The work of self ...

Image by Gurumustuk Singh via FlickrNow here is a thought to ponder ...

"If you are willing to look at another person’s behavior toward you as a reflection of the state of their relationship with themselves rather than a statement about your value as a person, then you will, over a period of time cease to react at all." --Yogi Bhajan

... and isn't that what is needed. We can live feeling judged or we can just observe the judgement. I'll choose to observe.

Wishcasting

Jamie prompts ... "What is your winter wish?"

... and I wonder, is this something I can do or have I forgotten how to wish

can I find a way

where shall I start

I'm wishing for a journey

into myself,

with duster and broom,

to sweep out the web

that has clouded my world.

Santa!

His work is never done !!!!!

The work of Ronald Searle

Dreaming!

The Sin of Omission by Margaret E. Sangster

Image by anniebee via Flickr

It isn't the thing you do, dear,

Its the thing you leave undone

That gives you a bit of a heartache

At setting of the sun.

The tender work forgotten,

The letter you did not write,

The flowers you did not send, dear,

Are your haunting ghosts at night.

The stone you might have lifted

Out of a brother's way;

The bit of heartsome counsel

You were hurried too much to say;

The loving touch of the hand, dear,

The gentle, winning tone

Which you had no time nor thought for

With troubles enough of your own.

Thoes little acts of kindness

So easily out of mind,

Thoes chances to be angels

Which we poor mortals find~

They come in night and silence,

Each sad, reproachful wraith,

When hope is faint and flagging,

And a chill has fallen on faith.

For life is all too short, dear,

And sorrow is all to great,

To suffer our slow compassion

That tarries until too late:

And it isn't the thing you do, dear,

It's the thing you leave undone

Which gives you a bit of heartache

At the setting of the sun.

Christmas Day Breakfast

I'll be hosting Christmas Day Breakfast for the family this year and this is what I will be serving with fresh coffee from Baby's in Breaux Bridge, LA that I received as a birthday present from a dear friend.

Ingredients

• 1 pkg. Jimmy Dean® Italian Flavor Pork Sausage Roll
• 8 eggs
• 3 cups milk
• ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper
• 8 cups French bread cubes (3/4-inch pieces)
• 2 cups (8 ounces) shredded Italian cheese blend, divided
• 1 cup fresh sliced mushrooms
• 1 tomato, seeded, chopped
• ½ cup chopped green bell pepper

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Cook sausage in large skillet over medium-high heat 8-10 minutes or until thoroughly cooked, stirring frequently; drain.

2. Beat eggs, milk and black pepper in large bowl with wire whisk until well blended. Add bread cubes; stir gently until evenly coated. Stir in sausage, 1½ cups cheese, mushrooms, tomato and green pepper.

3. Pour into lightly greased 13x9-inch baking dish; sprinkle with remaining cheese.

4. Bake 45-50 minutes or until knife inserted in center comes out clean. Let stand 10 minutes before cutting into 12 squares to serve.

Cook’s Tips: Make-Ahead Egg Casserole: Assemble casserole as directed; cover. Refrigerate overnight. When ready to serve, uncover and bake 55 minutes to 1 hour or until knife inserted in center comes out clean.

Sage or Spicy Egg Casserole: Prepare using 1 pkg. Jimmy Dean® Sage Flavor, Regular Flavor or Hot Pork Sausage Roll.

Yield:

Makes: 12 servings (1 square each)

What are you thankful for this holiday ...

Turn off the music player at the bottom of this page to listen.

