At the gas pump, the sign said "Free Cappucino with fill." I was on my way to my haircut where I'd be served coffee, so I didn't need any. Yet...hmmmmmm, here was flash of opportunity to brighten someone's day. Looking up, I noticed a young hispanic man in the flatbed of his pickup truck, working. I walked over grinning, and asked if he'd like a free cappucino. His face let up. He jumped down. We strode into the gas station, beaming, with a purpose in our step. Cool! We were up to something! When we arrived at the fancy cappucino machine there was the taped up sign, "Not working." Oh well, no problem we both agreed---we already felt great. As we neared door the cashier asked what happened. We told her---and she said, "Oh no---it's just the mocha that's broken!" Now there were three of us up to something! Back we went. Mission accomplished...we parted. One with coffee. One feeling the joy of giving. One who caught the wave.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Popover
In Minnesota two weeks ago, on a chilly fall day, having buried my dear friend's momma, we arrived back in her childhood home. To life without her mother. It was there that I got the call from my momma and heard her say, "I'm cancer free!" With tears streaming down my cheeks, I shared the news (mindful of their oh-so-fresh loss, wondering if I should) and my dear friend and her dad, the new widower, cheered. Right there on the day of their loss. Right there in the kitchen I grew up in. They cheered for my mom.
Because I was unexpectedly in Minnesota for the memorial, I was near my parents' home. Within an hour I was with them in their cottage home on Green Lake, hugging and crying. We celebrated that Thursday night at the Swedish Inn in Center City with what's affectionately called "Cheap Chicken"--- quarter fried chicken, real mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans---and popovers the size of momma's head all for $3.50. There was even an old woman playing the accordion for tips! When I mentioned to our teenage waitress that my momma just got the news that she's cancer-free she looked right at momma and told her how happy she was for her. My momma said, "You're gonna make me cry!"...and then the tears rolled. Dad was beaming at her side. A few minutes later, our waitress appeared again and said, "The owner wants me to to tell you that your dinner was paid for." More tears.
We still don't know who paid for our supper. Was it the owner (if so, thank you!) or another of the many friends she was hugging and reuniting with after months of reclusive living? We may never know the answer to that question. But---what we do know is this: it is in the sharing of all of life---the sorrows and the joys---that we unleash a flow of humanity and possibility that is far beyond the wildest imagining of our shuttered selves.
Because I was unexpectedly in Minnesota for the memorial, I was near my parents' home. Within an hour I was with them in their cottage home on Green Lake, hugging and crying. We celebrated that Thursday night at the Swedish Inn in Center City with what's affectionately called "Cheap Chicken"--- quarter fried chicken, real mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans---and popovers the size of momma's head all for $3.50. There was even an old woman playing the accordion for tips! When I mentioned to our teenage waitress that my momma just got the news that she's cancer-free she looked right at momma and told her how happy she was for her. My momma said, "You're gonna make me cry!"...and then the tears rolled. Dad was beaming at her side. A few minutes later, our waitress appeared again and said, "The owner wants me to to tell you that your dinner was paid for." More tears.
We still don't know who paid for our supper. Was it the owner (if so, thank you!) or another of the many friends she was hugging and reuniting with after months of reclusive living? We may never know the answer to that question. But---what we do know is this: it is in the sharing of all of life---the sorrows and the joys---that we unleash a flow of humanity and possibility that is far beyond the wildest imagining of our shuttered selves.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Ginger Snaps
A pause in this glorious fall day. Music undergirds this moment. Creating a pulse of joy. A strum of action. I just came from the dentist. Good news and bad. Looks good---and I need to floss. Now, as someone who has been a health educator, and who is now a life coach, I'm embarrassed to admit that this is true. Flossing in the land of good ideas doesn't do much for dental health. And I know it. So, it's time I come clean! I know we all have zones like that. The zone of "Oh yeah baby, that's working and I'm loving it!" And the zone of good intentions, which is really the zone of possibility. Of greater health. A zone of calling to be/do/become an even more powerful, beautiful and delicious version of ourselves. I'd like that---and I'm guessing you would, too.
