The Less Traveled Road

My writing spot by the Miami River

Good Friday was a day of self-care and reflection for me. I scheduled an early massage appointment at Harmony Farm because I wanted to have time to walk the labyrinth on the grounds before having lunch in Tipp City.

The massage was blissful, opening my mind to new thoughts and connections. The weather was perfect, the first day in weeks with temperatures warm enough to want to do the hike down to the labyrinth and be comfortable walking slowly. My mantra, Solvitur Ambulando, It Is Solved By Walking, guides my steps. As I navigated around the twists and curves of the labyrinth, I stayed open. I found myself asking, who am I? The immediate answers were wife, mother, friend, writer, creative, and teacher. That wife came first was eye opening. I am no longer a wife. But its place in the list tells me how important that role was to me. And though I am no longer a wife, it does not mean I wasn't a very good one because I was. It's been a long journey to recognize and accept that. 

After the labyrinth, I decided to walk down to the Miami River. Harmony Farm has picnic tables and benches there, a fine place to write, reflect, and enjoy nature. As I walked I kept noticing forked sticks. After the fourth or fifth one, I decided to pick one up. I had a flash back to Lent ten years ago. I was reeling from the discovery of my husband's affair and was in my home town in Pennsylvania. I fled there while my husband remained in Ohio to decide if he wanted me or the twenty three year old woman with whom he was having an affair. As I write that I am astounded that I tolerated that. I expect that most folks who know me are surprised as well. Severe trauma can do that; it can bring us to our knees. Literally in this case. I remember going to confession and sobbing out my story to an elderly, very startled priest. He had no idea how to help me. I did not know how to help myself but I knew I needed help. Which brings me to these forked sticks in my path. I had to make a choice back then. I chose to survive and I chose to do whatever it takes to feel whole again. 

People react to trauma in different ways. With regard to affairs and divorce, it is quite common to see some divorce quickly and then immediately find another relationship. Some folks stay together without doing any healing work and live with toxic hurt and mistrust bubbling below the surface. Some couples work together, maybe for the first time in their relationship truly being honest and vulnerable with one another, and create a better, stronger marriage. In my case there was no quick divorce nor was there any healing. So it was up to me to do the work on my own. PTSD is not something one heals from quickly. But I chose to walk that way; I took that fork in the road. Perhaps all these sticks in my path were there to remind me to do it again. To look at the possibilities and decide where to go next. The journey was difficult but rewarding. I'm glad I took the time to sort through all the hurt and pain and examine who I was, who I am, and who I choose to become. My first, most important role is to be myself. Only then can I successfully meet others' needs. To get here required time. To get here required making difficult choices. I needed to be on my own. I did not need to fill the hole created by divorce with another person; I needed to fill it with myself. Now I wake each day with gratitude and say, "I choose to be happy." I've put on my traveling shoes and look forward to the journey.

Embracing life!

The last stanza of Robert Frost's poem,  The Road Not Taken: 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Winter Be Gone!

Although it is officially spring, Dayton is covered in snow. I've been away from this blog since November first when I began participation in NaNoWriMo National Novel Writing Month. I've also been doing some extensive traveling in the past year: Cuba, Thailand, Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong and will be in Rome in April. With the travel, finishing the draft of my first novel,  following my beloved Dayton Flyers basketball team and then the NCAA beginning rounds here in Dayton, I've been neglecting my blog. I'm happy to be back and will do some catch up posting on my travel and writing experiences to get back in the blogging groove.

When all this snow arrived I decided I needed a dose of spring, set out to find some pansies to buy, and saw this sign. This was just the booster shot I needed. I got my free pack and purchased several more. When the snow melts I'll plant them in a large pot by my front door but for today they are braving the snow surrounding a garden stone I made. Enjoy!

I was SO not last!