By the Water

There was another place that came before the one I often talk about. Also a very beautiful place but different, not dry …a place by the water where colors took on a different hue. There was a road that led to the water, a simple road where bikers biked, gardeners waved, postmen walked and cars drove slowly. I often took that road early in the morning to watch the water. Each day brought a different view but it was the ones that were gray that were the most fascinating, they were the ones that made you think. I would wake in the morning to a steady pattering of rain, slowly climb out of bed and quietly dress and head out and down the simple road to the water. It was always a bit messy between the front porch and the sand but once there, it was a new universe. The sky, gray and white all the way to the horizon, the wind making tiny whitecaps as the water flowed in and out. The sound of the Ferry going across the sound, sometimes in the distance where the land jutted out, you could see a rowboat tied in bouncing against the water. On a good day, someone might take that boat out a bit to catch some fish or maybe just venture. Sometimes I’d just sit and stare out at the water, maybe with a hot cup that I brought along.
I made a lot of decisions sitting on the edge of the sand and quite a few more on the pier. The edge of the sand was where I decided I should take an adventure, not the first but certainly one of consequence. I remember the day was a gray day, cold and misty, maybe soon to be wet. I brewed hot coffee early and brought it with me in a thermos, I went down that simple road slowly to my favorite place at the edge of the sand. The mist felt good, just enough to feel, not enough to be wet. In this place you always were prepared with a slicker when the day was gray. It was high tide, the water was close, waiting for me, greeting me. I thought about how I might miss the water so I spent time with it. I watched the charcoal color flow and break in a white flurry. The stately homes with elegant gardens and fabulous views across the road behind me frowned in the gray.They would eventually recede in memory and so would the people. I didn’t spend time on it. As I sat and thought, the grey started to lift, a brightness appeared, a flock of Gulls took off, the water changed color, the homes no longer frowned and I knew it was coming, I knew what I would do.

Letters to my Son

“Our entire life is put together in a story told to us by ourselves. Circumstances, emotions, and thoughts all influence this great tale which is put together by our conscious self. We tell ourselves what happened to us in the past, and come up with rationalizations as to why these things in our life happened. We also tell ourselves who we are today and come up with reasons as to why we are the way we are. Finally we have a story of how we think our future will be, which very much depends on our story of our past and our story of who we are in this present moment. In essence our conscious self tells the story of our life in one big cosmic narrative.” ~~ Sid, Retired Clinical Social Worker and Blogger at Flow Like Water
Dear Son,
As I think about where I should go, what I should do, I think about the story of my life. My story. I wonder if someone were to write a story of my life if it would be the same one I have in my mind. I don’t know if I’ve been bold enough to proclaim my life so loudly as to have just one story. I don’t even think I could write my own story because it seems as if I’ve had so many lives. So I think if several people were to write about my life, they would all be different stories and all would be different than the story I would tell. But really, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Stay true to yourself,
Mom

Letters to my Son

Dear Son,
“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning.” Louis L'Amour
Each time I look at you I see an incredible person … you are just a boy but you are growing in so many ways. Part of me would like to keep you as that little toddler who would ask me if I wanted to have coffee, even that cute grade school kid who could make anything from Legos. But I can’t, you have to continue to grow and really, I think you are going to be something special. Each time I look at you I learn something new, I see a new beginning. I think … no, I know how important it is for me to remember how fate works in ones life. The only way I could been your Mom was to take an adventure and let it unfold. Your spirit was waiting for me in New Mexico and maybe, just maybe, that is why I feel so connected to that place. I became a better person there and I know son, I’m a better person because of you. I also think that everything has happened exactly the way it was meant to happen even my parenting you alone. Even though it’s just been the two of us, you must always remember that it was two people that made that waiting spirit come alive and however you end up of viewing that as an adult, I did what was right for you.
Love always,
Mom

Centering Hint by Tom Crum

I read this early this morning and it has stuck with me. Live to our higher selves ... yes it can be done! Today, write a 'Love Letter' to someone AND to yourself.

