Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Testing

Here we are testing testing testing.  And we're still testing testing testing.  Why do I have spaces below my blog entries?  It looks so stupid.  Testing testing testing.  Anne Allen is googling the problem, but so far she's stumped.  We're testing testing testing.  Maybe we should stick a picture in here of something.



Here's Ed standing in front of the photograph of Gail Plummer at Kingsbury Hall.  We're testing testing.  And I think we've found the problem.  Hurray for Anne!

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Silver Lake

We drove up to walk around Silver Lake on a sunny afternoon.  Many people had the same idea and we smiled and nodded at each other, glad to be alive in this world.  Pics below:






Monday, July 21, 2014

Eating dried kale

I'm sitting at my desk with a plastic container of dried kale--Brad's raw crunchy kale to be exact. According to the package, it is organic, gluten free, vegan, kosher and verified non GMO.  Also, there is some banana, coconut and dried pineapple in there too.  I think it must be the yellowish stuff that I was hoping was cheese.

Brad's photo is on the bottom of the package: square jaw, white hair, a dimple in his chin  His story is that he adopted a "raw diet" and lost 40 lbs and overhauled his health.

Losing 40 lbs would be nice.

When I bought this, I brought it out when Tom and I sat down to watch a movie.  "I bought some healthy munchies," I said.  I set the dried kale between us.

"What's kale?" he asks

"Some really really healthy green vegetable.

He's always willing, so he tries a few mouthfuls.  He shoves the container closer to me.  "I think I've had all I'm going to have of that," he says.  "It's not going to replace potato chips."

And that's why I'm sitting at my desk with this kale.  It's been a whole weekend and I'm determined to finish it off.

 Honestly, I imagine my own urine tastes like this.  Hats off to you, Brad, but no thanks.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Gifts for the spirit

I have neighbors to the south of me who have the most spectacular garden, including a side yard of hollyhocks so vigorous, I can't stop gawping.  This morning I went out, barefooted, to take a snapshot.  

I don't know these neighbors well, just enough to tell them how much I admire their garden and wave to them when I turn into the alley, but I realize what a gift this garden is to our street and to me personally. I like it when people do what they do well. 

This makes me think of Lillian in my SL ward.  She gave fans away at church.  If she ever saw you fanning yourself with a program or the hardback cover of a hymnbook, she'd pull a new fan, still wrapped in a protective cardboard shell, and hand it to you (or send it down the pew for people to pass on to you).

Lillian has given me at least three fans saving me from post-menopausal spontaneous combustion.  One fan I held onto for a long time.  I took it to NYC for two years and brought it back and then lost it in my own house.  I was so sad to lose it.  Then when we moved to SL and returned to that ward, she gave me another one.

I miss Lillian and her fans.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Placenta on the menu

So I don't want to keep this information to myself.  There are women who eat their own placentas.  I read it in The New York Times in an article describing "the placenta project."  It led me to an article in The Atlantic Monthly":

 "It can be cooked (usually steamed) then sliced, dehydrated, and encapsulated into a pill. Sometimes women freeze it in small chunks and blend it into a smoothie."

I googled "eating the placenta" and there were recipes.

Have I been living in a cave?  Three births and I have passed up eating my own placenta filled with delicious, bloody nutrients?  Could I sue my obstetrician for not letting me know  that I was making dinner when I pushed out those babies and their follow-up?  Imagine hunkering down on the delivery table and gnashing your teeth into that gorged pulp.

It's taking time for me to get my mind around this.

Monday, July 14, 2014

The Norwegian connection

Saturday, I came home from the Solstice Writing Retreat in Midway, which was more fun than a birthday party where you get everything you want, and collapsed into bed.  I would watch a movie.

I chose a Norwegian/German film called TWO LIVES and there were no subtitles!  Has that ever happened to you on Netflix?

I decided to watch it anyway:  two hours of Norwegian interspersed with German and about three minutes of English, which was really helpful.  When it ended, I went to IMBd to see if I'd understood what had happened, and surprisingly, I had understood most of it.  Not the language--I don't have the gift of tongues--but the body language, the action, and emotion transcended language.

I have had this same experience in foreign countries, smiling and gesturing with people I couldn't understand, and coming away thinking I had had a conversation.

It's an invisible connection we have with other humans.  Like String Theory.  And it's comforting.