Here's my medal from the USAF Marathon 5K on September 14th. I registered last January. I've done the 10K at this event and plenty of half marathons and even one full (one was enough!) but of late have not been walking consistently. I strained my psoas muscle over the Memorial Day Weekend which not only limited my activity but made me miss the wedding of one of my favorite people. It was summer and the pool was open so I substituted water aerobics. Then a few weeks ago when I started preparing for the 5K I started having hip pain. This is not the first difficulty I've had with my hips but in the past managed to work through it. Not this time! I was discouraged but kept looking for a solution and found one. I had an appointment with body worker Linda Vanarsdall and she determined that I had a couple of compressed vertebrae. Linda is a beautiful, kind, compassionate, woman with fantastic healing abilities but fingers of steel! The difference between when I laid down on the table and when I got up was profound. No. More. Pain. 

So it was just a few days until the 5K and I had done almost no preparation. The most I had walked was my daily mile with my Yorkie, Buddy. I did not want to miss this event. I decided to just go and walk at my own pace. The goal was to finish. It would not matter if I finished last, I just wanted to cross the finish lane. 

I remember my first 5K. I walked with two girlfriends and my then husband. I had never walked that far. Our little group was indeed last but my husband was courteous enough to allow me to cross the line before he did, thus keeping me from finishing last. The irony was that he received a trophy because although he was numerically last, he was the only male walker so he was first and got the award.  

In this race, at mile one, I felt pretty good and was walking a steady pace. I had decided if I finished before 70 minutes I'd call it a win. At the mile two water stop, the woman who handed me my cup of water looked me in the eye and said, "You're walking strong." She had no way of knowing what that meant to me; it reminded me of Lori's mantra, "I don't exercise to be skinny; I exercise to be strong."  There was a man and woman with a karaoke mic just past mile two playing LMFAO's I'm Sexy and I Know It. I think the young woman with the mic was fairly surprised that I knew all the words. It's a favorite of my son's and we sing it in the car all the time so it not only brought a smile to my face but more energy to my steps. 

A bit after this a young woman, early 20's maybe, ran by me. Then I walked past her as she had slowed down to catch her breath. She was heavy but I know heavy people can be quite fit. What concerned me more was her lack of muscle tone and the erratic way she was taking this on. I engaged her in a bit of conversation and she shared she had not trained and that her younger brother was ahead of her. As I kept my pace she lagged behind me, struggling to breathe. Yet, just a bit away from the finish line she ran past me again, heavy footed and gasping for breath. This broke my heart. I hope she finds her way to better self-acceptance and better self-care. 

My friend Lori volunteered to greet me at the finish. I cautioned her that I was out of shape and would finish late, maybe even last. But I didn't! I walked my pace, and felt stronger and faster as the race progressed. When I saw Lori I yelled, "I am SO not last!" She yelled back, "Look at your time, under 56 minutes!" I was walking strong and felt fabulous. Here's the glamour shot.

Lori is a yoga teacher extraordinaire. Post race she lead me through some stretches to baby my hips a bit. I'm in the white shoes and socks; she is rocking it in the black shoes and fabulous polka dot socks.

Race results don't get posted until September 17th but I already know I'm a winner. There were plenty of people behind me and many, many ahead of me but this wasn't about them, it was about me. It was about being happy with who I am and proud of my own tenacity. It was knowing I can set physical goals and master, even surpass, them. It was about the sensuousness of being at home in my body and at peace with myself.

Rethinking Depression by Eric Maisel

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  PTSD can be the result of one dramatic trauma episode or a prolonged period of trauma. In my case, during the prolonged stress I really, really struggled. During that time we talked about depression in two ways, Depression with a Big D and depression with a little d. The Big D version evidenced during the acute trauma period by my considering a day a success if I could put both feet on the floor and eventually get out of bed, at least for a few minutes. To survive that I needed the big three: medication, talk therapy, and body work. Think critical care, emergency treatment, stabilize the patient!

PTSD is the gift that keeps on giving. Even after doing lots and lots of gut wrenching work and believing I am okay, something can happen that will trigger the PTSD. This results in what I used to call depression with a little d. I feel really, really unhappy, really sad. The good news is that it is more manageable because I have learned how to cope.  In Eric Maisel's latest book, Rethinking Depression, he dismisses depression as a mental disorder and instead identifies it as a meaning crisis and gives the tools needed to cope. Here's some context to understand what he is proposing.