Love Notes by Thomas Crum; November 2010 Recently my wife Cathy shared a poignant story from her youth: In 6th grade I confided to a girlfriend that I had a crush on a boy named Steve. The next day, she presented me with a note that said "I love you" which she told me Steve wrote for her to deliver to me. There was no reason for me not to believe her, and I was happy for weeks. Once I found out that she was the one who wrote the note, I was miserable for weeks. Steve, of course, never had a clue that any of this happened at all! The relationship between our perceptions, our resulting feelings, and our ability to perform is profound. During the Magic of Skiing, I remark to Susan how flowing and free her skiing is - how energetic and confident in her turns, how joyful she appears lately. She responds that one of the other pros had just said the same thing - she had overheard him bragging about her to someone at breakfast. Later, I ask the pro about it. "Oh," he replies, "I wasn't talking about THAT Susan. It was someone from another session." So what is the truth about Susan and her skiing? Believing in the "love letter", Susan was feeling good, and she was expressing it in her ski turns. Susan and her skiing are not stilted nouns, absolute, definable, stuck. They are action phrases like verbs, vulnerable to an ever-changing world of perception. Susan was feeling and skiing great because she had turned her mindset into higher possibility. She was skiing from that possibility rather than from some fixed past belief about herself. True, her mindset was brought on by quirky happenstance, like Cathy's fraudulent love letter, but self-aware people can use all of life's uncertainties as opportunities to laugh and learn. How do we want to tune up our mindsets? Can we stoke our imaginations to inspire us to greater heights? Can we ski (or live) as if we've just received a tender declaration of love? Tom Crum "Imagination is ... the preview of life's coming attractions." -Albert Einstein

Letters to my son

Dear Son,
I’ve been thinking about buying a journal where I can write to you. Then I thought about using my blog to do that because it will be (hopefully) still there when I am gone. I’ve written journals before. I’m sure you’ll find them someday. I’m not much good at writing for the public anyway. And there is so much I want to tell you and I’m afraid I won’t remember everything or I’ll be caught up in some other event that causes me to not tell you all the things I want you to know. So really, you don’t have to know them at all, it’s not like you have to study this and take a test. Take what makes sense to you and keep it in your heart, pass other things on if you want, discard what doesn’t resonate with who you are. Be who you are … maybe that’s what all this is about. I want you to be the person you are meant to be not a clone of me or anyone else.
You know, it’s a bit chilly today. We are living in New York now. I had wanted to move back to New Mexico from South Carolina and had everything planned to do so, right up to three days before the moving van was to arrive. Then the company that served me so well exploded, the investors pulled out, there was no money to pay anyone and I was left with no work. I made the split second decision to turn the truck around and head to New York where we have family. Thankfully, the owner of the moving company is an old friend from high school.
After arriving here, I was so unhappy that I could not be where I wanted to be. Others, in their way, wanted to advise and guide and know and insist which caused more unhappiness. That manifested itself as sadness, seclusion from others and sometimes arguments with the very people who meant well. Part of that is because I am happy to run my own life. I can’t abide trying to live like someone else just ‘cause they think it’s best for me. You can only do what your heart and mind tells you is best for you. Nothing good ever comes of wearing someone else's boots. I’ve always been my own person and I hope you will be too.
There’s a lot that my family doesn’t know about me and perhaps I like it that way. Some because I’ve lived away from them since I graduated college, going on 30 years now. Maybe that’s what causes the divide. There’s also a lot they don’t know because they chose not to know and because their egos can be as big as a harvest moon. There was a time when I wanted them to know everything about me but that stopped when I was around the age you are now. That event helped to mold the person I became but that is not important to anyone but me, nor can I define it as either good or bad, it just is. I know it drives you a bit mad when I do not buy into their perspective but there is much you do not know nor do you need to know now, maybe in time.
For the first time in my life son, I’m struggling. Some would say I’ve struggled through two divorces and some hard financial times but really that is nothing compared to this struggle. I’ve always bounced back, been resilient. I’ve been proud of those qualities and they have served me well. This struggle though … this is my struggle to strike a balance between what is the right for you and what is right for me. I’m sure it will be a while before I figure the lay of the land and probably will pen many more letters to my son. You’re all I’ve got boy. Chances are you won’t read these letters until you are much older and maybe you’ll never read them at all.
I do the best I can as a parent alone and I’m proud of the man you are becoming. I think I’ve done a pretty good job. Then again, I’m sure God saw I was going to be alone so I was given a very special person … you. Keep on doing your best, look up at the stars and visualize your dreams, see them, touch them in your mind and make them your reality. When I was a teenager I came across a poem that I had printed up, framed and put on my wall. Over the years and with many moves, that print has been long lost but not the poem by Rudyard Kipling.