Floss.
Be.
Dance.
This is a good habit waiting to happen. The simplest two minute a day habit. I know it will take more than imagining it as a good idea. So---I commit. Out loud and in public. With the music strains now punctuating my words with a bold beat: I will floss. Once a day. And you?? What's calling your name? The thing you know that will take two minutes/day or less---and make all the difference in your life?? Name it. You could even audaciously declare it right now in the comments. Join me!
Time to for me to get up out of this chair. To go get the floss. To put it in its new special spot. To fuel the action. Oh yes----and there's one more thing. I'm not doing this so that Janine (my patient hygienist) doesn't scold me. (Although big thanks to you for the nudge!) I'm doing this because I want to live to 100, play with my beautiful grandchildren (which are pre-twinkle, I'm imagining)...all the while munching crisp apples and ginger snaps! Laughing, grinning, alive and we know it! Now that's floss-worthy!
Floss.
Be.
Dance.
This is a good habit waiting to happen. The simplest two minute a day habit. I know it will take more than imagining it as a good idea. So---I commit. Out loud and in public. With the music strains now punctuating my words with a bold beat: I will floss. Once a day. And you?? What's calling your name? The thing you know that will take two minutes/day or less---and make all the difference in your life?? Name it. You could even audaciously declare it right now in the comments. Join me!
Time to for me to get up out of this chair. To go get the floss. To put it in its new special spot. To fuel the action. Oh yes----and there's one more thing. I'm not doing this so that Janine (my patient hygienist) doesn't scold me. (Although big thanks to you for the nudge!) I'm doing this because I want to live to 100, play with my beautiful grandchildren (which are pre-twinkle, I'm imagining)...all the while munching crisp apples and ginger snaps! Laughing, grinning, alive and we know it! Now that's floss-worthy!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Alive In My Boots
It's been months since my last post on Easter's Eve...awash in passion...and dedicated to my momma and dad. Hours later, on Easter I got the call. Momma in the ER. Life and time stood still. I stopped dead in my tracks. Everything changed in that instant. Those who have been there know. I summoned all my courage. And grace. So did momma and dad and our family---instantly knit closer by this news. I showed up with and for it all, and for that, I am grateful. Life forever changed. Blogging stopped.
Silence.
Four months lived. Inwardly. Expectantly. Hopefully. Living here and there. Dancing with fear and peace. All of you who have walked in these shoes know. The shoes point in one direction and one direction only. Sometimes, I forgot that I had shoes. Sometimes I walked in momma's shoes to find my way back to compassion. Sometimes I put on my big girl boots and led. Sometimes I tucked my shoes under the bed and crawled in. This journey into the Mystery is not for the faint of heart. Up until now, I knew that my parents would die. Of course. But I didn't really believe it. Not with all my degrees, or evidence of other's parents passing. Nope---not my beloved momma and dad. My magical thinking swathed in waves of heartlovefantasy had us really living on forever, thank you very much. That was the ending I thought I preferred...up until now. Now I see that this hour is all that any of us have. The rest, complete fantasy. Unknown. Just as unknown as whether momma (or you or me) will have the gift of the next hour. So in this hour---I choose to break the silence, and come clean.
True confession about my silence: Momma told me that she and my dad print out every blogpost I write and save them in a binder. Yes. Wow. This, too, stopped me dead in my tracks. The irony is not lost on me---the very one who wrote about showing up, risking, having impact, passionately leading a life worth living. To be this seen and known and loved and held and tenderly preserved by my parents makes me weep. This is how true love shows up. Printer, wrinkled hands, a 3-hole punch. A binder. Messy and vulnerable. The challenge and blessing of seeing, and being seen.
I vow to show up more fully---even if and especially because my momma and dad are watching.