Eric is well known as America's foremost creativity coach. He is also a died-in-the-wool existentialist. I asked Eric to define existentialism and here is his response. "Existentialism is the first philosophy to demand that the individual take personal responsibility for his or her thoughts, actions, and life and further demands that we look the facts of existence squarely in the eye and deal with existence-as-it-is and not how, through wishful thinking, we had hoped it would be." What I think of as little d depression might just be the meaning crisis state Eric refers to in this book. And taking an existentialist position and employing the techniques and strategies he proposes offers a solution.

Rethinking Depression is a lovely play on words. Eric is asking us to rethink what depression is or isn't. He is also suggesting that re-thinking, that is taking an existentialist viewpoint and thinking differently about sadness when struggling, is the way to living well. He is NOT promising every moment will be happy, happy, happy. He is saying that unhappiness is part of the human condition and making meaning is the way to cope with the unhappy times. He is saying we are happier when we are making meaning. He is also suggesting we pay attention to the happy or at least neutral times as well, looking existence squarely in the eye.

Yes, but how do we do that? How do we make meaning? Rethinking Depression is the complete meaning making tool box. Eric takes us from deciding how and what matters, to creating a Life-Purpose Vision, to negotiating meaning daily, to how to handle meaning crises. I particularly enjoyed the chapters on existential, cognitive, and behavioral self-care. This is fun, engaging reading because Eric has a droll way of explaining and a knack for providing a large variety of examples to reach almost every reader.

He boils it down to three questions to orient your life.

1. What matters to me?
2. Are my thoughts aligned to what matters to me?
3. Are my actions aligned to what matters to me?

That's a pretty good check list for living!

I recommend Eric's book to anyone who wants a meaning-full life.

Winter Solstice Sisters

In 2009 I held my first winter solstice gathering. The Winter Solstice marks the longest night of the year, from that date forward, there is a bit more light every day until the Summer Solstice in June. It was such a success that I have continued the practice of hosting my treasured friends for a ceremony and meal to celebrate the return of the light.

We begin by creating a sacred space, passing a light until all candles are lit. Each woman speaks in turn, naming what she wants to leave in the darkness and what she wants to embrace in the coming light. Each woman also chooses a word as her focus for the next year.  Part of the magic is how intently we all listen to one another, honoring that woman and her choices.

 

This year I provided Sharpies, markers, pastels, colored pencils, magazines for collage cut outs, letter stamps, and glitter glue to decorate package tags with the chosen word to use as book marks or to tie onto a gear shift or mirror. There were also round balls that could be decorated with the word and hung on the Christmas tree.

Both the tags and the balls were creatively done!

As in the past, the celebration concludes with a shared meal. This year's menu included antipasto, Joy Behar's lasagna, vegetarian acorn squash lasagna with walnut cream, three green salads and a delicious lemon cake. It was an evening of food for the body and food for the soul.

Winter Solstice is a time for contemplation and renewal. It's a time to appreciate friendships, open our hearts to the possible, and state our intentions for the year to come. I'm grateful to have these women in my life.

Sensuously Sixty

I began this blog one year ago today, my birthday, with the express purpose of exploring how to reconnect with my body, to learn to live sensuously.  To celebrate I scheduled a Harmony Farm Ritual. Harmony Farm is a magical place. The beautiful buildings are nestled into a small hill overlooking a pond and open fields. When you enter the front door, the first sensual treat is the smell, eucalyptus, lavender, perhaps mint? Instantly soothing. I usually pause for a moment and breathe deeply, letting myself relax into the atmosphere. 

A soothing waterfall greets and welcomes.

The massage rooms are gorgeous, natural light and nature views. These windows overlook a sloping field and a copse of trees that shelter the labyrinth.





This is the back side of the complex. The massage rooms are on the left side, top floor.







A Harmony Farm Ritual consists of a one hour massage, a one hour facial, and organic sugar scrub treatments for hands and feet. After a lovely Reiki enhanced massage on a heated table, I was already feeling relaxed and centered in my body. Linda Blackburn, my healing practitioner for this experience, describes her skill and the setting perfectly on the website, “I believe massage can take you to a deep level of healing. It can help you reach into your soul and allow you to physically and mentally heal. When your body reaches that level, the muscles begin to relax and respond to the work the therapist is doing. Harmony Farm with its peaceful surroundings, adds a wonderful experience of relaxation and healing to your massage.” 