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

You know son, ideas, thoughts and philosophies held for many years by people can change over time. Perhaps they just evolve. The ideas held in Kipling's poem have never changed for me but many other thoughts have. The first part of my life was certainly different from the second part and both of those appear to be different than what this new stage of my life will be like. The way I think is changing some and I guess that’s OK. However, my world view is essentially the same. I don’t think that ever changes. What you think is perfect now for you may not be in 5 or 10 years but the convictions you have … your world view will always be your own. Go with the flow son, don’t fight change, evolve but evolve with conviction. Henry David Thoreau said, “If a man loses pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured, or far away.”
There is still a lot of music in my heart … I have so much more to give and I have more to say but I’ll stop here for now. Just know at this moment in time I am overflowing with love and pride for you…that funny, sweet kid of mine.
Love ya’
Mom

Image via Wikipedia

"If humanity does not opt for integrity we are through completely. It is absolutely touch and go. Each one of us could make the difference."

~ R. Buckminster Fuller

Jean Johnson; Food can't get any better

Courtesy of Jean's website

When I find value in a product or a service, an idea or a person, I like to share it with others. Maybe it’s because I’ve been in sales, marketing and public relations for so many years that it is just natural for me to pick up on something and automatically promote it. Of course, I personally have to find the value in the product or service, idea or person before I will take the time to “share”.

Over the last several months I’ve come to know Jean Johnson. She is a food historian, a proponent of sustainability, an author and a pretty cool lady. She has written two cookbooks and has one on its way. As an author I love her style and she is definitely the real deal when it comes to food history and sustainability issues. She shares her thoughts on treating the food nicely and that means honoring the animals that give their lives for our consumption and not poisoning your veg with GMO’s and pesticides.

Courtesy of Jean's website

Her recipes make for some mighty wonderful tasting meals and you get the added benefit of learning a philosophy about food, eating and sustainability that will change the way you think about nourishment. Her books include interesting food facts and quips. She shares her life experiences and her love of music as if you were a dear friend and her books will become your kitchen companion. Who thought the reading of a cookbook could be fun and enjoyable!?!

Courtesy of Jean's website

I bought her Hippie Kitchen cookbook, the first in her trilogy of cookbooks which include Cooking Beyond Measure and Grow Your Own: From the Garden to the Table which is due out in 2011. I’ve poured over Hippie Kitchen and found everything to my liking … I bet you will too! Now that Jean’s publisher is allowing her to offer no shipping charges on ‘signed’ copies through December, it’s a perfect time to start planning for holiday time presents. I recommend her work and her books … I hope you’ll have a look at them and see for yourself.

Connect with Jean on Facebook, watch her YouTube videos, and follow her on Twitter.

Turn off the music player at the bottom of this page to listen to Jean in her video::

Goin' for wood

Image by GodsMoon via Flickr

I love autumn. It’s a time of getting ready for a much quieter season. In that place that I lived it was a time to ‘Go for wood’. Without the wood there would be no way to warm your home come winter. So, this was an event, a coming together of family for one purpose; to make sure everyone had enough wood for the winter and then some. Along with all the other chores of this season, the harvesting, the putting up of canned goods, the brandings and filling the barns with usable hay, going for wood stood out in my mind because it was one of the more physically demanding chores that I participated in.

On the appointed day, coolers were filled with canned lunch foods, jerky and plenty of water. Pickup trucks were readied; chain saws were loaded along with sharpened axes. The ride up the mountain along roads that weren’t really roads was always a treacherous and challenging time but when you reached the top you were rewarded with a sight to behold. A view of the land for miles and miles, with crisp, clean cool air that invigorated you and made you bless the day.

