengeance, bringing with it freezing temperatures, blasting out the life from my little sweetpeas, and laying them on the ground. Most of them succumbed. I left them alone, not believing that they'd come back, but I just didn't have the heart to turn them under. It's now the middle of June, and I'm astonished that something so fragile as a sweetpea can turn its nose up at the North wind, and with a little sunshine, plenty of rain, and some lovely muggy warmth, pick itself up by the bootstraps and start again from the ground up! That is precisely what has happened to about half the row. The roots were unscathed by Jack Frost's kiss, and they simply formed 'tillers', an Old English term meaning by-shoots, forming a stronger plant by way of a rotten trick of fate carried on the wings of the wind.
It can be that way, too, for humankind. Fate's ugly hand can come knocking at your door, and before you know it, there you are, lying alongside the fallen sweetpeas. Some really do succumb, like the little seedlings, too weakened by the blow to form 'tillers'; but many, even if they lie there for a while, will be brought back to health by the warm love of friends, the encouragement of those who have been there before, and by the grace of God find new life, stronger life, in this far friendlier environment. It's very important to make sure that this new strength is not choked out by even the tiniest, tenderest baby 'crab grass' of life; it must be kept clear and clean. Before too long, that poor devastated life has branched out, reached out, and has become far stronger than it could ever have imagined. Now that life is an encouragement to others, rather than the victim of circumstance, and people draw from that well and are nourished.
In the same way, in a month or so, I shall draw in my breath deeply, as I take in the delightful aroma of the beautiful sweetpeas, and be nourished. A scent full of memories of my childhood, so long ago, yet so present in this dear, tendrilled flower.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
café expres, a perfect date
One of my favorite things about being in Paris is the wonderful tradition of café expres (espresso). You can pop in any old place, sit with Romance at the bar, stare at fabulous people and cool your elbows on the smooth marble countertop, while you sip a little cupful of rich, fragrant coffee. It's a very romantic, European thing—to be so grandiose, so spontaneous—to make such an event of drinking a thimble-full of anything. That anybody can accomplish such a stylish, nostalgic moment for less than $2 makes it that much more appealing.
Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).
Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.
I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?
Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).
Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.
I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?
Monday, May 19, 2008
just what the doctor ordered
I came home from work tonight and found a neat little note sitting on my kitchen counter. It was from Hannah (she left this morning) and I hope she doesn't mind, but I'm writing it here, just so I can have it for always.
Dear Soupy ~
I'm so glad that we got to hang out this weekend, it really was lovely, just perfect. Thanks for having me at your sweet little home, with your cute little kitties who I adore. Can't wait for the next time to see you... in CA? Or VT? Or NY? We'll see...
Love you love you love you. Just what the Dr. Ordered—a weekend with my sistawrs...Hannah Poopy
Monday, April 28, 2008
better to be right—or happy?
By Penelope Wall
I wrote this post last week for Penelope Post and thought it was very fitting for Eat Peas as well. Sorry if you've already read it...
Colin's been working a lot of late—I mean late—nights these days. So much so, that this afternoon when he told me he wouldn't make it home for dinner again and he probably wouldn't be home before I went to bed, I completely lost my cool. I told him this had to stop—if not for his sanity, then at least for his health. I told him he had to figure it out once and for all. Talk to his boss. Talk to HR. Just figure it out. I mean, this isn't Wall Street, for crying out loud, this is Burlington, Vermont. After a few more terse remarks, we both decided that conversation was not appropriate for the phone—or the workplace—and hung up feeling shitty and down.
"I need a run," I thought to myself. "I need to come up with a plan so that we can figure this out once and for all." I drove home from work completely distracted. Fuming that Col was so willing to come up with reasons (excuses in my mind) why this time was so important. Why this week is so busy. Next week will be different.
During my run, I almost completely missed the beautiful sunset—and the beautiful evening—because I was so worked up on working things out. But finally towards the end of my run, I started feeling better. I knew I was right and I was going to show him. In my mind, I had come up with a punch list of all the items that were wrong with our situation and all the ways he was going to fix them.
I ran up the stairs and into our apartment loaded with ammo, but feeling a sudden knot of recognition in my stomach. "We've been here before," I thought. "If this approach didn't work then, why would it work now?"
And then I wondered: Why was I so angry? Was it because he really let me down? Or was it simply because I wasn't in control? I had to admit, I think it was the latter. After all, all I really wanted was to have dinner with him. And if that was all, then I had a very simple solution.
I picked up the phone and dialed Col's work. He answered right away.
"Hello?"
"Hey Luv," I said. "How ya doing?"
"Okay." He sounded tired.
"I'm sorry about earlier." I said.
"Me too."
"Are you hungry? Have you eaten today?"
"I'm starving. All I've had to eat all day is chips from the vending machine."