I never had either a facial or sugar scrub treatments. I loved both! By the time Linda was finished my skin was smooth and, well, glowing.  This truly was a sensuous experience and a perfect way to celebrate all I have learned about connecting with my body. This was a year well spent. Thanks for joining me on the journey.

My Merry Mom Made Marmelade

Progress! I just had my third voice rehabilitation session. I am pleased to report that my voice is... improving! Jennifer Keyges, my therapist, noted that my voice is less scratchy and I am able to sustain notes longer and with better quality. She deemed me ready to go to the next level. This is the tool to help me get there.

Yes,  a kazoo!

The exercises I have been doing thus far centered around the middle of the body stack that we use to speak and sing.  At the bottom is respiration (diaphragm and lungs). In the middle is phonation (the vocal folds)  and at the top is resonance (mouth, nose).

We've been mostly working on phonation because of the damage to my vocal chords. As I've been working to sustain sounds, there has been some breath work involved and there will be more as I progress.  But now I am ready for resonance work.

Which brings me to the kazoo. As I was focused on taking a deep breath to sustain the sounds in the first set of exercises, I had some trouble switching from the gentle expelling of air to the "hum" necessary now. To play a kazoo, you don't blow, you hum. So these exercises start with a hum of the sound on the kazoo for about two or three seconds and then flow into chanting voiced "m" or "n" exercises. It begins with molm, molm, molm and goes to meem, meem, meem, and then moom, moom, moom. If I didn't feel silly enough doing that... we moved to sentences.

Like:

Mary made me mad.
My mom may marry Marv.
My merry mom made marmalade.

None know nothing now.
Nine knew nothing.
Name nine new names now.

I am becoming more and more aware of how I produce sound and where in my body the sound travels.

My assignment for the next few weeks is to continue the original exercises and add resonance chanting three to five times a day. I am happy to do this. My voice feels stronger and I find myself singing in the car a bit. I'm not ready for singing publicly but now believe it will happen one day. I'm so grateful.

Thank You Betty Ford

Official White House Photo 1974

I celebrate the life of Betty Ford and send a kiss of gratitude to her as she begins the next stage of her journey. I remember when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1974. I was twenty-three years old and already badly disconnected from my body.  I was uncomfortable with the open way she discussed her cancer and her mastectomy. I wondered how she would be with her husband afterward. And I wondered if he would still want her. 

My father had colon cancer when I was thirteen. He had surgery and survived. I knew he was sick and I knew he had an operation but I was never told, and was too well conditioned to secrets to ask, what the surgery was. It was months later when my brother-in-law mentioned my father's cancer and saw my shock that anyone realized I did not know it was cancer. Cancer was a shameful secret and colon cancer even more so. Breast cancer was talked about in whispers and with more sorrowful shame. It was a "female problem" and not for public, or for that matter private, discourse. Betty Ford just blew the doors off that. Not only did she say she had breast cancer; she said the "m" word, mastectomy. It was the first time I heard that spoken aloud. She even allowed her picture to be taken while still in the hospital. This all made me terribly uneasy, somewhat embarrassed, and confused. Then she did the most surprising thing; she recovered! Not only did she not die, she thrived. And her husband seemed as devoted to her as ever. 

Thirty-five years later, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, it is a different world. People wear pink ribbons, walk and run to raise money, have support groups, and talk openly about breast replacement, scars, treatment, everything! Yet, I still felt vaguely ashamed of having a problem with a "female” part. I wondered if I would be considered defective, less than desirable, or damaged goods. Those early imprinted messages run deep. But I blogged about it, joined support groups, and talked with other women, lots and lots of other women. I am just realizing now that I have not talked with men very much. I was in the middle of an ugly divorce and did not get the kind of support Betty Ford got from her husband. I am just now realizing the example he set. He clearly still loved her and stood by her. She was what was important, not her body, not her breasts. He loved her. I mourn that I did not have that and that rejection there wounded me further. Gerald Ford was President of the United Sates of America and did not feel he needed a perfect, two-breasted wife to complete his image.