The work begins and the sound of the chain saw echoes through the trees and the only sense of any other person is the sound of the same far off in the distance. As the sun finds its place high in the sky, jackets and shirts come off as sweat drips and dirty hands grab rags to wipe brows. Someone saws the trees, someone splits the wood, and someone picks up the kindling. The city girl in me had to be taught what real kindling was and how much was needed. That same girl had to learn how to split the wood so it would stack in the pickup and eventually fit into the wood stove.

Once the truck was full, it was time to eat and rest before the trek down the mountain began. Sometimes, after some rest, we’d look for pinon nuts that could be harvested. It was on once such trip that I learned how to harvest tremintina sap which could be used for everything from simple glue to a temporary wound covering. Not a bad thing to know about.

With the truck heavy now, it would be slow going on the roads that weren’t really roads. Mostly they were shale, rock, and some dirt that stretched around drops and holes and crags and ridges where shifting sand changes the terrain with each travel through. The work is not done when the truck pulls round the back of the home to where a wood shed sits far enough to keep animals who like to hang around wood piles away from the home but close enough to get wood to bring in when the air bites with cold and snow. It’s just as much work to empty the truck with one person climbing up and throwing the wood down and just as much picking it up to stack the pieces by size inside the covering. The worth of all this effort is in the cozy comfort of a pinon wood warmed home where a sense of security fights off the blistering cold just beyond the walls.

Footprints

Image by JWSherman via Flickr

Sometimes we meet a person who leaves a footprint in our life. Sometimes, if we love them, we just have to let them go.

A different way of things ...

Image by The Library of Congress via Flickr

The sadness had mostly passed. The people in the line had paid their respects in the days and nights before. The men had gathered and held vigil with the box all night long praying long prayers and taking turns napping at the back of the little church. All that was left was for the box to be put low. So on that sun bright and cloudless morning a line of trucks proceeded out to the family cemetery.

The box didn’t have the honor of a fancy car to keep it secure or lend an air of dignity; it only had the bed of a family member’s truck to rest on. A bed too short for the pine to settle comfortably so it shouldn’t have been a shock when the box slid back on that last bump causing the line to stop short and the people following to gasp and grab their mouths. As if it were an everyday occurrence, the boys got down from the truck and lifted the box back into place. It was a different way of things.

The box arrived at the place where it would finally rest. The trucks from the line flooded the small dirt road, causing dust to rise. The men got down from their high seated trucks and crowded a small area where they began the task of digging in the dirt. Under the high sun, their shirts got stained with dust and sweat. Some cussed under their breath. When they had dug enough it was the son that jumped down into the depth of its six feet or so. Perhaps it was to check it was dug right or maybe, he just wanted to see how it felt. The wind picked up just then and the trees rustled their leaves. As the son climbed out and dusted his hands and pants, he motioned to the men it was time. With ropes wrapped around, they surrounded the box, lifted and lowered it down, then pulled hard to bring their ropes back up. Those were ropes needed for all manner of things life brings and couldn’t be wasted.

The woman stood around noticing the other woman, noticing the first wife, the other children. Except for the very old vieja who just leaned against the fence and prayed, there was nothing somber about this event. The men still sweating returned the dirt from where it came, taking turns as the day was getting hotter.

There was nothing more, it was over. Just a wooden box and a hand dug grave.

One by one, they all found their way to a small barn nearby where some woman had set up pots of beans and tortillas, shredded pork, trays of pineapple cake and brownies, Kool-Aid, coffee and beer, lots and lots of beer. Then as if day turned into night, then day again, all was new and what had been was faded into memory.

The coyotes song ...