"Can I bring you dinner? I can make you a sandwich. And salad. How's that sound?"
"Would you really?? That would be so awesome."
That horrible weight, that horrible knot—it immediately melted away. And after we hung up, I whipped up the best brown bag dinner ever:
I wrote this post last week for Penelope Post and thought it was very fitting for Eat Peas as well. Sorry if you've already read it...
Colin's been working a lot of late—I mean late—nights these days. So much so, that this afternoon when he told me he wouldn't make it home for dinner again and he probably wouldn't be home before I went to bed, I completely lost my cool. I told him this had to stop—if not for his sanity, then at least for his health. I told him he had to figure it out once and for all. Talk to his boss. Talk to HR. Just figure it out. I mean, this isn't Wall Street, for crying out loud, this is Burlington, Vermont. After a few more terse remarks, we both decided that conversation was not appropriate for the phone—or the workplace—and hung up feeling shitty and down.
"I need a run," I thought to myself. "I need to come up with a plan so that we can figure this out once and for all." I drove home from work completely distracted. Fuming that Col was so willing to come up with reasons (excuses in my mind) why this time was so important. Why this week is so busy. Next week will be different.
During my run, I almost completely missed the beautiful sunset—and the beautiful evening—because I was so worked up on working things out. But finally towards the end of my run, I started feeling better. I knew I was right and I was going to show him. In my mind, I had come up with a punch list of all the items that were wrong with our situation and all the ways he was going to fix them.
I ran up the stairs and into our apartment loaded with ammo, but feeling a sudden knot of recognition in my stomach. "We've been here before," I thought. "If this approach didn't work then, why would it work now?"
And then I wondered: Why was I so angry? Was it because he really let me down? Or was it simply because I wasn't in control? I had to admit, I think it was the latter. After all, all I really wanted was to have dinner with him. And if that was all, then I had a very simple solution.
I picked up the phone and dialed Col's work. He answered right away.
"Hello?"
"Hey Luv," I said. "How ya doing?"
"Okay." He sounded tired.
"I'm sorry about earlier." I said.
"Me too."
"Are you hungry? Have you eaten today?"
"I'm starving. All I've had to eat all day is chips from the vending machine."
"Can I bring you dinner? I can make you a sandwich. And salad. How's that sound?"
"Would you really?? That would be so awesome."
That horrible weight, that horrible knot—it immediately melted away. And after we hung up, I whipped up the best brown bag dinner ever:
- 2 salami cheddar sandwiches on honey bread
- Romaine salad with blue cheese, tamari almonds and homemade Buttermilk Ranch Dressing
- Pretzel sticks with my homemade Boursin cheese dip (Col's favorite!)
- An entire sleeve of Girl Scout thin mints (his other favorite!)
- And a Corona
I drove to Burton and presented my peace offering to Col with great pride. He was so excited to see me and tell me what he was working on. We set up his little picnic at one of the work tables, and there—admidst papers and charts and fabric samples—we had dinner together, while the cleaning ladies vacuumed around our feet.
Yes, it was a proud moment. Relationships teach you a lot about yourself. Tonight I learned that your faults—no matter how deeply ingrained—are easily remedied if you take the time to pause and consider your options. In the same moment that I realized I'm a control-freak, I learned to tame the "control" urge and use it for good: by taking control in a fragile situation. Not by pushing, but by leading. And that is a good feeling.
Phew! Another crisis diverted!
Monday, April 14, 2008
april showers, cakes and flowers
The shower season has officially begun. And no, I don't mean rain! Bridal showers, baby showers, weddings and the like pepper—or should I say "sugar"—the weekends on my calendar through October! If you're not careful, and don't write everything down, it can be a daunting view of the summer ahead. But once you've got it down, this is really a special time. When else do you get the excuse to dress up, travel, party with your friends, hang out with the fam, and give presents to people you adore?
Showers are a celebration of love. They are a symbolic demonstration of that love. Shower them with your love (or presents). That's the whole idea, right? Nourish them as a whole, so that they can carry on a wholesome and healthy life on their own, as a couple and as a family.
I had two showers this weekend—one for a bride and one for a baby. I could only make it to one or the other, so I chose the bride-to-be, Colin's sister Jill. It was a lovely luncheon, with lots of ladies!
Afterwards, Jill, Colin's mom and I went to a cake tasting for the wedding cake at Anjou, a sweet little French patisserie in Mount Kisco. The chef, Patrick, brought us about 12 different mousses to try and two different cakes. We mixed and matched flavors and finally decided on two mousses—raspberry and pear—with vanilla sponge cake. Yum!
Showers are a celebration of love. They are a symbolic demonstration of that love. Shower them with your love (or presents). That's the whole idea, right? Nourish them as a whole, so that they can carry on a wholesome and healthy life on their own, as a couple and as a family.