What I did have, and celebrate to this day, was a legion of women. Not just friends and family but strangers met through various support groups. For the first time in my life I talked about my body and a struggle I was having about my body with other human beings. I had been silenced early on, programmed to not mention anything to do with my body or sexuality or even sensuality. I have a male therapist I trust and he was magnificent in his understanding and encouragement. A few friends’ husbands were sympathetic, and while I appreciated their sympathy it made me realize more acutely the lack in my life. It was the women who understood and saw me through to the other side. And Betty Ford, by her brave example, was first in line. 

Sage, Not Mint

This is my Prius, the first car I ever bought on my own. The first car I ever bought for me. The first car I ever bought based on what I want. And it was definitely a sensuously sixty experience. Pure delight.

When the ex and I were dating in high school, every once in a while, he would be allowed to drive his mother’s car, a sweet 1967 mint green Malibu convertible. One of my favorite date memories is riding, top down, on a starry summer night after one of the invitation-only dances held in a summer pavilion in a private community.  I can recall the feeling of driving along those mountain roads, relaxed, pleasantly tired from dancing, happy, nothing but tree tops swaying in the wind, crystal clear skies, and one another.

We were very poor for a very long time after we married but I promised myself that one day I would find a 1967 Malibu convertible and have it restored as a gift for him. I had several contacts in the car restoration community who promised to call me when they found one. I dreamt of us riding around in that car, top down, celebrating a well-lived life. One of the rewards of growing old together.

Well, that was not to be. One of many dreams that I did not realize meant something only to me, not to “us.” But, you know, it gets boring feeling sad about stuff like that. One day you start thinking; hey what about buying something that would make me happy? What about something to make new memories?

So when I decided to look for a hybrid, I found myself telling the car salesman I wanted a green car. Period. It had to be green. I had already decided to buy a used car, (thank you Clark Howard!) but was surprised to hear myself say green only. I was not in a hurry and I was willing to wait for what I wanted. My car salesman, a young man named Todd, patiently explained to me that used Prius were hard to come by and usually sold within twenty-four hours of reaching the lot. Most people are happy to just find one. I said okay just call me when you get a green one. When one came in a few days later, he called me, laughing, saying I can’t believe it but I’ve got one. When I saw the car I understood why it had to be green.

This is my Malibu convertible. It is a gorgeous green; most of my friends describe it as sage. Sage is an important word in my life. The color is my favorite. I love cooking with the herb. And I am surrounded with sage artists, healers, and creators; old souls.

My Prius, now named Sage, is not flashy, is not sexy, and is not imbued with old memories.

It is expectant. It is poised for new dreams, new explorations, and new experiences. I’m looking forward, not back. And every single cell in my body is dancing with the possibilities. 

Tea Time

I drink tea. And I love High Tea. And I love wearing a hat. I know that in England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales both men and women take time for tea but here a High Tea is most often a ladies' event. My friend Pam's daughter just announced her engagement and as she studied in England, High Tea seems an appropriate bridal shower theme. For the sake of research, Pam and I made a reservation for High Tea at Eleanor's Tea Cottage in Troy, Ohio.

This was a true High Tea, beginning with fruit, then scones with real cream and fresh jam, followed by a delicious chicken divan soup, then chicken salad, pimento cheese, and cucumber sandwiches, and finishing with lemon pie and chocolate peanut butter cupcakes topped with with crunchy little bird nests filled with tiny eggs.

A sweet little pansy topped the whipped cream

Three kinds of sandwiches

Charming little nest cake toppers

 Our hostess was gracious and skilled, allowing us time to enjoy each delicious course and feel completely pampered. It was a delight to pause, savor a friendship, and plan a shower for a lovely young woman.

About wearing a hat... My mother used to say, "Wear a hat, you'll feel better." I remember seeing a large group of women of a certain age all decked out in purple outfits and red hats at an Olive Garden restaurant. These ladies were talking and laughing and living out loud. They made me smile. They were, of course, members of a Red Hat Society inspired by the first two lines in the poem Warning by Jenny Joseph, "When I'm an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat that doesn't go and doesn't suit me." For my mother's 91st  birthday we had a tea party and asked the ladies to bring their favorite tea cup and to wear their best hat. There were some pretty extravagant hats because many of these gals attend the Kentucky Derby, a hat lovers' paradise. My mom wore a shocking pink, petaled hat that she designed and made herself. Now that I'm sixty maybe it's time to let my creativity loose on my hat selections. And when better than to debut a new hat than at a High Tea!