So here it is: Dedication #2 to Momma and Dad. You are my sunshine. Both of you. Dad, as you wake up and say, "Just another day in paradise" as the sun rises over the lake streaming into your cabin. Momma, as you battle your cancer with grace and gritty courage, fighting with every cell of your tiny little body for your precious life... as you near the end of chemo...and glimpse the possibility of the light of your life rising over the lake once again. Here comes the sun!
Dead in my tracks was OK for a time. But now, I'm alive in my boots.
Silence.
Four months lived. Inwardly. Expectantly. Hopefully. Living here and there. Dancing with fear and peace. All of you who have walked in these shoes know. The shoes point in one direction and one direction only. Sometimes, I forgot that I had shoes. Sometimes I walked in momma's shoes to find my way back to compassion. Sometimes I put on my big girl boots and led. Sometimes I tucked my shoes under the bed and crawled in. This journey into the Mystery is not for the faint of heart. Up until now, I knew that my parents would die. Of course. But I didn't really believe it. Not with all my degrees, or evidence of other's parents passing. Nope---not my beloved momma and dad. My magical thinking swathed in waves of heartlovefantasy had us really living on forever, thank you very much. That was the ending I thought I preferred...up until now. Now I see that this hour is all that any of us have. The rest, complete fantasy. Unknown. Just as unknown as whether momma (or you or me) will have the gift of the next hour. So in this hour---I choose to break the silence, and come clean.
True confession about my silence: Momma told me that she and my dad print out every blogpost I write and save them in a binder. Yes. Wow. This, too, stopped me dead in my tracks. The irony is not lost on me---the very one who wrote about showing up, risking, having impact, passionately leading a life worth living. To be this seen and known and loved and held and tenderly preserved by my parents makes me weep. This is how true love shows up. Printer, wrinkled hands, a 3-hole punch. A binder. Messy and vulnerable. The challenge and blessing of seeing, and being seen.
I vow to show up more fully---even if and especially because my momma and dad are watching.
So here it is: Dedication #2 to Momma and Dad. You are my sunshine. Both of you. Dad, as you wake up and say, "Just another day in paradise" as the sun rises over the lake streaming into your cabin. Momma, as you battle your cancer with grace and gritty courage, fighting with every cell of your tiny little body for your precious life... as you near the end of chemo...and glimpse the possibility of the light of your life rising over the lake once again. Here comes the sun!
Dead in my tracks was OK for a time. But now, I'm alive in my boots.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Passion for Change
If you are living, and I am gone---then please feel free to put "Passion for Change" on my memorial service program. I love these words. Passion. For. Change. I first heard them a couple weeks ago. In my inbox. An invitation from Guinevere Stevenson...a talented new film director...and so...
Last Saturday night, the eve of Easter---I had the huge, crazy privilege of seeing, for the first time, a first-cut release private screening of "Passion for Change", a documentary about five national delegates to the 2008 Democratic National Convention. And one of them is me. There we were, tucked in the backroom of the most delicious, surprising Vincenzio's Italian Bakery. Eyes lifted. Hearts remembering. Tears flowing. While the Sicilian singer passionately serenaded diners in the next room we were awash in the screenglow. Mesmerized by the energy, the spirit, the hopefulness, the conviction, the action, the showing up, the jumping up, the dancing, the stepping in, the believing that we shared in this journey---all captured forever on film. There it was. My passion, larger than life. My passion, exposed. My passion, radiating from the screen.
There's always a risk when you show up, isn't there? When you truly put yourself out there. It's a vulnerability---much like what Brene Brown points to in her totally-hit-the-mark TED talk on "Vulnerability". When I said yes to being the film subject of this documentary---to have crew following me right into my home, my refrigerator and kitchen, I knew there was a risk. I knew I was letting go of control and opening myself to impact. I did it by choice. I believe it is what we are here for. To risk showing up. 100%. Every day. And truly step in with our whole being.