I had two showers this weekend—one for a bride and one for a baby. I could only make it to one or the other, so I chose the bride-to-be, Colin's sister Jill. It was a lovely luncheon, with lots of ladies!
Afterwards, Jill, Colin's mom and I went to a cake tasting for the wedding cake at Anjou, a sweet little French patisserie in Mount Kisco. The chef, Patrick, brought us about 12 different mousses to try and two different cakes. We mixed and matched flavors and finally decided on two mousses—raspberry and pear—with vanilla sponge cake. Yum!
Monday, February 25, 2008
extreme pleasures
By Emma H. W. Kouri
I’ve never liked the idea of extremism. Actually, people with extreme views really turn me off. Extreme religion, extreme lifestyle, extreme political views… it’s all so extreme!
Because I live in America, I am constantly exposed to extremism. In America, extreme is the way to go. And as an American, you must try to reach your goals via the most extremely efficient route possible.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not perfect. I am the first to admit that I get sucked in. I love being efficient, and my husband loves it too. I’m always on the search for the latest extremely cool thing, especially when it comes to luxury bath products, and make-up. I’ll call my sisters and tell them they have to try this or that, that it has really changed my life. Then 2 weeks later, I’ve forgotten about it.
Here’s another thing that I don’t like: obsessing about my weight and my body. We all do it, especially in America. Just to let you know, I am 5 foot 10 1/2 inches. I weigh between 140-145 pounds, and my size is a tall 4 or 6, depending on the brand. I’m in excellent shape, walk and run daily, and eat healthful food (I am an extremely loyal EatingWell fan). Why does someone like me obsess about my weight? Maybe it’s because I was chubby as a child and ridiculed for it. Maybe it’s because I’m addicted to People magazine so I constantly have an unattainable image in my head. I really don’t know what the reason is, but I am sick of it.
The two topics mentioned above can be combined together to form one of the other things I can’t stand: extreme dieting. Or extreme diet choices. What is this all about? Why does America love it so much? The Atkins diet, the liquid diets, the milkshake diet… I could go on forever. My girlfriend told me she is reading this new book, called Skinny Bitch, which informs the reader that they are not taking care of themselves if they are eating meat or drinking milk. So now my friend's eating lots of fish. Guess what would happen if we all did that? That’s right, there would be no fish left to eat.
This feeling of frustration with my own obsession and America’s obsession with dieting really came to a head this weekend. I was walking on Church Street with my husband, and we walked into Borders. I was browsing, and caught sight of a book: French Women Don’t Get Fat. For some reason, I picked it up and bought it. Kevin got a book too, and we went home and read together.
Only 70 pages in, and I’m hooked. Seriously, in 2 days, I have felt a total revolution and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders! Based on the philosophy of a French woman, I have come to realize that I need to love food (and I really do love food, especially good cheese and chocolate) and not hate it! What good food (not low-fat high-sugar loser foods, but the real foods) needs is to be respected—and relished. Embrace it, and embrace yourself. Take each bite slowly and seriously, and consider all the different textures that you feel and the flavors that you taste.
I immediately poured a glass of Le Freak, and made a cheese plate for my husband and me. I carefully took 1 Carr’s whole wheat cracker, and placed a slice of Cabot Private Stock Cheddar on top. Then, I placed on top of the cheese a small dollop of homemade hot pepper jelly (from Liz’s friend).
I sat down, and took a small bite. Closed my eyes, and chewed. It was orgasmic! Amazing! I’ve never tasted anything so outrageous. It took 4 bites to eat this cracker, and guess what? I didn’t want a second. Anyone who knows me will find this hard to believe. But it’s true, and I was more satisfied than I’ve ever been even after scarfing down 5 crackers with cheese.
My new-found approach can be illustrated with this: imagine that you have to drive somewhere, and you have a choice: interstate or back roads. The interstate will no doubt get you there faster, but the back roads will be filled with character, scenery, picturesque moments and maybe even a little meditation! This is what the French do when they eat. It is an experience, not a chore. It is a friend (or lover), not an enemy. Savor every moment, and you’ll find yourself only needing one bite of that cake, because one bite was enough to send you reeling into ecstasy. After a while, you’ll find yourself being more thoughtful while you eat, and automatically eating less. Then you won’t feel guilty afterwards. If you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself indulging in extreme pleasure every time you sit down for a meal.
Delectable fruit and cheese plate from Leunig's Bistro in Burlington, Vermont.
I’ve never liked the idea of extremism. Actually, people with extreme views really turn me off. Extreme religion, extreme lifestyle, extreme political views… it’s all so extreme!