Cheat Sheet for Life

 Katrina Kittle is one of my favorite authors. She has four published novels thus far, each one taking a "big" issue and skillfully weaving together a story with vivid characters and poignant subplots that deepens understanding and evokes reflection.  She had me with her first book,  Traveling Light, about a woman, her much-loved dying brother, AIDS, and the question of who we are and why we make the choices we do. Over an eighteen month period, I'd lost a brother-in-law, a teaching partner, and a fellow doctoral student to AIDS. Katrina got it all exactly right: the frustration with the disease, the disheartening lack of compassion juxtaposed with the extreme kindness of others, the pain and heartache, the grief, and the lessons experienced.

Her latest book The Blessings of the Animals is about the end of a marriage, grief, healing, family, and the powerful role animals can play in our lives. Having recently experienced extreme betrayal and divorce... this one hit home too. A dear friend invited me to her book club meeting where Katrina was the guest author while we discussed this book. The facilitator had unique discussion starters. Katrina's books are laden with rich nuggets that inspire mind forays out of the current story. This passage, about an interaction between the protagonist's teacher brother and one of his students, is one of them.


"Nobody gets the good stuff all the time...Remember that." He wished he knew something more comforting to offer. He wished... he could spare them, his students: that he could pass them the cheat sheet for their future lives. 


 The facilitator posed the question, if you could provide a cheat sheet for life, what would you share?

Mine was "Face what you know." I've learned, the hard way, that ignoring the elephant in the room leads to heartache. That while it is difficult to face unpleasant truths, it is better to face them right away as delay increases the cost and wastes precious time. Your body is recording and experiencing the problem even if you are not allowing the thought to surface. I mistakenly thought that focusing on the good meant ignoring the bad. I know now that you can celebrate the good and still name the difficulties and treat them with loving kindness. Problems are not failures, but ignoring them will lead to failure.

Katrina's was, "Always make make new mistakes." As soon as she said it I felt my gut clench. I've been trying to not berate myself for the mistakes I made with my ex, for tolerating too much for too long. For taking care of him and his needs while sacrificing my own. I kept hoping that he would see what he was destroying and join with me to rebuild. And so I became afraid of hope and afraid of making more mistakes that were detrimental to my physical and emotional health and well being. I learned that hope can be life affirming when I hope for myself, for what I can choose. Pinning my hope on someone else is  giving away my strength. Hearing "Always make new mistakes" turned another page. Mistakes are part of life. The trick is to make new mistakes. To be trying new things that may or may not work out perfectly but are still learning experiences. What I was afraid of was making the same mistakes. As I realized that, I felt my gut unclench and my center fill with... hope, peace, possibility. Yep, this definitely goes on my cheat sheet.

Spice Shopping

I have a cupboard full of spices.

Interesting organizational system!

From my reading, I now know that spices have a shelf life. When I checked these, I was amazed at how long I had some of them. I got this tin of whole nutmeg from my dear friend Jeanette when she was moving from Ohio to Florida in 1978! I know it was hers because I recognize her handwriting on the top.

1978?

Some sources say that after a year a spice has lost its potency and should be replaced. Those are probably mostly folks who sell spices! The other rule of thumb is to check for aroma. If the spice still smells, well... spicy, it should be usable. But I think that is the technique when using spice to flavor food. I'm not sure how to gage the potency of spice for health and healing purposes. If any of you have any information or thoughts about that, please share.
Most supermarkets have a good selection of the commonly used spices. There are excellent Internet resources as well. Many of my friends recommend Penzeys but I have never tried them. I wanted to buy fresh spice in small quantities because I am experimenting with new flavors and different heats that I may or may not like. And if I am going to err on the side of freshness, small amounts are better.