As I watched myself on screen----I saw me. Authentic and true. Even talking with my hands with a big chef's knife waving. Surrounded by family love. Eating sandwiches. Sharing beliefs together. Risking living and loving so the whole world can see...and be a better place. It's an honor to risk oneself fully. Many of us never accept this honor. I choose to risk my significance...and I'm absolutely convinced that it has made all the difference. It's like the wisdom of David Whyte. He said, "If you feel both fear and excitement, great! That means its your own life you're living...and not someone else's." It's an exhilarating mix...and I believe, the ride of a life worth living.
A dedication. I learned this at the feet of my Mom and Dad. Their passion (they wouldn't use this word----they're Norwegian Lutherans, afterall) for showing up and making the world a better place inspires me. One bunny cake at a time. One Habitat home at a time. One volunteering with the "sweet old people" day at a time. One mentored adolescent at time. One "Spit and Shine" day at your church at a time. One "Meals on Wheels" delivery at a time. One heart at a time. I dedicate this to you, Mom and Dad. Without your quiet, selfless example (which continues to this day) I wouldn't know my passion. My fire. My joy.
p.s. Speaking of joy, and since this is my Red Lips Red Boots blog, afterall---I invite you to hold the vision of this film being accepted by Cannes----and me, passionately attending with Guinivere and crew!
Last Saturday night, the eve of Easter---I had the huge, crazy privilege of seeing, for the first time, a first-cut release private screening of "Passion for Change", a documentary about five national delegates to the 2008 Democratic National Convention. And one of them is me. There we were, tucked in the backroom of the most delicious, surprising Vincenzio's Italian Bakery. Eyes lifted. Hearts remembering. Tears flowing. While the Sicilian singer passionately serenaded diners in the next room we were awash in the screenglow. Mesmerized by the energy, the spirit, the hopefulness, the conviction, the action, the showing up, the jumping up, the dancing, the stepping in, the believing that we shared in this journey---all captured forever on film. There it was. My passion, larger than life. My passion, exposed. My passion, radiating from the screen.
There's always a risk when you show up, isn't there? When you truly put yourself out there. It's a vulnerability---much like what Brene Brown points to in her totally-hit-the-mark TED talk on "Vulnerability". When I said yes to being the film subject of this documentary---to have crew following me right into my home, my refrigerator and kitchen, I knew there was a risk. I knew I was letting go of control and opening myself to impact. I did it by choice. I believe it is what we are here for. To risk showing up. 100%. Every day. And truly step in with our whole being.
As I watched myself on screen----I saw me. Authentic and true. Even talking with my hands with a big chef's knife waving. Surrounded by family love. Eating sandwiches. Sharing beliefs together. Risking living and loving so the whole world can see...and be a better place. It's an honor to risk oneself fully. Many of us never accept this honor. I choose to risk my significance...and I'm absolutely convinced that it has made all the difference. It's like the wisdom of David Whyte. He said, "If you feel both fear and excitement, great! That means its your own life you're living...and not someone else's." It's an exhilarating mix...and I believe, the ride of a life worth living.
A dedication. I learned this at the feet of my Mom and Dad. Their passion (they wouldn't use this word----they're Norwegian Lutherans, afterall) for showing up and making the world a better place inspires me. One bunny cake at a time. One Habitat home at a time. One volunteering with the "sweet old people" day at a time. One mentored adolescent at time. One "Spit and Shine" day at your church at a time. One "Meals on Wheels" delivery at a time. One heart at a time. I dedicate this to you, Mom and Dad. Without your quiet, selfless example (which continues to this day) I wouldn't know my passion. My fire. My joy.
p.s. Speaking of joy, and since this is my Red Lips Red Boots blog, afterall---I invite you to hold the vision of this film being accepted by Cannes----and me, passionately attending with Guinivere and crew!