Because I live in America, I am constantly exposed to extremism. In America, extreme is the way to go. And as an American, you must try to reach your goals via the most extremely efficient route possible.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not perfect. I am the first to admit that I get sucked in. I love being efficient, and my husband loves it too. I’m always on the search for the latest extremely cool thing, especially when it comes to luxury bath products, and make-up. I’ll call my sisters and tell them they have to try this or that, that it has really changed my life. Then 2 weeks later, I’ve forgotten about it.
Here’s another thing that I don’t like: obsessing about my weight and my body. We all do it, especially in America. Just to let you know, I am 5 foot 10 1/2 inches. I weigh between 140-145 pounds, and my size is a tall 4 or 6, depending on the brand. I’m in excellent shape, walk and run daily, and eat healthful food (I am an extremely loyal EatingWell fan). Why does someone like me obsess about my weight? Maybe it’s because I was chubby as a child and ridiculed for it. Maybe it’s because I’m addicted to People magazine so I constantly have an unattainable image in my head. I really don’t know what the reason is, but I am sick of it.
The two topics mentioned above can be combined together to form one of the other things I can’t stand: extreme dieting. Or extreme diet choices. What is this all about? Why does America love it so much? The Atkins diet, the liquid diets, the milkshake diet… I could go on forever. My girlfriend told me she is reading this new book, called Skinny Bitch, which informs the reader that they are not taking care of themselves if they are eating meat or drinking milk. So now my friend's eating lots of fish. Guess what would happen if we all did that? That’s right, there would be no fish left to eat.
This feeling of frustration with my own obsession and America’s obsession with dieting really came to a head this weekend. I was walking on Church Street with my husband, and we walked into Borders. I was browsing, and caught sight of a book: French Women Don’t Get Fat. For some reason, I picked it up and bought it. Kevin got a book too, and we went home and read together.
Only 70 pages in, and I’m hooked. Seriously, in 2 days, I have felt a total revolution and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders! Based on the philosophy of a French woman, I have come to realize that I need to love food (and I really do love food, especially good cheese and chocolate) and not hate it! What good food (not low-fat high-sugar loser foods, but the real foods) needs is to be respected—and relished. Embrace it, and embrace yourself. Take each bite slowly and seriously, and consider all the different textures that you feel and the flavors that you taste.
I immediately poured a glass of Le Freak, and made a cheese plate for my husband and me. I carefully took 1 Carr’s whole wheat cracker, and placed a slice of Cabot Private Stock Cheddar on top. Then, I placed on top of the cheese a small dollop of homemade hot pepper jelly (from Liz’s friend).
I sat down, and took a small bite. Closed my eyes, and chewed. It was orgasmic! Amazing! I’ve never tasted anything so outrageous. It took 4 bites to eat this cracker, and guess what? I didn’t want a second. Anyone who knows me will find this hard to believe. But it’s true, and I was more satisfied than I’ve ever been even after scarfing down 5 crackers with cheese.
My new-found approach can be illustrated with this: imagine that you have to drive somewhere, and you have a choice: interstate or back roads. The interstate will no doubt get you there faster, but the back roads will be filled with character, scenery, picturesque moments and maybe even a little meditation! This is what the French do when they eat. It is an experience, not a chore. It is a friend (or lover), not an enemy. Savor every moment, and you’ll find yourself only needing one bite of that cake, because one bite was enough to send you reeling into ecstasy. After a while, you’ll find yourself being more thoughtful while you eat, and automatically eating less. Then you won’t feel guilty afterwards. If you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself indulging in extreme pleasure every time you sit down for a meal.
Delectable fruit and cheese plate from Leunig's Bistro in Burlington, Vermont.
Monday, December 3, 2007
hugs & love
By Emma H. W. Kouri
My sister Penelope and I have spent 4 days with our grandmother in Winter Park, Florida. This is the first time we've been to visit (together) since Papa Roger died last February. Everything is different now.
Mama Sonia is not the peppy, let's-go-shopping-and-out-to-lunch grandmother anymore. She doesn't want to go out, or even leave her apartment. She doesn't want to get dressed, and just wants to sit in her chair and think (and read, and watch T.V.).
When we were growing up, Mama Sonia was our sassy Puerto Rican grandmother who always spoiled us. She never forgot a birthday, she always took us to the latest Disney theme park, and she loved to go shopping. She was an amazing cook and loved to entertain. She has spent much of her life entertaining and socializing; nurturing others with her culinary skills and her knack for conversation.
Papa Roger always chose the route out of the building where he would run into the least amount of people. However, if he was with Mama Sonia, they had to go out the front so she could see/greet everybody who was out and about. Wish them happy birthday, tell them she is so sorry for their loss. Whatever people were experiencing, she knew it and she even knew the names of their loved ones. That Mama Sonia is not here now.