I found a perfectly wonderful source right here in Dayton. One of the Five Rivers MetroParks' Urban Parks is the Second Street Market. The market operates in an historic block-long 1911 former B&O railroad building.  It was saved from demolition and renovated in 2001and houses an assortment of vendors for prepared foods, meat and produce, fresh flowers, and arts and crafts. One of the shops is The Spice Rack.

The Spice Rack has a wide assortment of spices in small containers with larger amounts readily available. They also sell organic flours and grains, Amish butter and cheeses, beautiful colored sugars, and honey. I'd stopped here many times to buy local honey to help ward off seasonal allergies but am now a confirmed spice shopper as well. 

I was interested in turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom, and cumin. The shop owner, Homer, and his lovely assistant Shannon helped me find everything I needed. This is definitely my new go-to place for spices!

The atmosphere on Saturdays at Second Street Market is festive and relaxed. I had a delicious Thai omelet for lunch, saw many friends and acquaintances, and in addition to my spices got beautiful artisan bread, fresh kale, and a green plant to take home for a promise of spring.


My next task is to purge my spice cupboard and label my spices with date of purchase. In the meantime, because they are so pretty, my fresh spices are residing on a shelf in my kitchen. They are tucked among some plants and some favorite things, reminding me of the beauty of life and the joy of treating my body well.

Spice of Life

 I am interested in spices and how they can promote health and assist healing. Spice as seasoning is familiar ground but currently the health aspect is a talking point everywhere. Magazines, cooking shows, even Dr. Oz is talking about spices to use to reduce your risk of cancer or high blood pressure or to improve cardiac health. Post cancer, I'm eating foods high in antioxidants to ward off those nasty free radicals. I've  upped my vegetable and fruit intake, switched to whole grains, and eat organic whenever possible. I seek out antibiotic and hormone free meat and poultry. Now I am exploring how using the right spices can further enhance health and healing. Which spices for which reasons and in what amount?

Sterling Publishing 2011

This book was featured in a display at my local library. The sub title, How to Use 50 Everyday and Exotic Spices to Boost Health and Beat Disease promised the information I was seeking.
And it delivered. After eleven pages giving the history of spice use and how to purchase and store spices, the next two hundred and forty five pages are devoted to the fifty spices. Information on each spice begins with the healing and health properties, then history and culture in "getting to know ___," then a "how to buy ___," and finishes with "in the kitchen with ____."  Each spice description includes an ink drawing of the plant, a "use and pairs with" chart, and a recipe.
The book concludes with how to make spice rubs and mixes and a resource list. Especially useful is a fifteen page A-Z list of health conditions, appropriate healing spices, and where available, research-tested therapeutic use dosages.
As a bonus, the book is printed on cream colored paper with sepia ink and sepia and green charts that are easy on the eyes. I love it when I find exactly the right book at exactly the right time.
In tomorrow's post, I'll take you with me on a spice buying excursion to one of my favorite foodie places!

The Berry Bowl

This is one of my favorite Christmas gifts! Peter and Sarah, family who live in New Hampshire, sent it to me. It arrived in a plain brown paper package delivered via Parcel Post a week or so before Christmas. I waited until Christmas morning to open it and was so pleased. After having breast cancer in 2009, I have been making an effort to eat plenty of antioxidants, berries especially. This sweet bowl has holes so I can rinse and drain the berries, then a little dish to rest upon at the table. Pete shared that it was made by a friend of his, Diane Coveny of Forest Pond Studio in New Hampton, NH, a retired educator. I treasure hand crafted items and this one is both useful and beautiful.

Blackberries

My mother always said that presentation matters. Beautifully presented food adds a visual element that enhances taste. I make an effort to give myself antioxidants in the most pleasing way possible. As you can see, I have already served blackberries, blueberries, and Riviera Pears. Riviera Pears are an extra special treat, the juiciest, tastiest pears imaginable. I only have them at Christmas time. The table cloth under the berry dish is the one that usually graces my table. It is hand made Irish lace my mother bought for me on her first of many trips to Ireland. I don't reserve it for "special occasions," just being alive is special enough!

Blueberries with Riviera Pear

I hope you serve yourself healthy, nutritious food in a beautiful way. And one gentle suggestion, take the time to stop and savor every bite, enjoy the pleasure and the blessing.