Image by jimmywayne via Flickr

In the shadow of a mountain, I learned to respect what is plain to this world, the land, the weather and the wildlife. It’s hard to even believe as I sit here just 23 miles north of New York City that I was ever dug down in the canyon, work clothes and boots under the high sun. What I remember most vividly is the cattle coming down the road pretty fast and O flying across the pasture on his bay. My heart beat faster than I knew it could. It was the first time I had seen such a sight being just a transplanted city gal. I ran as fast as I could to get back to the house, over the fence without a care for my being, just wanting to get out of the way.

When I first went to that place, I didn’t really know what to expect. I didn’t know that I would have so much learning to do, about life, about myself. I thought I knew it all, after all I had been around the block a few times and finding myself in the high country of New Mexico was a choice. But learn I did and now I hold those lessons dear as I look back and wait for the moment when I can return.

I learned to wave at every truck that came down the road ‘cause that’s what you did and ‘cause your neighbors were important people. I learned it was too far to town to forget something at the market. I learned which wild weeds and herbs were valuable, what could be used in teas and cooking. Incredibly, I learned how to pull sap from a pinon tree. I learned it was called tremintina and that it had more uses than you could imagine. I learned how hard it could be to keep up with a quarter acre garden. Just wasn’t as easy or as pretty as Martha Stewart said it would be. But food grew and I learned how to put up for the winter and share with the ranch ladies nearby.

In giving, I did some receiving. I was taught how to make fresh tortillas from scratch and how to cook a pot of beans to perfection. I learned how to roast chili and preserve it till the next harvest.

I learned that you don’t mess around when the sky looks fierce, better to head on in or run the risk of being stuck in mud. I learned that chopping wood is back breaking work but worth it to heat your home. The warmth that a wood stove gives is like being wrapped in a security blanket.

I learned that some things in life are free, like the Christmas tree you cut from your property or the snack you have right from the apple tree down the road. The best thing that was free was the view, the beautiful mountains, the horses running in the pasture, the sunsets over the mountain, the way the dark just slipped down the canyon, the stars in a completely black sky and the song of the coyotes at night.

Being in that place was purposeful and even though I sometimes felt isolated and often longed for the lights and the doings in the city, it was good for me. I remember that place fondly and on most nights if I listen hard enough, I can hear the coyotes sing.

Start doing things you Love!!!

I came across this great poster today compliments of a Facebook friend. It really does say it all!

Five reasons to be in Albuquerque now! But there are more...

Image via Wikipedia

1. The Sandia Mountains – In Spanish, ‘sandia’ is the word for watermelon. The mountains were named as such for the beautiful pink cast at sunset. Sitting just east of Albuquerque, the Sandia’s are a directional guide for anyone driving. Find yourself facing east at sunset in the city and behold a site you won’t forget.

2. Green Chili – you haven’t eaten until you’ve added a healthy dose of green chili to your meal. Its perfect heat is a wonderful accompaniment to many meals. If you are in NM in the fall, you’ll enjoy the smell of green Chili roasting throughout the land. Mmmm!!! Green chili on eggs, on burgers … for breakfast, lunch and dinner!

3. Albuquerque Little Theatre – A delightful cast of characters with talent worthy of the finest theaters performing such classics as ‘James and the Giant Peach’ and upcoming ‘Chicago the Musical’.

4. NM State Fair – Featuring the PRCA Rodeo Concert series with great musical acts like Mark Chestnut, Tracy Lawrence and Clay walker. Every year a new state fair Queen is chosen, the rodeo brings out the Cowboy and Cowgirl in everyone and it’s the real deal with a Grand Entry, Bareback Riding, Steer Wrestling, Saddle Bronc Riding, Tie-Down Roping, Barrel Racing and Bull Riding. You can’t pass up the fun to be had on the Midway and the cultural shows in the Indian Village and Spanish village. Boys and girls show off their hard work at 4-H and a good time is had by all. This year the fair is September 10 ~ 26.

5. International Balloon Festival – There is nothing better than waking up early on a cool October morning to colorful balloons floating by as you relax with a hot cup of NM Roasted coffee . This year the Festival is October 2 ~ 10.

Source: Wikipedia