Mama Sonia does not remember birthdays or anniversaries, and most of the time she forgets what day it is. She has a new routine now, and it is one of solitude and peace. I have to say that I was extremely worried about her—she hasn't walked out of the door since we've been here! But, when I was having a glass (or two) of wine at Park Plaza Gardens today with Penelope, we talked and tried to understand. Here are some points that we came up with:
1. We could never, ever, understand the pain and loss that Mama Sonia is experiencing right now, since Papa Roger died
2. We cannot imagine what it's like to be (almost) 84
3. Mama Sonia's needs NEED to come first.
So, we came home today with a new attitude. Mama Sonia needs to be showered with love, and not judged for her actions. We bought her roses and the chocolate-covered popcorn that she loves. We made her (well, she asked actually) drink 2 glasses of wine with us. We made her laugh.
We had a talk with her and discovered her own take on things. First, she says, everybody is different in how they deal with things. She really doesn't want to go out and really doesn't feel sad when she's alone. She feels badly that people are worried about her. We told her that she needs to follow her heart; that she should not go out for anybody but herself. Only she knows what is best for her, after all she is 84 and full of wisdom. She still looks amazing, has great skin, and even smells wonderful! The old Mama Sonia may never come back to us. But the new one is real, honest, and just as nurturing as the old one. But she needs to be nurtured and accepted now. She needs to be nourished. By nourished, I mean (using her own words, after 2 glasses of wine):
To be hugged
To love others
To love yourself.
We love our grandmother and hope we have many more special times with her in the future.
My sister Penelope and I have spent 4 days with our grandmother in Winter Park, Florida. This is the first time we've been to visit (together) since Papa Roger died last February. Everything is different now.
Mama Sonia is not the peppy, let's-go-shopping-and-out-to-lunch grandmother anymore. She doesn't want to go out, or even leave her apartment. She doesn't want to get dressed, and just wants to sit in her chair and think (and read, and watch T.V.).
When we were growing up, Mama Sonia was our sassy Puerto Rican grandmother who always spoiled us. She never forgot a birthday, she always took us to the latest Disney theme park, and she loved to go shopping. She was an amazing cook and loved to entertain. She has spent much of her life entertaining and socializing; nurturing others with her culinary skills and her knack for conversation.
Papa Roger always chose the route out of the building where he would run into the least amount of people. However, if he was with Mama Sonia, they had to go out the front so she could see/greet everybody who was out and about. Wish them happy birthday, tell them she is so sorry for their loss. Whatever people were experiencing, she knew it and she even knew the names of their loved ones. That Mama Sonia is not here now.
Mama Sonia does not remember birthdays or anniversaries, and most of the time she forgets what day it is. She has a new routine now, and it is one of solitude and peace. I have to say that I was extremely worried about her—she hasn't walked out of the door since we've been here! But, when I was having a glass (or two) of wine at Park Plaza Gardens today with Penelope, we talked and tried to understand. Here are some points that we came up with:
1. We could never, ever, understand the pain and loss that Mama Sonia is experiencing right now, since Papa Roger died
2. We cannot imagine what it's like to be (almost) 84
3. Mama Sonia's needs NEED to come first.
So, we came home today with a new attitude. Mama Sonia needs to be showered with love, and not judged for her actions. We bought her roses and the chocolate-covered popcorn that she loves. We made her (well, she asked actually) drink 2 glasses of wine with us. We made her laugh.
We had a talk with her and discovered her own take on things. First, she says, everybody is different in how they deal with things. She really doesn't want to go out and really doesn't feel sad when she's alone. She feels badly that people are worried about her. We told her that she needs to follow her heart; that she should not go out for anybody but herself. Only she knows what is best for her, after all she is 84 and full of wisdom. She still looks amazing, has great skin, and even smells wonderful! The old Mama Sonia may never come back to us. But the new one is real, honest, and just as nurturing as the old one. But she needs to be nurtured and accepted now. She needs to be nourished. By nourished, I mean (using her own words, after 2 glasses of wine):
To be hugged
To love others
To love yourself.
We love our grandmother and hope we have many more special times with her in the future.
Monday, November 12, 2007
to be pregnant
Essay and Artwork by Elisa Freeman Smith
Photograph by Brett Smith
As I sit here with my laptop, feeling my unborn child shifting and kicking about in my belly to the point where this action jars my arm and affects my typing (well, almost!); I realize that I have indeed come into a new awareness. Thoughts on nourishment are central to this new consciousness, ranging from digesting the endless media regarding pregnancy do’s and don’ts, to the daydreams about how my child is growing inside of my own body and how nourishing myself will in turn nourish her.