Monday, April 4, 2011
Female Nomad in Red Boots
The world reflects us to us. If we look and see. Several years ago people were reading, Tales of a Female Nomad by Rita Golden Gelman...and saying, "Lynn---this makes me think of YOU!" Intrigued, I read it, and could see why! Well, not the divorce part. But the out-there, open, curious, adventuring woman part---oh yeah baby!
At 13, I took my first steps over the Mexican border in Tijuana. Eyes Wide Open. A suburban Minnesota girl seeing beyond my imagining. Bartering for a leather fringed jacket. I was torn even then--was it good to barter (save money) or bad to barter (these people clearly needed the money)?
At 13, I heard a Japanese foreign exchange student speak. To this day, I can remember the warm afternoon in our sunny, junior high cafeteria. I went home and wrote in my diary, "I'll be a foreign exchange student one day!"
At 16, I saved my waitressing tips from The Crosstown Kitchen, the Scandinavian cafe where we served lutefisk and lefse in our white dresses and shoes. These tips funded a 6 week trip with fellow students to Austria, Germany, and even a whiff of Switzerland, Lichtenstein and France! I was the youngest traveler. And I was bit. Truly bit by the adventure travel bug. Bit by the clear knowing that it is in connecting that we find ourselves. I had connections with gasthof proprietors. Bus drivers. Soldiers. Boys. Single mothers. Trees. It is in these reflections of culture and humanity, by likeness or contrast, that we see who we are. In community, we become more of who we are.
At 17, I applied to be an AFS Foreign Exchange Student. In those days, you didn't pick your country. You were saying yes to anywhere in the world. Which suited me just fine. I pictured the depths of Africa. I was chosen and sent to Tasmania, Australia. And blossomed. And struggled. And communicated. And connected---over cups of tea & bottles of rum. Legs of lamb and mixed grill on the barbie. Over hundreds of kitchen tables. I joined in. Joined up. Joined the conversation. Joined a family for a year...and for forever. It's really profound now, as I pause and write. As a 17 year old, you're almost by definition, self-centered. (I certainly was--even tho global questions had already begun to burn in me.) Now, I realize what a wildly generous act this was for my host family... to fling open their doors and invite me, a stranger, in! Risking...and receiving. Last night they were in my dreams.
At 21, I accepted the job of my dreams. But first, I turned my '67 Chevy Malibu south for an inland Mexican odyssey...of course! Who knew when I'd be free to travel again?? Brass ring, grabbed!
At 24, it was Korea. To follow and check out my love. It landed and lasted. Ben and I just celebrated 31 years!
Honk Kong. Singapore. Japan. Thailand. Cambodia. China. Tibet. Morocco. Senegal. France.
At 55, Italy. Leadership on a rooftop. It was there, in Rome, that Alberto (my colleague) and I created and fired up up the "International Cooking Game." We flung out the invitation to get curious and experiment with strangers...through food, joy and play! Potatoes met fish met apples met chocolate met beans met olive oil.
At 56, I have just finished reading Female Nomad and Friends ~ Tales of Breaking Free and Breaking Bread Around the World. Real women's stories, compiled by Gelman. In these pages, I see my reflection. And so, it was last night---over my kitchen table that I pulled out this book, to share this passage by Melanie Ehler from a chapter entitled, Soul Food. "Some hunger can be satisfied with food, but there is also another more intimate type of hunger that can only be appeased by kindness."
I'd intended to just read the quote. But there I was, reading the short story aloud. It was about fried chicken---and compassion. It took about 5 minutes. Tears flowed, making it almost impossible to read. Tears that told me without a shadow of a doubt that I was right where I belonged. Looking at my true reflection. A life of curiosity, kindness, adventure, joy, gratitude and deep, deep connection.