Feeling my baby tap-dance on the flip-side of my popping belly-button evokes such a feeling of awe—I tell my husband, Brett, that I can’t help but feel so special. I am just so lucky to be the one who gets to carry this tiny, magical life form (cue holy music and spotlight shining down on me)—I must be the only person on earth who has ever experienced such a sacred event… REALITY CHECK—Cut Spotlight. As soon as I come back down to earth I see moms and kids everywhere. Yes, this is happening every day. More than once. More than twice. In fact, every glowing, smiling basketball-bellied lady in my whole pre-natal yoga class is sitting next to me every Wednesday with their hands on their stomachs feeling the EXACT SAME THING!! (Not to mention a thousand or so other prenatal yoga classes around the continent every day…) Well, not exactly the same thing, but you get were I’m going. I feel like I go through this little roller coaster of emotions almost daily—they say it’s hormones. Luckily, I’ve settled somewhere in between feeling very happy to have this experience, but at the same time, glad to have others that share it with me. Nourishment, especially during pregnancy, definitely feels like a community experience.
As many others who have participated in this blog have declared, nourishment means far more to them than the food that they eat, and my feelings about nourishment during pregnancy are not much different in that I feel an increased desire for overall nourishment – body, mind, spirit. However, the direct connection between the food that nourishes me and in turn nourishes my baby cannot be denied. It’s the topic of many a panic-stricken Q & A session in the online pregnancy forums. ‘I ate goat cheese last night, is my baby going to miscarry due to Listeriosis?’ ‘I had 2 glasses of wine last week before I knew I was pregnant—is my baby going to have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?’ ‘I didn’t know I couldn’t eat more that 12 oz of fish per week—is my baby going to have mercury poisoning??’ That last one is a good example of why all of this media hype must be taken with a grain of salt. The official “rule” according to all of the pregnancy-related books, websites, etc. when I became pregnant last May was that you should not eat more than 12 oz of seafood, and that was from a limited list of seafood based on each species’ mercury content. Flash forward to October 4th, just a month ago, and the headlines read: “Pregnant and breast-feeding women should eat at least 12 ounces (340 grams) of fish and other seafood a week because the benefits for infant brain development outweigh any worries about mercury contamination, a group of U.S. experts said on Thursday.” Oh yes, this did totally contradict my carefully regulated weekly seafood regimen of the previous 5 months of my pregnancy. After a moment of panic related to my feeling that there was no doctor, no website, no book that could tell me exactly what to do to take care of my baby; I realized that I am the mother and that I need to have faith and trust in myself and my own motherly instincts, as mothers have been doing since the very first child was conceived.
My instincts have basically led me to enjoy everything I’ve always enjoyed, in moderation. Although this may mean only an occasional sip of my favorite wine, it means way more chocolate milk, which is almost as good to me. It may also mean a slightly larger portion of dinner- particularly vitamin-rich leafy greens, which I can never seem to get enough of. Getting enough iron and folic acid is one of those tried and true pregnancy “musts,” that drives this urge. Not only do I eat spinach, kale and brussels sprouts whenever possible, but I also diligently add a couple of tablespoons of wheat germ to my yogurt and hot cereal every day. Oh, and, the girl definitely gets her fair share of ice cream! For me, there isn’t an exact science to it, but all of this in addition to a daily pre-natal vitamin give me piece of mind that I am doing the best job I can of physically nourishing myself and the baby. Every time I feel a healthy kick, I think about how I am helping my baby develop and grow strong.
So, as Brett and I sit here eating seafood to our hearts’ contents, I’m confident that I’ve come to a sort of pregnancy-food-nourishment-self-actualization. Now I’m free to focus on other forms of nourishment that will promote our daughter-to be’s development. Brett and I have talked a lot about the nourishment of our own characters, with a belief that leading by example is one of the best forms of parenting. We are sure that in this new phase of life the need and opportunity for all types of nourishment will be abundant, but that may be another blog entry…
—Elisa Freeman Smith, Artist & Mother-to-Be
Photograph by Brett Smith
As I sit here with my laptop, feeling my unborn child shifting and kicking about in my belly to the point where this action jars my arm and affects my typing (well, almost!); I realize that I have indeed come into a new awareness. Thoughts on nourishment are central to this new consciousness, ranging from digesting the endless media regarding pregnancy do’s and don’ts, to the daydreams about how my child is growing inside of my own body and how nourishing myself will in turn nourish her.Feeling my baby tap-dance on the flip-side of my popping belly-button evokes such a feeling of awe—I tell my husband, Brett, that I can’t help but feel so special. I am just so lucky to be the one who gets to carry this tiny, magical life form (cue holy music and spotlight shining down on me)—I must be the only person on earth who has ever experienced such a sacred event… REALITY CHECK—Cut Spotlight. As soon as I come back down to earth I see moms and kids everywhere. Yes, this is happening every day. More than once. More than twice. In fact, every glowing, smiling basketball-bellied lady in my whole pre-natal yoga class is sitting next to me every Wednesday with their hands on their stomachs feeling the EXACT SAME THING!! (Not to mention a thousand or so other prenatal yoga classes around the continent every day…) Well, not exactly the same thing, but you get were I’m going. I feel like I go through this little roller coaster of emotions almost daily—they say it’s hormones. Luckily, I’ve settled somewhere in between feeling very happy to have this experience, but at the same time, glad to have others that share it with me. Nourishment, especially during pregnancy, definitely feels like a community experience.
As many others who have participated in this blog have declared, nourishment means far more to them than the food that they eat, and my feelings about nourishment during pregnancy are not much different in that I feel an increased desire for overall nourishment – body, mind, spirit. However, the direct connection between the food that nourishes me and in turn nourishes my baby cannot be denied. It’s the topic of many a panic-stricken Q & A session in the online pregnancy forums. ‘I ate goat cheese last night, is my baby going to miscarry due to Listeriosis?’ ‘I had 2 glasses of wine last week before I knew I was pregnant—is my baby going to have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?’ ‘I didn’t know I couldn’t eat more that 12 oz of fish per week—is my baby going to have mercury poisoning??’ That last one is a good example of why all of this media hype must be taken with a grain of salt. The official “rule” according to all of the pregnancy-related books, websites, etc. when I became pregnant last May was that you should not eat more than 12 oz of seafood, and that was from a limited list of seafood based on each species’ mercury content. Flash forward to October 4th, just a month ago, and the headlines read: “Pregnant and breast-feeding women should eat at least 12 ounces (340 grams) of fish and other seafood a week because the benefits for infant brain development outweigh any worries about mercury contamination, a group of U.S. experts said on Thursday.” Oh yes, this did totally contradict my carefully regulated weekly seafood regimen of the previous 5 months of my pregnancy. After a moment of panic related to my feeling that there was no doctor, no website, no book that could tell me exactly what to do to take care of my baby; I realized that I am the mother and that I need to have faith and trust in myself and my own motherly instincts, as mothers have been doing since the very first child was conceived.
My instincts have basically led me to enjoy everything I’ve always enjoyed, in moderation. Although this may mean only an occasional sip of my favorite wine, it means way more chocolate milk, which is almost as good to me. It may also mean a slightly larger portion of dinner- particularly vitamin-rich leafy greens, which I can never seem to get enough of. Getting enough iron and folic acid is one of those tried and true pregnancy “musts,” that drives this urge. Not only do I eat spinach, kale and brussels sprouts whenever possible, but I also diligently add a couple of tablespoons of wheat germ to my yogurt and hot cereal every day. Oh, and, the girl definitely gets her fair share of ice cream! For me, there isn’t an exact science to it, but all of this in addition to a daily pre-natal vitamin give me piece of mind that I am doing the best job I can of physically nourishing myself and the baby. Every time I feel a healthy kick, I think about how I am helping my baby develop and grow strong.
So, as Brett and I sit here eating seafood to our hearts’ contents, I’m confident that I’ve come to a sort of pregnancy-food-nourishment-self-actualization. Now I’m free to focus on other forms of nourishment that will promote our daughter-to be’s development. Brett and I have talked a lot about the nourishment of our own characters, with a belief that leading by example is one of the best forms of parenting. We are sure that in this new phase of life the need and opportunity for all types of nourishment will be abundant, but that may be another blog entry…
—Elisa Freeman Smith, Artist & Mother-to-Be
Monday, September 17, 2007
family on nourishment
When I think of what nourishment as a concept means to me, I think of my family. And so, in undertaking this project—of asking others to contribute their ideas on nourishment—I went first to my mother and sisters.
The first one who responded was Hannah, my oldest sister. Three time zones and three thousands miles away, it turns out we had the same exact thing on our minds. Her response:
That's whack. I wrote this poem yesterday:
If we measure the time between our meeting
by the rotting of tomatoes and
avocados,
I would hope that these pieces
and our movement
is organic,
So they'll rot quicker
And no one goes hungry
with want and waiting in the interim.
Let me be clear:
I want to see you
before the vegetables decay.
I want to see you before you are filled with regret
at the waste, of time and food.
One day we will grow these fruits
together
And feed each other daily,
Nourishment springing up around us
to build a house of trees and vines.
Till then, we place carrots and radishes at acute angles,
pointing to passing,
and posing for decomposition.
xo love you.
—Hannah Wall
My other sister came next, and she said a lot of the same things that I myself have been feeling. I love that supple skin is just as important as relaxation and comfort. All of these things are evidence of bodily and spiritual nourishment.
I have thought about it and decided to tell you words/thoughts that come to mind when I think of nourishment:
Warmth, flavor, drink, comfort, peace, laughter, love, satisfaction, health, blood flow, supple skin, happiness, culinary creations, relaxation, family. When I feel nourished, I feel complete and mentally at peace.