Postscript
AFS still exists. It's a powerful organization uniting young people with host families globally. It was founded by WWII ambulance drivers---who experienced connection on the battlefield, regardless of country or politics. There, they were people saving people...and ideas of "enemy" slipped away. And so, they sought to create these human to human connections, very intentionally. One student and one family at a time. This is the enduring motto: "Walk together, talk together, all ye peoples of the lands. Then and only then shall ye have peace."
At 13, I took my first steps over the Mexican border in Tijuana. Eyes Wide Open. A suburban Minnesota girl seeing beyond my imagining. Bartering for a leather fringed jacket. I was torn even then--was it good to barter (save money) or bad to barter (these people clearly needed the money)?
At 13, I heard a Japanese foreign exchange student speak. To this day, I can remember the warm afternoon in our sunny, junior high cafeteria. I went home and wrote in my diary, "I'll be a foreign exchange student one day!"
At 16, I saved my waitressing tips from The Crosstown Kitchen, the Scandinavian cafe where we served lutefisk and lefse in our white dresses and shoes. These tips funded a 6 week trip with fellow students to Austria, Germany, and even a whiff of Switzerland, Lichtenstein and France! I was the youngest traveler. And I was bit. Truly bit by the adventure travel bug. Bit by the clear knowing that it is in connecting that we find ourselves. I had connections with gasthof proprietors. Bus drivers. Soldiers. Boys. Single mothers. Trees. It is in these reflections of culture and humanity, by likeness or contrast, that we see who we are. In community, we become more of who we are.
At 17, I applied to be an AFS Foreign Exchange Student. In those days, you didn't pick your country. You were saying yes to anywhere in the world. Which suited me just fine. I pictured the depths of Africa. I was chosen and sent to Tasmania, Australia. And blossomed. And struggled. And communicated. And connected---over cups of tea & bottles of rum. Legs of lamb and mixed grill on the barbie. Over hundreds of kitchen tables. I joined in. Joined up. Joined the conversation. Joined a family for a year...and for forever. It's really profound now, as I pause and write. As a 17 year old, you're almost by definition, self-centered. (I certainly was--even tho global questions had already begun to burn in me.) Now, I realize what a wildly generous act this was for my host family... to fling open their doors and invite me, a stranger, in! Risking...and receiving. Last night they were in my dreams.
At 21, I accepted the job of my dreams. But first, I turned my '67 Chevy Malibu south for an inland Mexican odyssey...of course! Who knew when I'd be free to travel again?? Brass ring, grabbed!
At 24, it was Korea. To follow and check out my love. It landed and lasted. Ben and I just celebrated 31 years!
Honk Kong. Singapore. Japan. Thailand. Cambodia. China. Tibet. Morocco. Senegal. France.
At 55, Italy. Leadership on a rooftop. It was there, in Rome, that Alberto (my colleague) and I created and fired up up the "International Cooking Game." We flung out the invitation to get curious and experiment with strangers...through food, joy and play! Potatoes met fish met apples met chocolate met beans met olive oil.
At 56, I have just finished reading Female Nomad and Friends ~ Tales of Breaking Free and Breaking Bread Around the World. Real women's stories, compiled by Gelman. In these pages, I see my reflection. And so, it was last night---over my kitchen table that I pulled out this book, to share this passage by Melanie Ehler from a chapter entitled, Soul Food. "Some hunger can be satisfied with food, but there is also another more intimate type of hunger that can only be appeased by kindness."
I'd intended to just read the quote. But there I was, reading the short story aloud. It was about fried chicken---and compassion. It took about 5 minutes. Tears flowed, making it almost impossible to read. Tears that told me without a shadow of a doubt that I was right where I belonged. Looking at my true reflection. A life of curiosity, kindness, adventure, joy, gratitude and deep, deep connection.
Postscript
AFS still exists. It's a powerful organization uniting young people with host families globally. It was founded by WWII ambulance drivers---who experienced connection on the battlefield, regardless of country or politics. There, they were people saving people...and ideas of "enemy" slipped away. And so, they sought to create these human to human connections, very intentionally. One student and one family at a time. This is the enduring motto: "Walk together, talk together, all ye peoples of the lands. Then and only then shall ye have peace."
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The Only Real Thing To Leave In The World...
I'm cleaning my desk. It's like an archeological dig. Very interesting. Surprising. And just now, I came across a yellowed newspaper clipping about the life and home of MFK Fisher. What a sensuous, fully alive food writer she was! Oh---she lived a juicy life! In this detritus of my life---I find my life, my passion. I'm struck smack dab between the eyes---realizing once again that we DO know what we are drawn to! What calls our name. (Especially if we let go...and let it come!) I remember the very first time I read MFK Fisher. Maybe in my early 30's. Oh---I wanted to eat it up. Inhale it. Drink it! And now---here she is again. Just lying here...even after death, her legacy lights fires in me. Causes my senses to awaken and soul to sing.
Here are MFK Fisher's words, circled by me...
"The only real thing to leave in the world is one's spirit...the leavings of me, murking up the atmosphere, smogging the air, sprinkling a sort of mist over things so perhaps they twinkle a bit."
And there it is. The big bold "Yes" I'd scrawled next to it! I remember thinking it would make a great memorial quote---from me, after I'd passed on! Funny---I thought I just wanted to share her wisdom when I sat down and began to type. Now, I'm feeling the draw to more...maybe even to visit her home, in Northern California...and deepen into her writings, including "A Welcoming Life." The connection to my own life of juicy immersion and adventure rises in me---including the surprising call to Italy last fall, to create an adventure with my new Italian friend, Alberto. Together, with our eyes twinkling, we created a rooftop communal experience, "The International Cooking Game", which brought people together, across cultures through---you guessed it---the love of food! There, in Rome (in the experience I wanted to call "Eat Play Love" but was assured wouldn't translate to the target audience)---we played, laughed and tasted the surprising fullness of life....as the sun set and the full moon rose.
First, I'll finish cleaning---then I'll put my feet up, grab a cuppa tea, a juicy piece of fruit---and deepen back into the article, the life that was MFK Fisher, and the Mystery that is twinkling in me.
Here are MFK Fisher's words, circled by me...
"The only real thing to leave in the world is one's spirit...the leavings of me, murking up the atmosphere, smogging the air, sprinkling a sort of mist over things so perhaps they twinkle a bit."
And there it is. The big bold "Yes" I'd scrawled next to it! I remember thinking it would make a great memorial quote---from me, after I'd passed on! Funny---I thought I just wanted to share her wisdom when I sat down and began to type. Now, I'm feeling the draw to more...maybe even to visit her home, in Northern California...and deepen into her writings, including "A Welcoming Life." The connection to my own life of juicy immersion and adventure rises in me---including the surprising call to Italy last fall, to create an adventure with my new Italian friend, Alberto. Together, with our eyes twinkling, we created a rooftop communal experience, "The International Cooking Game", which brought people together, across cultures through---you guessed it---the love of food! There, in Rome (in the experience I wanted to call "Eat Play Love" but was assured wouldn't translate to the target audience)---we played, laughed and tasted the surprising fullness of life....as the sun set and the full moon rose.
First, I'll finish cleaning---then I'll put my feet up, grab a cuppa tea, a juicy piece of fruit---and deepen back into the article, the life that was MFK Fisher, and the Mystery that is twinkling in me.
Monday, March 7, 2011
You Have A Vacation Face!
One face. One reflection.
Yesterday we drove to Vail to meet dear, dear friends for dinner. Minnesotans, they had a sweet skiing week in the mountains. Busy Coloradans who love them---we drove three hours each way to eat, drink, laugh, be together. After the tastiest meal at Campo Fiore (5 thumbs up!) we slipped into a little market.