—Emma Kouri
Finally my mother. First I received a voicemail at work: "Nourishment. Certainly is not when your daughter doesn't answer the telephone." I finally got in touch with her and she asked, "is it too late to write something and is it okay if it's not about food?" I said, of course it wasn't, and of course it was (wondering if she would remember how to email it to me). She did.
The other day, Sadie and I went down to the river. It had rained incessantly for a couple of days, and the earth smelt as it should: mossy, heaving with life, warm, wet, dark...and so we went, she and I, unable to resist the call. On the way down, I bumped into a tree, who, indignant, released the captive raindrops she had been hoarding. Drenched from the unexpected 'gift', I could only laugh. I felt a little silly! Sadie, certainly, had no idea what all this mirth represented.
On down to the river, but not to stop at our usual hole. Some adventure beckoned, and we picked up the gauntlet. Ploughing ahead through uncharted bogland, for so it is, black and foreboding, we were astonished at the beauty of the red and orange toadstools, no toads were sitting, however; red cedars sat above the bogs, standing on tippy-toes, high on their snake-like roots, keeping dry. Following the river, we won't get lost now; we came upon a huge rock, covered in moss. Right by the river...deeply swirling.
Sadie plopped into the water, and swam and swam. Oh, my Lord, nobody knows where I am! What if we get sucked into the black, black earth in one of those bogs, we'll never be found! What if there's a bear behind this mossy rock!
All of a sudden, it was very important to head on up to the clearing in the treetops shining all yellow against the blue sky... Don't worry about deer-paths, just plunge and go, quickly! I know that if we just keep going in this direction we'll come to...and there it was! The old familiar path, through the ferns, that wends its way down to Clyde Pond. Ahh...nourishment!
—Sally Wall
hannah, sister
The first one who responded was Hannah, my oldest sister. Three time zones and three thousands miles away, it turns out we had the same exact thing on our minds. Her response:
That's whack. I wrote this poem yesterday:
If we measure the time between our meeting
by the rotting of tomatoes and
avocados,
I would hope that these pieces
and our movement
is organic,
So they'll rot quicker
And no one goes hungry
with want and waiting in the interim.
Let me be clear:
I want to see you
before the vegetables decay.
I want to see you before you are filled with regret
at the waste, of time and food.
One day we will grow these fruits
together
And feed each other daily,
Nourishment springing up around us
to build a house of trees and vines.
Till then, we place carrots and radishes at acute angles,
pointing to passing,
and posing for decomposition.
xo love you.
—Hannah Wall
emma, sister
My other sister came next, and she said a lot of the same things that I myself have been feeling. I love that supple skin is just as important as relaxation and comfort. All of these things are evidence of bodily and spiritual nourishment.
I have thought about it and decided to tell you words/thoughts that come to mind when I think of nourishment:
Warmth, flavor, drink, comfort, peace, laughter, love, satisfaction, health, blood flow, supple skin, happiness, culinary creations, relaxation, family. When I feel nourished, I feel complete and mentally at peace.
—Emma Kouri
sally, mother
Finally my mother. First I received a voicemail at work: "Nourishment. Certainly is not when your daughter doesn't answer the telephone." I finally got in touch with her and she asked, "is it too late to write something and is it okay if it's not about food?" I said, of course it wasn't, and of course it was (wondering if she would remember how to email it to me). She did.
The other day, Sadie and I went down to the river. It had rained incessantly for a couple of days, and the earth smelt as it should: mossy, heaving with life, warm, wet, dark...and so we went, she and I, unable to resist the call. On the way down, I bumped into a tree, who, indignant, released the captive raindrops she had been hoarding. Drenched from the unexpected 'gift', I could only laugh. I felt a little silly! Sadie, certainly, had no idea what all this mirth represented.
On down to the river, but not to stop at our usual hole. Some adventure beckoned, and we picked up the gauntlet. Ploughing ahead through uncharted bogland, for so it is, black and foreboding, we were astonished at the beauty of the red and orange toadstools, no toads were sitting, however; red cedars sat above the bogs, standing on tippy-toes, high on their snake-like roots, keeping dry. Following the river, we won't get lost now; we came upon a huge rock, covered in moss. Right by the river...deeply swirling.
Sadie plopped into the water, and swam and swam. Oh, my Lord, nobody knows where I am! What if we get sucked into the black, black earth in one of those bogs, we'll never be found! What if there's a bear behind this mossy rock!
All of a sudden, it was very important to head on up to the clearing in the treetops shining all yellow against the blue sky... Don't worry about deer-paths, just plunge and go, quickly! I know that if we just keep going in this direction we'll come to...and there it was! The old familiar path, through the ferns, that wends its way down to Clyde Pond. Ahh...nourishment!
—Sally Wall
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
del.icio.us