Grinning from behind the cash register, the lanky young clerk asked me, "How's your vacation?" Oh, I demurred, I'm not on vacation, she is! He wouldn't let up. "No--your face looks like you're on vacation!" Quickly I said, "Oh, that must be because I was in Florida last week and have a bit of a tan." Again, the insistence. "No," he said. "It's not that. It's your smile. You Have A Vacation Face!"
Wow. I know I live in joy. I know I look for the divine in everything. But wow. Here was my reflection. That I, the local person who had driven 3 hours---and was about to drive another 3 hours home---was the one with the "Vacation Face." There it is! Evidence... that we all have this option, don't we? Anytime. Anyday. Anywhere. Thank you, Argentian Jose---who is known as 'Pancho'---for helping me see this truth, on a snowy winter night in the mountains.
Yesterday we drove to Vail to meet dear, dear friends for dinner. Minnesotans, they had a sweet skiing week in the mountains. Busy Coloradans who love them---we drove three hours each way to eat, drink, laugh, be together. After the tastiest meal at Campo Fiore (5 thumbs up!) we slipped into a little market.
Grinning from behind the cash register, the lanky young clerk asked me, "How's your vacation?" Oh, I demurred, I'm not on vacation, she is! He wouldn't let up. "No--your face looks like you're on vacation!" Quickly I said, "Oh, that must be because I was in Florida last week and have a bit of a tan." Again, the insistence. "No," he said. "It's not that. It's your smile. You Have A Vacation Face!"
Wow. I know I live in joy. I know I look for the divine in everything. But wow. Here was my reflection. That I, the local person who had driven 3 hours---and was about to drive another 3 hours home---was the one with the "Vacation Face." There it is! Evidence... that we all have this option, don't we? Anytime. Anyday. Anywhere. Thank you, Argentian Jose---who is known as 'Pancho'---for helping me see this truth, on a snowy winter night in the mountains.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Celebrate Each Other's Dreams
I'd just left my beloved Sycamore tribe in California. Grounded in love...we became the Seek Amores. Of course! Leaders all, boldly embracing lives of passion on purpose. On fire and deeply present. Blessed.
I noticed the couple in the terminal. Flowing robes, his and hers. A turban. A nose stud. Intriguing. Flying Southwest, I boarded and landed my sweet window seat. Looking up---there they were, choosing the two seats next to me. Full bodied. Arms touching. Surprise companions. They were traveling from Pakistan to visit their children in the U.S. A warmth sprung up between us. Engaged and leaning in. Open---to this experience, in this moment. I was eating it up.
After awhile, we turned to read. I took out "The Poetry of The Sycamores." She said, "Are you a poet?" "Yes" I claimed. I turned to the page with my poem, "Heart Healthy." And gently offered it to them to share. The container became sacred now. Leaning in together---they each read silently to themselves...lips gently forming each English word and phrase. Taking it in. Truly. He finished first...I could see the full, graceful smile...held and honoring it all. Affirming and connected. Then she---proclaiming the love for these words and pointing to her favorite line. "Celebrate each other's dreams." Yes! We talked about marriage, challenges...of course!
There was something so powerful and grace-filled about our surprise connection. Each open to the Other. Each leaning into this moment with wonder and grace. I'll always remember their soft smiles and gently moving lips.
Heart Healthy
The menu says 'heart healthy'
Nice
I wonder what it would be like if heart healthy messages were publicly displayed
on the menu of life?
Love yourself
Love your partner
Be gentle
Cherish that which is entrusted to you
Laugh together
Surprise one another
Honor your commitment especially when it's hard
Keep each other safe
Celebrate each other's dreams
Be quick to speak truth with compassion
Let yourself be naked
Dream dreams together and help them grow
Breathe deeply together and feel your hearts beat
Take joy in all you create
If your course needs changing change it
Find a way to share what really matters
Grow community
Unlock each other's code knowing you'll never fully do so
Honor the divine Mystery in each other
Try new things
Open up
Take risks worth taking
Embrace early and often
Believe in the power of love
Rest in each other's arms
Lynn Young
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